All around me, I see the same patterns. A chevron here, a clunky lattice or Moroccan trellis there. The world, it seems, has shrunk into a flat amalgam of inoffensive soft-toned rugs. And while I really hate to cause drama, I’m here to say that it needs to stop.
If you were lucky enough to read the New York Times this weekend, you got a glimpse into an emblematic New York story, a tale of woe familiar to anyone who’s ever struggled to make it in this harsh, costly city: A lady agreed to pay an insane amount of money to clean her Persian carpet and then her husband got mad.