Interior Design of the Damned, That 70s 'Ho! Rating Options

[PalePhoenix]

For years (thirty, in fact, so no copyrights apply), two decorating books occupied a special place in my grandmother's home. Until her passing last year, these coffee-table habitués stayed squared to the corners, dust-free, and hermetically sealed in the 'Mausoleum of the Matriarch.' She only wished she could have decked out her abode in such horrifying splendor.

My mother, I suppose, took a stab at this Singularly Seventies Style, though suburban incomes prohibited the purchase of complete rooms, and the life that appeared to come to a crashing halt within. This was the precursor to Pier One, IKEA's wet dream. There was Lucite, and shag, and herds of whatever creature gave naugahyde.

This and the next few entries will bring to you the only thing I love more than grotestque furniture: Making fun of grotesque furniture, since you were big pimpin' if this shizzle was up in your crib. In the spirit of a dull, soulless future--as envisioned by the designers of that Bicentennial Decade--I bring you a visual feast.

I bring you...Roche-Bobois. Be very afraid.



Yes, folks. It begins innocently enough. There are still a few clues here to let you know what you're in for. First off, it would appear the Seventies jet set liked to clutter up every available surface. That's right. If you didn't have your fake Chinese lacquer just swarming with tchotchkes, Zelda Nelson from Apartment 11G clucked disapprovingly and asked how your macramé was coming along.

Another thing to notice: that pleasant, thermonuclear glow from the window. One thing that seems to fix this decade in the collective consciousness--and the millions of photos which documented it--everything seemed to occur in a jaundiced haze, the thinnest whisper of nicotene on every surface, in every pore.

[PalePhoenix]

Ah, safe at last. Or are we? I think the photographer here got his motivation all wrong. He's thinking, "I'm a child-eating ogre, and if I lurk here behind this hideous wicker chaise where only the little girl can see me, her eyes will dart wildly in my direction in an attempt to warn her oblivious parents!"

The bed's low, the quilt's high. It's Bizarro World! Mom and Dad will quaff their Smirnoff-laced OJ and give their french-braided darling her first taste of caffeine. She may well run in terror, but there'll be no solace for her today...