Let’s all raise our glasses. Mr. 1980 is officially sold. He’s in good hands now. I can’t say much more and I’m sure you’ve all heard enough. At this point I’m the friend that goes on and on about how great the guy is; you’ve heard every detail from build up to break up; and I’m well aware of the reminiscing that comes and goes. I’m not trying to be insensitive here. I pride myself on being a good friend and having them. We all want to rah rah on the people we love and be a shoulder to cry on when they need us, but even I know there’s been enough blah blah blah about Mr. 1980. He was a great love…time to turn the page.
As you know, I’ve been crushing on a new Mr. I’ve been thinking about him nonstop and the only reason we haven’t gotten serious is pure logistics. Like Vivian says to Edward, “that’s just geography”. There’s more to starting something meaningful with these men then knowing they’re well located, have great bones and an upside. I loathe logistics. If I could wave my magic real estate wand, the world of 1962 would never wait. I’d sprinkle this town with as much mid-century modern, inspired love as I could. I’d be the floozy singing, “you got me workin, workin day and night”, because it doesn’t feel like work at all. Turning trick after trick would never get old…when it comes to these guys.
Life can be pretty ironic and tragically disappointing all at once…define tragic here in the most dramatic love affair kind of way. I get a call this week which leads me to an investor ready to move on my crush. He’s anxious to start a project and interested in talking details. I’m giddy. The familiar feelings start to bubble up. Excitement, nervousness, hopefulness…I’m a soda can about to pop. Scenes flash through my mind: months and months of alone time measuring, contemplating and raising him up…literally, the circular wall I have drawn over and over, sculptured cactus gardens and built-in benches, the sunset cocktail deck, a south grassy lawn, kitchen ideas galore, bathroom hardware perfection, terrazzo love, hex love, cement tile, pivoting doors…I’m a kid looking into one of those view master things and I can’t stop clicking.
Irony usually hits you pretty hard. Here’s where it hit me…investor says, “I love Franch”. “Excuse me?” I say politely. He repeats, “Franch. It’s sellable and everyone likes it”. I take a deep breath, a pin out and pop every brightly colored balloon over my head…and there were a lot of them. “Well sir, French inspired is lovely and I’m sure it will be a beautiful home.” I stopped myself right there. There was no need to go on about that particular style being better for the more lush, traditional parts of town. No need to unleash my passion for the modern transitional being in high demand, on trend and timeless if done right. I certainly wasn’t going to throw a Hail Mary and describe what I believe this house should be…a Palm Springs, Frank Sinatra dream with a Homes by 1962 twist. If Franch is his thing, then Franch it will be. Pour me a stiff one please.
Don’t misunderstand me. I love and appreciate all types of architecture. I grew up in an architecturally diverse, symphony of gorgeousness (see “Nice to Meet You”) and I’m still awed by varying styles today. Homes by 1962 is what it is. I have to stay true to the style and vibe that I’m passionate about. It would be like opting for the traditional fit when you know you look kick ass in the skinnies. And speaking of jeans…it would be like my talented friend who was asked to do an infomercial for sweat pant jeggings but couldn’t bring herself to say yes for a buck…a lot of them actually. She said no thank you regardless of the reassurance that it would never be aired in the U.S. Good move on her part. Could have been career suicide. I saw the infomercial the other night. They lied. I can’t pretend Homes by 1962 is about a French influenced ranch, just like she can’t pretend to be a sweat pant jeggings kind of gal. I am living, breathing, building and writing Homes by 1962…inspired by the mid-century modern style.
Be true to you people. No one does you better than you. You make life interesting to the people who know you, people who meet you and even to the people who may not get you. We can’t all pretend to be California Cool, Spanish Colonial, Contemporary, Ranch Revival, Mediterranean, Mexican Hacienda, Coastal, French influenced or even Mid-Century Modern…gasp. We love what we love and we are who we are. When you do you, you do the world a big favor by adding your own flavor. Doesn’t the world taste much better that way? Who drools biting into bland?
I’m still holding out hope. I’m an eternal optimist. This isn’t a done deal. Someone could swoop in and logistics could come together. If my Palm Springs, Frank Sinatra with a Homes by 1962 twist doesn’t happen for this guy, I’ll be serving that cocktail straight up for another. The glass is always half full. Drink up and order another round. This party’s not over.