The Third Personality

Freedom from desire is perhaps the ultimate freedom, but also: hunting/gathering produces real pleasure, every once in awhile

You know how you just have to get something out of your system? One Louis Vuitton year—2002—Marc Jacobs made red-satin-slingback flats that ignited a fire within me. Even though I could anticipate the satin scuffing instantly and irreparably upon contact with, say, a cobblestone, and even though I could never really get a slingback to grip the back of my foot in such a way that I might walk normally, there was nothing to do but search wildly, then breathlessly purchase. Here they still are, unscathed after 24 years because I can count on two fingers the number of times I attempted to wear them:

Do I regret buying these practically-never-worn slingbacks? I do not. They embody some platonic ideal of beauty and style for me; I love the fact that they exist.

The end-stage end-times consumer culture of now inspires a markedly less-rabid desire in me than in the more innocent days of overconsumption. But every so often something comes over me.

In the early weeks of the pandemic, I watched the first few episodes of Bridgerton, then came upon this pink silk, puff-sleeve, smocked empire fantasia from Doen. The dress would best suit a dreamy, princess-fixated 6-year-old; a 9-year-old would probably be like, hmmm, I think I’m past that stage, tempting though it is. But momentarily hopped up on Bridgerton hormones, I could not resist.

Sometimes the thing on the website is different when it arrives in person, but this dress was exactly what I’d thought it was; it is precisely what I desired and absolutely gorgeous. I’ve worn it exactly once, when I needed a princess costume for a Halloween party. But I cannot get over it. (btw, if you’re looking for an alt, Doen has this sexier, blithe-heiress version that I’d definitely get more actual wear out of.)

Somehow more embarrassingly, the specter of the Haastens mattress has played upon my mind for longer than I’m prepared to say. The Haastens can cost over $100,000; you can get one for $10,000. Either model comes upholstered in the brand’s signature jaunty-Scandinavian, blue-checked fabric. I lingered as I walked past a Haastens store, and I paused on the gorgeous Haastens advertisements as I paged through World of Interiors, but also knew I could not countenance such a thing.

But on the hunt for linen sheets for the summer (there is no sensory/ASMR delight that even approaches the feeling of sleeping between worn-in linen sheets), I landed on something even more satisfying to me than the Haastens: blue-checked, OEKO-TEX®-certified, yarn-dyed European linen sheets on Quince.

Delivered, washed twice, and made up on my bed, they astound me anew every time I consider them. Not only do they totally scratch the jaunty-Scandinavian, blue-checked itch for an infinitesimal fraction of the cost, but the linen aspect represents a seriously-life-enhancing bonus.

Do I live in a scrupulously-edited Scandinavian palace with a bedroom featuring only bare-bones-beautiful architecture and a bed with a simple, blue-checked mattress? I do not, but I feel like I do when I get in between these sheets. HEAVEN.