Design on TV: The City

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There’s a certain kind of stomach twisting feeling The City gives us that we find completely irresistible. It’s a combination of childlike glee and the kind of guilt that only happens when you consume a sleeve of pre-packaged cookies. And so, after a few weeks on the wagon, we binged ourselves on the wondrous life of Whitney Port. And the only way to scrub that soul-staining guilt is to talk to you about the apartments on the show and pretend like we watching for “research”.

Even in this dust bowl economy, the girls of La Ville are all good time Charlie — bright sunny colors and immaculate highlights.

This week we didn’t get to see too much of Whitney’s current crashpad for her boyfriend or her 12K custom couch — which we’re completely in love with even though it looks like it could have been crafted from bedsheets bought from Delia’s. But we could sketch her uber-modern, Rococo-infused one bedroom from memory (or DVR-ed episodes). Port opted for a seafoam green color for the walls, oddly Gothic art in the hallway, and small meaningful touches (like a classic porcelain urn in the middle of her dining table) to keep the room, which is really just an expanse of windows, light. It’s ungodly, unrealistic, and entirely covetable.

We did get a millisecond of token hipster Erin’s apartment, as she consoled the alien-faced model. Just once, won’t producers treat us to a pulled back look at the gallery of photos, artworks crafted by flannel-shirt wearing ex-boyfriends and Art.com snagged Oscar-posters that occupy the wall behind her slate-colored couch? It’s the mix of silver and gold frames that elevate what could be a tired Urban Outfitters style hodge-podge collection into a I’m-daring-and-fashionable place. Couple that with the Kermit-green kitchen wall and the black cabinets, and Erin is as hip as her feathered headband.

But it was this week’s brief glimpse into a DVF luncheon shindig that got us all primed for summer. Celebrating Olivia Palermo’s continued ability to boil blood across the nation, DVF threw a little get together with fashion rag Elle. The cocktails were served in a range of rainbow-hued Moroccan tea glasses, while the salads were ladled out of country-inspired serving dishes that tempered the global bazaar feel. The room was swathed in the kind of hot pink that Julia Allison paints her nails and seemingly endless white shelves filled with very visual magazines/books. Though it wasn’t all Devil Wears Prada; the floors had a nice mix of vintage rugs, and the artwork seemed a bit methodically random (classic Warhol-style photos of DVF herself coupled with photo prints). It was exactly the way we envisioned we’d have parties when we moved to New York: loads of glass people, imbibing perfectly-poured cocktails surrounded by décor that seems completely spur of the moment, yet impeccably chosen.

It’s that mix of high-gloss white lacquer with vintage threadbare rugs that somehow lures us in each week. The décor convinces us that somewhere beneath all that Muppet-straight blonde hair and high-fashion flash, Whitney Port is a real girl. She’s just like us. We’ll be best friends soon enough WP. Just call me. I promise I won’t be as hungover as Jay at Joe’s Ginger.