incredible. do you think he actually lives here? it's beautiful. but who lives like this?
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
pike's place
when, martha stewart, our lord and savior's recent debacle called 'blueprint' went south last week, some blamed creative director, 'eric pike' for its demise. while, he may make some bad choices. she clearly pays him more than the pittance she paid other staff members (see: sarah humphrey's, sad little pad)
i love this shot of his, albiet sterile and uncomfortable looking, apartment.
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- beachbungalow8
- Manhattan Beach, California, United States
- editor | interior designer | podcast personality | social media pollinator
12 comments:
Who lives like this? A friend of mine, exactly. I'm getting ready to do a post on her house. very similar. actually i love this shot.
Also at Christmas, his place looks amazing. Really ethereal but, to me, not cold.
Gray is perfect with a hint of gray! Hey, I want my money back for my subscription to Blueprint!!
~Kate
I totally fucking live like this. In fact, I just had to put down my white opera-length gloves and set down my cigarette holder to type this. Because I am fancy.
I love that photo, but my core hurts just thinking about how much effort I would need to put into sitting up straight in those chairs. Oy.
Acoustics? or is this a shoes-prohibited home....no. wait. I can answer that. Or, in lieu of footwear you can don these hospital cover thingys so we can all shuffle about.
(which I totally had to do once. At a design director's loft.)
it's called a "photo shoot"
I have a friend with this exact sofa and it sucks. There is absolutely no way to get comfortable. Her house is beautiful though.
Anon - I love your use of ironic quotation marks. You're witty - - and handsome. No question. You should come here more often.
I've had Anon. He's not handsome, and he comes in like 30 seconds. And he has dandruff.
but you ARE anon.
so, by saying 'photo shoot' are you inferring that for this particular shot, mr. pike removed his xbox and big screen t.v. and maybe the old blanket that his friend, who couch surfed the night before, left crumpled in a ball next to an old pillow?
and his piercing tools.
I connect the bloodless, lifeless pallor of the room with working for Martha Stewart. I guess this is the interior decorating version of coming home and cutting yourself or otherwise practicing mortification of the flesh.
(If I worked at Martha Stewart, I'd come home every night, eat a pint of Ben & Jerry's, and sob myself to sleep. Not as classy as sitting perfectly unpright in a dead-grey Swedish Modern apt., I know...)
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