|courtesy of anthropologie.com|
the newest anthropologie catalog is beautiful, as usual. i find rooms that i could only dream of within its pages and try to halfway mimic via my country flea market haunts. i ran across an open letter by anna mantzaris to anthropologie yesterday via mcsweeney's and, well, it just sums it all up.
"Your little catalogue comes careening into our home every three weeks and suddenly I am dissatisfied with my life. Happiness flies out the window (sans Persian Velvet Curtains). You make me angry with my loving, live-in boyfriend, unhappy with our adorable dogs, and dissatisfied with our sprawling, albeit ramshackle, flat...
So after months of longing and lamenting, I took action. I knew I shouldn't have done it, but I made a pilgrimage. I braved the train, the crowds, the drizzly weather. I entered your doors and I stood directly in front of your Cooled Lava Dress (Oh, how very cool it was). I visited your Bay-of-Smoke Jacket. (You knew I always wanted to go to the Bay of Smoke!). Standing on your faux-sanded wooden farmhouse floors, amongst your clusters of light bulbs turned avant-garde chandeliers, I realized I've done it all wrong—the liberal arts degree, the MFA, the low-paying publishing jobs, the erratic freelancing and adjunct teaching..." read the full letter here.