Boston Design Center

While roaming through the halls of the Boston Design Center I felt as if I'd mistakenly wandered into Donald Trump’s living room and might be politely but firmly be asked to leave. Every showroom and window display oozes luxury. It’s a parallel universe of home décor.

The hard wiring of any poor soul with pedestrian taste or finite financial means begins to melt in the face of such opulence. Comparisons can be odious. I speculate how I will feel when I return to my modest abode and survey the décor, which, until this moment in time, I complacently thought was a light year from the Salvation Army furniture in my graduate school days and represented the achievement of a man with a relatively refined sense of taste.

Not.

Unique shapes and sizes of lamps, lampshades, and light fixtures sprout everywhere. Bureaus, sculptures, coffee tables, mirrors, objets d’art, etegiers, fabric, and rugs are exquisitely arranged and haughtily priced.

I spot the price tag on the comfy armchair I’ve slumped into to absorb the Louis XIV-ness of the showroom. The “Hydrangea cream armchair with chateau finish” is priced at $2438. That surpasses the cost of every stick of furniture in my living room. The total retail cost of all the items in the spacious Grand Rapids Furniture Company must rival the national debt of certain small countries.

How do people afford this stuff? I leave the second floor in a mild state of sticker shock.

More of same on the 3rd level plus a good helping of antiques. And several bathroom showcases like the one named “Urban Archaeology” that elevate lavatory experiences to a level a sybarite swoons over. Slabs of marble, granite, glass, tile, and stainless steel utterly seduce the senses. I can see myself living languorously in the loo for about a week. Friends and food just a cell call away.

By the time I’ve surveyed the 4th and 5th floors I’m exhausted. And spent tens of thousands of dollars in my head on bamboo flooring, marble and stainless bathrooms, elegant sconces and table lamps, plush Persian rugs, walnut and mahogany tables, and accessories I never knew I needed.

What makes a house a home?  How about the sun streaming in the windows and a collection of furnishings that feels as comfortable as an old flannel shirt. That’s what I’ll find when I turn the key into the old homestead later this afternoon. And be grateful for its whisper, “You’re home…”

Photos:
http://www.bostondesign.com/