The (Un)fulfillment Of A Makeover
What does your stuff say about you? Plus, a must-watch Zoomer-Boomer show.
A few months ago I renovated my apartment. It was a long-time coming. As I’ve written here before, my relationship to the space is complicated. It’s the home of my adolescence, the apartment I shared with my late mom for almost 18 years.
I never planned to call it home as an adult. But then the pandemic happened, I lost my job at Buzzfeed and visa to get me back to NYC. I found myself trapped in a treasure box (or a grave, depending on the day) of memories. Even worse, the family I rented to during the years I spent in NYC trashed the place, tinging everything with a sense of violation—from the splintering hardwood floor, to the baby food-filled couch, to the mysterious brown stains on the baseboards. I dealt with it by dissociating. But after almost a year in lockdown, I’d had enough and bit the bullet.
The stripped down hardwood was overlaid with a light birch, the turquoise walls of my teen bedroom were painted over in a bright yellow, the cracked…