The new Ikea catalog arrived yesterday. Is it me or have they turned over their design to some crazed Swedish goth intern? My new catalog feels more Hitchcock and “Vogue Editorial” than “Affordable purchases for people who wish they could fix their out-of-control lives.”
Ikea’s gone from cute girls in a colorful apartment (top, 2015) to psychotic butcher knives that think they’re actually vegetables (check out that shadow) and this recurring weird backdrop thing, which makes me think they couldn’t afford an editor to crop the photos properly (bottom, 2016).
Suddenly, they’ve transitioned from simple product images inspiring you to simplify and organize your life to a kind of nightmare clutter scenario where all reason has fled and you apparently must buy every product available from the company and store them in the open without drawers, cupboard doors, or any break in sanity.
Look at that poor woman standing at that kitchen island. Her entire body communicates the tenseness from barely having a spare inch of counter space, banging her knees against all the junk on the two shelves, the shame of putting your dishes out for public viewing. Inside, she’s screaming “I will never get my life under control and it’s all IKEA’s fault! For just $499!”
(By the way, I love the LED light at the middle of the right page of the 2015 catalog. Mine is black, not red, and it’s perfect between my two computer monitors. Folds up out of the way when not in use.)
Apparently 2016 is the year of dark spaces, drawn blinds, and Carmen cosplay. You can pretend to die of consumption in the gloomy shadows of your living room, while dressed in red and practicing ballroom in the (perhaps) 2 square meters of space between couches.
And can you think of anything scarier than your sofa actually being your home. Last year, a beautiful, open plan living room, with a family happily getting work done on the laptop and reading to a kid. They seem happy, their plants seem happy, the lightness and brightness no doubt makes them feel free and open and relaxed. Compare that to this year.
No, Ikea, a sofa is not the home. And who are all those strange people who wandered into this poor woman’s life just to stare at and harass her?
Here’s Elsa. Elsa thought she’d have a lovely relaxing time, putting up her feet before picking up the kids and stopping by an organic locally sourced market for take out to eat while perched on a variety of ottomans and sleeper couches.
Who would ever have expected an entire gang from Twitter to take up residence on the other side of her monster sofa, laughing at her, mocking her, and critiquing her lounging style. That gang of four sure think Elsa is a hoot. And all at the same time, creepy Helmut from down the road just stares at Elsa with unrequited longing. I think perhaps he’s humming ska songs from the 1980s to her.
Poor Elsa. This is what comes of living in the middle of a photographic studio, without doors to keep out strangers, no storage for clothing, a ragtag group of floating sofas for the young ones to sleep upon, and three mysterious remote controls to remind her a time when she had a real house to call home.
Oh Ikea. It’s time to say goodbye to 2015, with its misty bright hopes for a world of knotty pine. 2016 has arrived with its dark bleak dystopian furniture and a bookshelf that looks like an insurance liability court case ready to happen.
(As a side note, I had no idea that sleeper sofas crept out of their homes while we were at work to embrace that secret 24-hour life. It must get crowded at the bowling alley and at the local microbrewery when affordable furniture sits around, drinking lager, and sharing the stories you thought were kept secret.)