Each month I look forward to the new issue of NZ House and Garden. I love getting lost in the sumptuous interiors of other people's houses.
Occasionally, the homeowners will say something mildly pretentious but mostly the magazine is enjoyable from cover to cover.
I don't know why I got so worked up over this month's issue but I have a theory that I've actually transferred my ire from the "Me Too" backlash onto an unrelated subject.
I think I've reached a point where I can't handle one more French second wave feminist saying women should do more to defend themselves and that in their day it was all just harmless flirting and sexy fun. The fact that Bardot and Deneuve want to construct an alternative reality where all the groping and objectifying that happened to them was flattering doesn't mean the rest of us have to go along with it. If we did, the same behavior would be allowed to continue unchecked and that's simply not an option anymore.
And I'm over a certain type of man who whines that he won't be able to go anywhere near women anymore because he won't feel safe. As if we are the problem- a nest of pit vipers waiting to strike over the slightest glance. In fact, the problem is with the men who have for far too long been able to touch without consent, physically and verbally abuse, leer at and demean women with no consequences. Many of these actions have taken place in the office where there is a distinct power imbalance. To stand up for oneself is to risk retaliation.
What these men are moaning about is a social change that will require them to quit acting like creeps.
Fucking boo hoo.
The February issue started out solid. The first featured home was filled with mid century modern furniture imported from Denmark and had some clever use of Orla Kiely's stem print.
Then I noticed the wall art. There's a print by JH Lynch hanging in the dining room. It features a topless woman with bouffant hair lounging in the crotch of a tree. It has a sickly green blue tint to it and appears faded, as if it were left in the sun too long.
Why? Why would someone ruin the beauty of their home with a print that looks like it was first used in a Bordello in the 70s to "class up the joint?"
But the real outrage came on page 34 where I discovered the uber pretentious Guittenit family. They were notable for building a tiny house and squeezing five people into it.
The words "minimalist aesthetics" and "harmonious interactions" are used by the writer.
Paterfamilias and native of France, Francois said "It's a pleasure to have constant connections with each other, always showing an interest in each other's lives. It works really well."
Noticeably absent from this conversation are the voices of the Guittenit's three children Poppy, Francis and LouLou.
No one asked them how they liked being stacked into three tiered bunk beds next to the tiny bathroom where the place reeks every time pa Francois does le shit.
Francis' bed is partially covered by one of his sisters so it's like a little coffin.
Directly above the children is a loft where their parents sleep. I wonder if the poor children "take pleasure" in the interactions of their dad rocking the mattress above and muttering, "Oh oui, oui! Tu aimes ca?" to their mother.
I'm struck by the fact that the potted plant in the living room/kitchen/creative hub has more personal space than the three human children.
On the same plot of land which was perfectly able to support a larger home, Francois and Sarah have an ample workshop where they can pursue whatever crafty white person wellness activity takes their fancy.
Both Sarah and Francois describe their spaces as "honest." Francois says of the house, "It's an honest space that is just as much the children's as it is ours." Sarah says of that the workshop is, "busy, honest and slightly chaotic."
I suppose the house does have a sort of honesty. From the outside it looks like it's too small for five people and the interior photographs confirm this. Honesty!
The workshop tells an honest story about two people who selfishly crammed their entire family into a tiny joke of a house and then made sure they had plenty of personal space to escape to. Honesty!
If you hadn't yet realized that the Guittenit family is better than you there is the helpful Q and A box where Sarah says, "In the next ten years I'd like to reflect on the meaningful and enriching season of balance; embrace our children's home-based education with our work/life balance."
What she should really be thinking about is what will happen when her two daughters hit growth spurts, get their periods and still have to sleep in shoe box-sized beds in a room they share with their brother.
There's limited storage space in the tiny house but I'm betting that in one of the drawers Sarah keeps a jade yoni egg that she ordered off of Gwyneth Paltrow's website "Goop."
A photo caption informs us that the house has a hidden television screen so the children can watch documentaries on line.
The young Guittenits require a carefully curated upbringing where any stray thoughts such as "is living this way normal?" and "are my parents batshit?" are kept at bay.
So my question is this: Am I really angry at these smug bastards and their minuscule homestead or am I projecting my rage stirred up by a long overdue movement?
It's so hard to tell.
Occasionally, the homeowners will say something mildly pretentious but mostly the magazine is enjoyable from cover to cover.
I don't know why I got so worked up over this month's issue but I have a theory that I've actually transferred my ire from the "Me Too" backlash onto an unrelated subject.
I think I've reached a point where I can't handle one more French second wave feminist saying women should do more to defend themselves and that in their day it was all just harmless flirting and sexy fun. The fact that Bardot and Deneuve want to construct an alternative reality where all the groping and objectifying that happened to them was flattering doesn't mean the rest of us have to go along with it. If we did, the same behavior would be allowed to continue unchecked and that's simply not an option anymore.
And I'm over a certain type of man who whines that he won't be able to go anywhere near women anymore because he won't feel safe. As if we are the problem- a nest of pit vipers waiting to strike over the slightest glance. In fact, the problem is with the men who have for far too long been able to touch without consent, physically and verbally abuse, leer at and demean women with no consequences. Many of these actions have taken place in the office where there is a distinct power imbalance. To stand up for oneself is to risk retaliation.
What these men are moaning about is a social change that will require them to quit acting like creeps.
Fucking boo hoo.
The February issue started out solid. The first featured home was filled with mid century modern furniture imported from Denmark and had some clever use of Orla Kiely's stem print.
Then I noticed the wall art. There's a print by JH Lynch hanging in the dining room. It features a topless woman with bouffant hair lounging in the crotch of a tree. It has a sickly green blue tint to it and appears faded, as if it were left in the sun too long.
Why? Why would someone ruin the beauty of their home with a print that looks like it was first used in a Bordello in the 70s to "class up the joint?"
But the real outrage came on page 34 where I discovered the uber pretentious Guittenit family. They were notable for building a tiny house and squeezing five people into it.
The words "minimalist aesthetics" and "harmonious interactions" are used by the writer.
Paterfamilias and native of France, Francois said "It's a pleasure to have constant connections with each other, always showing an interest in each other's lives. It works really well."
Noticeably absent from this conversation are the voices of the Guittenit's three children Poppy, Francis and LouLou.
No one asked them how they liked being stacked into three tiered bunk beds next to the tiny bathroom where the place reeks every time pa Francois does le shit.
Francis' bed is partially covered by one of his sisters so it's like a little coffin.
Directly above the children is a loft where their parents sleep. I wonder if the poor children "take pleasure" in the interactions of their dad rocking the mattress above and muttering, "Oh oui, oui! Tu aimes ca?" to their mother.
I'm struck by the fact that the potted plant in the living room/kitchen/creative hub has more personal space than the three human children.
On the same plot of land which was perfectly able to support a larger home, Francois and Sarah have an ample workshop where they can pursue whatever crafty white person wellness activity takes their fancy.
Both Sarah and Francois describe their spaces as "honest." Francois says of the house, "It's an honest space that is just as much the children's as it is ours." Sarah says of that the workshop is, "busy, honest and slightly chaotic."
I suppose the house does have a sort of honesty. From the outside it looks like it's too small for five people and the interior photographs confirm this. Honesty!
The workshop tells an honest story about two people who selfishly crammed their entire family into a tiny joke of a house and then made sure they had plenty of personal space to escape to. Honesty!
If you hadn't yet realized that the Guittenit family is better than you there is the helpful Q and A box where Sarah says, "In the next ten years I'd like to reflect on the meaningful and enriching season of balance; embrace our children's home-based education with our work/life balance."
What she should really be thinking about is what will happen when her two daughters hit growth spurts, get their periods and still have to sleep in shoe box-sized beds in a room they share with their brother.
There's limited storage space in the tiny house but I'm betting that in one of the drawers Sarah keeps a jade yoni egg that she ordered off of Gwyneth Paltrow's website "Goop."
A photo caption informs us that the house has a hidden television screen so the children can watch documentaries on line.
The young Guittenits require a carefully curated upbringing where any stray thoughts such as "is living this way normal?" and "are my parents batshit?" are kept at bay.
So my question is this: Am I really angry at these smug bastards and their minuscule homestead or am I projecting my rage stirred up by a long overdue movement?
It's so hard to tell.
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