I just read that in sclerotherapy, a liquid chemical is injected into a varicose vein to close it off, and in endovenous ablation therapy, lasers or radiowaves create heat to close off a varicose vein. Both of these procedures accomplish the same thing: they shut down certain unhealthy veins, and blood is thereby rerouted to other healthier veins. Perhaps I can use this knowledge as a metaphor for IKEA? And wouldn’t that be a cool, writerly slight of hand?
- At IKEA, customers flow through room after room after room, a labyrinth of functional, unpretentious, family-friendly and cheap-as-shit home furnishings and assorted accoutrement.
- These rooms are linked, not unlike our closed circulatory system. (A closed circulatory system means our blood never leaves our stringent network of arteries, veins and capillaries.)
- We, as customers, are also enticed to never (EVER) stray from IKEA’s closed circulatory system, especially without at least eight throw pillows, five lampshades, two bookcases, four shelving units, seven bar stools, three whisks, sixteen tea lights, twelve dish towels and an undisclosed, embarrassing amount of meatballs. (All with Swedish names I’m pretty sure translate to variations of “American douchebag” with a generous sprinkling of umlauts.)
- Once we select all we could possibly need and even more that we don’t need, we are herded to the basement, where we must pluck the bigger items on our desire lists (e.g., KIVIK sofa, in white, of course) off the warehouse shelves ourselves (yes, ourselves), put said items on special self-serve carts we navigate as inconspicuously as a pack of inebriated chimpanzees, and wait in the winding checkout lines brimming with wailing children and adults who have zero respect for anybody else’s personal space.
- No matter how long this quest takes and no matter how lingonberry-stained our forced smiles become, we begin to shut down the former belief that we wouldn’t ever have the means or the wherewithal to give our kitchens that total remodel or own one of those enormous wall clocks we assume cost at least five-hundred bucks elsewhere. Because, after all, time should be measured in the largest and boldest font possible.
- Slowly, almost without notice, this former mindset burns off. It shuts down. Our pessimistic home view has somehow been replaced with a healthier, more hopeful vision of an organized, immaculate abode. (Until we finally make it home and go about the task of putting all that cheap IKEA shit together.)
Okay, I admit, that metaphor might be a tad strained or missing in action. Sort of like what happens at IKEA. You go in for a duvet cover, and three hours later, you end up leaving with a complete kitchen cabinet system. You know, the one with the name that contains no vowels and comes with a free, one-year supply of cream sauce.
|Not from IKEA, but looks more stylish in blue. What kind of person buys a white leather sofa anyway?|