Everything's Coming Up Acid Wasp

We have discussed this before, but I have decided that Acid Wasp is like grandma chic if your grandmother were someone super cool and very trippy, like Keith Richards (not to be confused with Johnny Depp pretending to be Keith Richards, aka Pirate Wasp). Doesn't Keith Richards kind of look like your grandma, even? Just kidding, that would be highly insulting to grandmas everywhere. Anyway, I am derailing myself with this bizarre KR fixation. This post is about swank, traditional rooms. On acid.

The ruffles make it waspy, the art and colorblocking make it trippy.

A bedroom in the same home, owned by perfumer Frederic Malle. The wallpaper/quilt combo is just so outrageous.

This gift came via email from one of my OG blog buds Molly, who informed me this New York townhouse is for sale. In real life. I mean, you could buy this sweet pad (if you were packing 6 million B's). That couch is really changing the way I view craigslist... $100 chintz couches are more to scale with my budget.

Jason Nixon's home came to me from the always lovely Anita, who knew I would be blown away by the insanity. This is like acid AND mushroom wasp, with a heaping helping of everysingleotherdrugknowntoman on top.

I'm still on the fence as to whether Daphne Guinness' fabulous apartment fits into this mix. Maybe a little too fashion forward?

This Trad Home room is kind of the penultimate Acid Wasp design. Classy (not klassy) sofa in fancy Quadrille fabric: check. Amphora on the wall: check. A million mixed prints: check. I kind of find myself wishing the coffee table were something a bit more woody and traditional, though. Wtf is happening to me?

Notice I said penultimate, because this parlor in Robert Couturier's Soho loft is the ultimate Acid Wasp design. English rococo painting floating above a 50s zebra sofa? Genius. The red rug knocks me out, too.

So, what do you dudes think about all this wacky do stuff I've been posting? Do you yearn for the days of mid mod and 70s brass? Is it all a bit too too much?

I think that may be the point, though.

Architectural Digest Gone Wild!

Will you think less of me if I admit I'm a bit of a shelter mag virgin? Sure, I've been blogging art and interiors for going on three years now, but until recently I depended on the internet for my resources. Thanks to a generous holiday gift, I am now the proud owner of AD and Elle Decor subscriptions. I'm sure trees everywhere are throwing up their branches in disgust, but what can I say? I'm addicted to the glossies already. So I was pretty stoked to get AD. I mean, Margaret Russell at the helm = instant awesomeness, right? Well, my January issue arrived and I was bewildered. The February issue arrived and I was confounded. As it turns out, the current issue is the first with La Russell's indelible mark. So now the March issue has arrived and I've been full on flashed by naked drunken boobies -- metaphorically speaking, of course.

That's not a bad thing. I like boobies.

Heiress and tastemaker Daphne Guinness' New York apartment almost warrants two black bars to cover up the naughty bits. Guinness maintains her space combines, "the shine of Metropolis... with the lush flora of Suddenly, Last Summer... a sort of savage modernism." I have to say that I sort of scratched my head at her apartment until I read that sentence, and then everything just clicked into place for me. I won't post the rest of her home, but you can see it over at 2THEWALLS (a seriously fantastic blog).

Beyond the types of projects featured this month (a glorious home designed by Commune, among them), the biggest change that stands out to me is the photography. I swear, AD homes always looked like nothing so much as mausoleums, darkly photographed using only artificial light. Downright dead and dull.

With Thomas Loof on duty as principal photographer at Guinness' shoot, and the inimitable Francois Halard at the helm of Pierre Passebon's wild and wacky pad (designed in collaboration with Jacques Grange, no less), things are looking a lot brighter. Alive, even.

RIP, old AD. Boobies in your face.