A decade ago we picked an invoice number out of thin air: $9,750. Not $9,999, too corny. Not $10,000, too serious.
I still remember opening the envelope with that exact check inside. I should have framed it.
Special crystals, energy cleaning, tarot cards, prebiotic sodas, cold pressed juices. I lump them all into one expansive category I call things to ignore.
With one exception: manifestation.
It is impossible to attend Milan Design Week and not see the striving for greatness. The ambition is everywhere. It's a feeling.
A CEO once force fed me a compliment sandwich. It went something like: I like your beard, you are being a wimp about money, your ideas are great.
The World of Interiors publishes a lot of just horrible rooms. The photography is fan-fucking-tastic.
When companies started buying up those privacy pods, that was a clear signal the office was completely fucked.
