Green Couch
Are we considering the end of March 2020 “peak Covid”? If we’re calling it that, that’s where we’ll start. I’m sure you all remember the feeling well. Prime panic, zombie-apocalypse vibes. Aggressive stares if you walked your dog without a mask on or stood in a group outside with your roommates. Companies began to roll out “no-contact delivery”. Only essential stores were open. No one knew exactly how the virus was transmitted, so we were wiping down our grocery items in the driveway before we went into the house.
I had just quit my investment analyst job and was staying in central Florida in an empty house, worlds away from my carefully curated Miami Beach apartment and my 10 foot, baby pink, custom made curved couch. I loved that couch. It took 4 guys to get it upstairs and into that apartment, while my dad cussed and yelled “this is never leaving this apartment without a chainsaw”. I didn’t plan on ever switching out the couch, but sometimes things just speak to you- and one day, peak covid, as I sat in the singular piece of furniture (a broken papasan chair[1]) in that empty house in central Florida I scrolled into a Facebook marketplace listing that stopped me dead in my tracks. The image was of a green velvet couch, curvy (the way I like my couches), and oh so perfect for my Miami apartment. It was in Orlando with a $50 asking price. I sprinted outside to show my boyfriend the couch, my friends, my dog. I needed the couch. I could have the couch. It was only an hour and $50 away. It was a STEAL. My excitement was met with a resounding sigh from everyone I showed. Where would I put it? What would I do with the pink one? On and on, discouraging questions topped off with negativity. They didn’t share the vision. None of this could change the magnetic pull I felt towards the couch.
The couch listing burned a hole in my brain for weeks. Day after day, my couch was still for sale. I checked it every morning when I woke up and every night before I went to bed. I was like a dog with its nose pressed into the window frothing over the squirrel it can’t reach.
Two months later it still hadn’t sold. One morning, I decided it was time to try my case again. I would go get it, with or without their help. I would enlist whoever I could find once I got to Orlando and get it in the truck. In that exact instant, a Facebook notification popped up on my phone- then another. A listing price change. A listing title change. Before I could process it, a third notification. A listing I had been following was SOLD. After the couch had marinated for months, the seller finally checked for a maker's mark. The new listing price? $1500. The title? “Vladimir Kagan[2] Serpentine Sofa”. 3 minutes from this change it sold. Armed with this new information, I took to Google for the material I needed to make sure I would never suffer a loss like this again. The couch was still severely underpriced at $1500- listings for comparable Kagan's all marked sold on vintage resale sites showed prices in the low 5 digits.
Feelings were swirling through my body fueled by a Zyn[3] and an energy drink as I proclaimed to my boyfriend, my friends, my dog that I had impeccable taste and razor sharp design instincts. That they had all cost me a piece of history that I would never again have the opportunity to own at a mere $50 + gas. The heartbreak was countered by an ego boost like I’d never felt before.
For years after, all anyone needed to do was mention a couch- nay, be near one- and off to the races I went with this story. Each reenactment ended with my audience shaming my boyfriend, my friends, my dog for not answering my pleas for help to buy the couch when I found it the day it had been listed.
Despite having slipped through my fingers, the magic of the couch gave me a new set of powers to wield. My boyfriend, my friends, my dog were all ready to mobilize at the slightest mention of an item I had found for sale. Any time, any place, any size. They still never understood the aesthetic pull of any of these items, but trusted my instinct. Maybe it was the dollar signs that did it, or the emotional ride I took them on that was prohibitive of any of them ever saying “no” again- but I won’t ever ask any of them questions that could jeopardize the power I have held since.
photo credit: @whatevergallery
