A little back story: my mom is an antiques nut. She's well versed and knowledgeable on vintage furniture styles, dish patterns, silver companies, fabric types, etc. As such, most of my childhood was spent being dragged from antique store to antique store, whining, bitching, moaning, endlessly repeating "MOM YOU DON'T NEED THAT."
There were very few "new" pieces of furniture in our house, and my room was no exception. So when mom brought this giant vanity and armoire home, for me, I wasn't really impressed. I thought they were pretty, but I didn't care. I was 12. I was more concerned with why Anthony Canamella didn't want to french kiss me. Important business.
I can't remember why I got rid of them. I think it boiled down to beauty vs. functionality, and after a few moves, they were starting to fall apart. The armoire was donated, and I gave the vanity to my former sister-in-law. I thought she took it with her when she moved out, but the last I saw it, it was rotting away in my brother's driveway >:/
Now, though, that I'm older, I've really developed a love for old furniture. And I've missed my Deco stuff more and more over the last few years. I think that's because I've been surrounded by way too much modular Swedish design. So when I spotted this dresser last week, I didn't even stop to think. I didn't even stop to think that yes, I already have two dressers, and no need and no space for a third. But I didn't even think. I just ushered some nice old dudes to load it into mom's SUV.
So, I have a furniture problem. But it's a beautiful, antique furniture problem.
And now, without further ado, meet my new Art Deco dresser, found in the bowels of a Hoodbridge thirft shop:
yaaaaaaay! |
I don't have a closet, so I have two closet racks. Ghetto closets for the win. |
Mostly, though, I'm just excited to not have the wedding china in my room anymore. Oh, and now I have a classy place to store my movies:
Good times.
1 comment:
Hi, my name is Audrey and I want to live in a Craftsman House filled with Art Deco furniture complimented by the odd piece of IKEA. I can stop anytime. Honest. Trust me.
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