I’ve always envied the Europeans’ Je ne sais quoi ability when it comes to fashion (ie: how come their old jeans and a scarf look so much chicer than any outfit I might try to assemble with money and forethought?) but when I saw it effortlessly turned to home design I started to get a little irked.
At a recent shoot at style icon Carolina Irving’s charming Manhattan apartment, the Paris-educated beauty of Venezuelan parents answered the door with the casual aplomb of someone who makes house slippers look like Manolo Blahniks. In fact, Carolina was wearing slippers but they were of a yummy tangerine leather variety that looked right at home with her slouchy yet flattering jeans, unadorned, beautiful face and tousled hair caught in a ponytail that made my blow dried do feel so overdone. When it went came time for her portrait, her dog (who was camera-ready without being pretentious) simply jumped next to her on the sofa and together, with their genuine smiles, they were cover-worthy. When Carolina realized she was wearing slippers, she worried they’d be in the shot. But of course, who didn’t want them in the shot? They embodied everything her home was about: adherence to what felt and looked great and glamour that came from innate confidence that never took life too seriously. It was in fact the opposite of “Je ne sais quoi” but instead: “I love this piece of red coral and if I want to suspend it from black ribbon and tack it next to a massive 18th century portrait framed in gold, then so be it.” If my husband came home and saw such antics, I would most likely be served with divorce papers. But with Carolina, inspiration never seemed forced for effect. This is after all, someone who is perfectly content to move piles of paper, paint and books away from her desk to make room for a seated dinner party. There wasn’t a lot of room in this apartment yet she had-through the use of her glorious textiles and whimsical details- made it feel as spacious as any castle. When we went to book a time to chat on the phone about the story, she encouraged me to call her anytime that was convenient to me over the holiday. I suggested one day and she said, “Great, I’ll be in Beirut.” The next day, it was Egypt. I had no idea where she kept her suitcases in that glorious space of hers but I knew that, whatever she’d pull out of them to help find whatever treasure caught her eye next, it would look perfectly rumpled, picture perfect and at home.