Presenting the antique "unteak" coffee table...
Question: when is a fake not a fake?
Answer: when you really like it.
Celia has a ring that people think is Pilgrim.
Sabine has a pair of Payless ”Converse.”
We have a coffee table that looks Danish.
What makes these purchases more genuine to me than, say, a fake Burberry scarf is that the ring, the sneakers, and the table are appreciated not because of what they look like but because of how they look.
But let’s back up. Once upon a time a boy and a girl bought an apartment in southern Sweden. They had dreams—big dreams—of leaving the early-twenties world of unframed posters and kitschy knickknacks behind and decorating their pad to fit their older mid-late twenties selves. Frames! Silver flatware! A piano! And, most difficult to come by, an appropriate coffee table.
How hard could that be, you ask? Go to Ikea and buy one, you say. Oh no no. Let me repeat: mid-late twenties, Sweden, fairly stylish (or at least I’d like to think so). That could only mean TEAK! DANISH! 1950s or 60s! Yes, we’re predictable, and we were reminded of that everytime we went into a furniture store and saw our bizarro selves looking at the same tables that we were looking at.
It’s not hard to find the kind of coffee table we were after, but that’s the problem. Furniture sellers in Malmö know that Amys and Eriks all over the city are willing to pay half their month’s salary for their perfect little slab of teak. Well not this Amy and Erik. Or rather, not this Amy. Call it faux rebellion, call it cheap, but I just couldn’t bring myself to pay 200 dollars for a table that, with a little time, access to a car, and distance from a city, you could probably find for a fraction of the price. At least not while unemployed.
So we waited--until Saturday morning, when I saw a table online that looked perfect. It was only 200 kronor (a mere 25 dollars). It was also a half-hour drive away and the picture of it was rather grainy. Still, I demanded that we persevere. Erik called the seller. ”Ask if it’s teak!” I whispered. ”Is it teak?” Erik asked. ”It’s very nice,” she responded. Hmmm.
We borrowed a car and we drove out of Malmö. We listened to a bad cd, we ate some m&m cookies that I brought along for a snack, and, eventually, we arrived at the overflowing, small apartment of a friendly woman on her way to a party. I saw immediately that the table was a fake. Sure it looks like DANISH! TEAK! but it’s not. I conquered my mild disappointment by reminding myself that it was still the style we were looking for (teak or not), that it had nice lines, a shelf for books, and was 25 dollars.
Back in Malmö, I set up our new table while Erik returned the car. A few candles, some oversized books and favorite magazines, and voila!, there it was, finally: a coffee table that we like. And because we like it, not just what it’s copying, it doesn't really feel like a fake anymore.
(Next project: a new rug for under the un-fake coffee table.)
Answer: when you really like it.
Celia has a ring that people think is Pilgrim.
Sabine has a pair of Payless ”Converse.”
We have a coffee table that looks Danish.
What makes these purchases more genuine to me than, say, a fake Burberry scarf is that the ring, the sneakers, and the table are appreciated not because of what they look like but because of how they look.
But let’s back up. Once upon a time a boy and a girl bought an apartment in southern Sweden. They had dreams—big dreams—of leaving the early-twenties world of unframed posters and kitschy knickknacks behind and decorating their pad to fit their older mid-late twenties selves. Frames! Silver flatware! A piano! And, most difficult to come by, an appropriate coffee table.
How hard could that be, you ask? Go to Ikea and buy one, you say. Oh no no. Let me repeat: mid-late twenties, Sweden, fairly stylish (or at least I’d like to think so). That could only mean TEAK! DANISH! 1950s or 60s! Yes, we’re predictable, and we were reminded of that everytime we went into a furniture store and saw our bizarro selves looking at the same tables that we were looking at.
It’s not hard to find the kind of coffee table we were after, but that’s the problem. Furniture sellers in Malmö know that Amys and Eriks all over the city are willing to pay half their month’s salary for their perfect little slab of teak. Well not this Amy and Erik. Or rather, not this Amy. Call it faux rebellion, call it cheap, but I just couldn’t bring myself to pay 200 dollars for a table that, with a little time, access to a car, and distance from a city, you could probably find for a fraction of the price. At least not while unemployed.
So we waited--until Saturday morning, when I saw a table online that looked perfect. It was only 200 kronor (a mere 25 dollars). It was also a half-hour drive away and the picture of it was rather grainy. Still, I demanded that we persevere. Erik called the seller. ”Ask if it’s teak!” I whispered. ”Is it teak?” Erik asked. ”It’s very nice,” she responded. Hmmm.
We borrowed a car and we drove out of Malmö. We listened to a bad cd, we ate some m&m cookies that I brought along for a snack, and, eventually, we arrived at the overflowing, small apartment of a friendly woman on her way to a party. I saw immediately that the table was a fake. Sure it looks like DANISH! TEAK! but it’s not. I conquered my mild disappointment by reminding myself that it was still the style we were looking for (teak or not), that it had nice lines, a shelf for books, and was 25 dollars.
Back in Malmö, I set up our new table while Erik returned the car. A few candles, some oversized books and favorite magazines, and voila!, there it was, finally: a coffee table that we like. And because we like it, not just what it’s copying, it doesn't really feel like a fake anymore.(Next project: a new rug for under the un-fake coffee table.)
posted by Amylou at 12:18 PM
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