invite me over: Sherlock meets Waldo

 

To some, having a desk at the end of their bed might look like a pair of handcuffs. And I totally get that. We all want to wake up and pretend, just for a brief, glorious moment in time, that our lives really do just consist of solo coffee dates, lengthy bubble baths, and perhaps, if we’re feeling particularly motivated, matinee movies.

But if we must work, then we must do what we love (or so everybody likes to muse as though they’re telling you this information for the first time). And the fella that lives here? He’s an art expert, world traveller, and interior designer. Meet Rodman Primack. Or meet the man that leads the life we all wish we had.

Below, a peak at his enviably cultured apartment in NYC, courtesy of Architectural Digest.

Yes, we’ve seen that gnome before… this week’s Wednesday Feast was teasing you and you didn’t even know it. 😉

It’s hard to put your finger on just where in the world his style is coming from. I see Spain, Morocco, France, Belgium, even the otherworldly (I’m looking at you, gnome boy). Yet everything comes together with such clarity. His galleries are a masterfully curated example of this, featuring each corner of the world all at the same time so that we witness one fantastical scene of cultural diversity.

Primack’s playfulness with proportions seems to come naturally to him, too. Where we might expect smaller accents of color, we see paintings, plants, and light fixtures dominating the scene, unabashedly testing our limits.

The result, of course, is an apartment that sacrifices our expectations for relentlessly eclectic fun. Sherlock-meets-Waldo kind of fun. And what’s more fun than that combo?

Hope everyone had a lovely Easter weekend! Does anyone have any family/solo traditions for celebration? I’m really curious because sometimes they’re straight up hilarious/ I would like to live vicariously through you. For the past three years, Easter has been something of a semi-sweet occasion for me. On the one hand, I have the whole house to myself as my roomies flee to their respective homes, and on the other, I just think about how awesome it would be to have my seat back at home, a huge chicken and mashed potatoes filling my plate as my eyes grow four times their normal size in anticipation of eating.

Regardless, everyone seems particularly chipper during Easter weekend. Tulips, pastel colors, maybe the appearance of sun dresses if the weather permits – Easter really just doubles as one big celebration of spring, baby!

*m

Bookish Vibes

One of the most noteworthy perks of falling for a bookworm would have to be the conditional libraries. Think about it. A true bookworm would not live without a library of some variety. Be it a few shelves beneath their bedside table, or an expansive room with bookshelves that stretch from your toes to the ceiling. No kindles, kobos, or iPads storing electronic copies of their literary loves, but whole walls filled with stories waiting to be read. That’s how it should be.
colorful
OCD + bookworm = meant to be.

La Boheme

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This is a spot where I would invite three wealthy architects over and have them debate the significance of the bookshelf a whole foot above the others.

To Read and To Hold:

This is a spot where I would sing to my plants and expect them to sing back. And then take out my frustration on the looming canvas in front of me when they don’t.

Bookshelf Porn:

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This. This is a spot where I would play the blues on my harmonica and annoy all my neighbours.

Rue Mag:

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This. This is a spot where my math essay would just write itself.

Modern Man: 

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This. This is a spot where I would feel as though the world was able to be controlled with my mind. John Nash would probably join me and we would draw things on the window together (he wouldn’t be doing all the work, I swear).
I feel as though I should share with you all my newest taste of sophistication in my life. By day he’s a business man, but by night, he transforms into a biker with a need for speed. I fell for him immediately. Oh, his name? Such a fool you are, it’s a coat. I personify all my clothing obviously.
How glad am I not to be wearing my puffy parka built for Antarctica and cannot be worn with brown pants otherwise I am the human tree? SO GLAD. YOU HAVE NO IDEA.
Have a vunderbar Sunday evening (so cultured, I know).
*m