Carrie's Corner

Yesterday afternoon I watched an episode of Sex in the City for the first time in many years. Aside from some cringe worthy fashion picks on Ms. Bradshaw's part - don't get me wrong, some of them still make me swoon - I was more struck by the lasting allure of her stylish York City apartment. A fact I don't remember noticing as a 19 year old waitress perched on my mother's couch every Sunday night, watching the show in it's hey day. But then again, I was probably too enthralled with the gold horse shoe hanging from her neck or Aiden in bed to really give a damn. Yet taking a closer look, the appeal is evident to me now. Her place looks lived in. It spells Carrie in each and every corner, from the whimsical antique fabrics in her room, to the flea market accents she couples with studier mid-century staples in the sitting room. Leaning art keeps the feeling modern and light while stacks of books and well wrestled mags piled randomly around the place lend a warm touch to an otherwise slightly bare space. Seems to me the kind of spot we'd all love to hunker down, share a drink and spill our secrets.

Shopping bags, newspapers and rowed magazine archives great you at the door.
Ideal introduction if you ask me. 

Simple Shelving and matching frames lend a modern air while the makeshift radiator nightstand keep it quirky and fun. The rug, vintage bench and wicker basket give it a perfect dose of femininity. A balance consistent throughout the apartment. 

A striped down kitchen is a nod to the obvious. Carrie does not cook. And why should she, with all those fabulous spots to lunch with equally charming friends

The coffee table and her lighting feel practical yet unexpected. And who can forget the "Aiden Chair?" To this day it makes me weak in the knees to remember the handsome carpenter with a love for classic craftsmanship. Anyone?

The closet, being the heart of this home, embodies Carrie's ever restless spirit. Organized, but only to a certain extent. Rumpled enough to remind us of her endlessly enduring clothes horse nature.  

The bathroom feels almost too real, which is why I admire it so. Who doesn't love subway tile and flat irons living together in harmony?

Lastly, the place of contemplation. A classic NY brownstone, where cigarettes, tears, and goodbye kisses always seem to follow. Now that I think about it, I guess I do miss that show. . .