By many metrics, my dad was an abnormal person. In one of my mother’s greatest jokes, we were looking at my father’s old college textbooks. I held up one called Principles of Auditing. My mother looked at the cover, then at me, and said, “explains a lot.”
Among my dad’s peccadilloes was the fact that his bowels seemed static during the week.
Okay. Toilet talk is terra incognito for me and I’m just as uncomfortable writing it as you are reading it. Still, bear with me. The payoff is nothing short of mediocre.
For a time, Sunday was the day of reckoning. A week’s worth of scant, unbalanced diet would be purged, producing an odor pungent enough to singe your cilia. This became errand time for mother. She would put my sister and me in the Bonneville and go…somewhere. We weren’t in church at that time, so if often became our Walmart time.
When we heard the bathroom door close along with the thud of the four-pound Sunday paper on the tile, we knew it was time to vacate.
Speaking of four-pound publications and fecal matter, the latest RH catalog was delivered this week.
I realize that poking fun at Gary Friedman’s replica empire is a well-trodden trail, but sometimes it’s perfectly fine to grab the apple at eye-level. However, as I perused the latest offering, I was let down and forced to entertain the possibility of no longer ridiculing the gallery of pretension. Mind you it’s nothing Gary and his minions have done to sway my opinion. It's that, like my father’s bowels from Monday to Saturday, RH is static. This is the same shit I’ve been making fun of for the past decade.
Some of the names have changed. There are a few new shapes and eras of influence. However, overall it’s still bland and expensive. I accept the fact that I will likely never drop 7k on a dining room table. However, if I did, you can bet your Mortise-and-Tenon ass it wouldn’t look like it came out of a livery stable in 1880s California.
So, for what could be the final time, let’s dive into RH Interiors, Summer 2024.
Like most CEOs, Gary still dedicates the first page of the publication to himself. And what a glorious dedication it is. In his standard portrait/letter pairing we learn that the vest is back! This time, it's something resembling a puffer–with popped collar. Sex E. The left wrist pays homage to The Replacements (a swingin' arm party, that is) and is balanced by the expensive watch on his left. I was skeptical initially, but that HIMS finasteride shit is really doing the trick. He looks like a veritable Tom Slick these days. Or maybe Cornelius from Planet of the Apes.
Gary is depicted working on his latest inspired sketch. That or, he’s finalizing his to-do list while awaiting a plate of barbecue ribs. I can’t be certain. Another thing I can’t wrap my head around is the expression on the fucker’s face. He has the comfortably numb look of a guy who’s just had a cocktail of intravenous morphine and a couple of Roher quaaludes–all while sitting in a chair with Jacuzzi nozzles trained on his private parts.
In Gary’s LetterTM Leonardo finds himself in Gary’s man-crush crosshairs. Disciplined, responsible, and deadly with swords, who can blame him? Sorry, wrong Leonardo. He’s referring to DaVinci, the original Renaissance Man. Gary refers to him as a polymath, which is accurate. I would refer to Gary as a pollyanna, equally accurate, IMO.
Gary once claimed he doesn’t read books. Maybe if he did, he’d make it to the Moon Tower before “Tuesday’s Gone.” People have studied DaVinci since the 16th Century. Gary seems especially smitten with The Vitruvian Man, though I have heard he has a version of The Last Supper, with himself at the center of the table.
The new, in-progress Paris store gallery is concealed by a large sheet depicting The Vitruvian Man, another souvenir of the current bromance. Or maybe Gary’s favorite Van Halen album is Balance. No, Gary probably prefers Van Halen 3, but his favorite album cover would clearly be Fair Warning–so many earth tones!
Gary goes on about the forthcoming Paris location, which sounds like yet another shrine to his exponential ego. There will be twenty-foot gilded gates “that lead you to a secret garden.” Sorry, Gar, you just let the cat out of the bag. There’s a caramel onyx bar and a menu featuring the finest Petrossian Caviars. I know if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s inferior caviar. Ick.
Turning to the collection, two things are obvious. One, Gary remains a dogged spectrum denier. In fact, he seems to hate color as much as he despises humility. I don’t think you’d see more gray if you were an MLB equipment manager embarking on a month-long road trip.
Second, brass is back. Fabulous. If we’re lucky, shoulder pads, Ocean Spray bangs, and Spuds MacKenzie will also take curtain calls.
As I mentioned, I’ve seen it all before. The format is the same. Black and white photos of dour “artisans” “inspired” by something from the past. There are expensive ripoffs of Dan Johnson’s midcentury minimalism looking like what you might see in Nick Venet’s office at Capitol Records when Murry Wilson would come down to bust his balls over something or other.
And why are there no page numbers? Is this the same principle of keeping clocks out of casinos? And since they insist on referring to my new crunch plate as a sourcebook, shouldn’t it be designed for quick reference?
Since I can’t be specific, check out the setup somewhere about halfway through with the Wyeth $5000 dinner table and matching $6700 cabinet. The collection of books on display–all white or beige–
Modern Architecture
The Travel Book
Architecture and Design
Designer Influences
Aesop(?)
In conclusion, I would characterize RH Interiors, Summer 2004 as a textbook of form over function operation. Or furniture for wealthy people who are never home.
