First Floor

Design Experts

Richard writes the infamous queer blog His turn-ons include wainscoting, ZZ Top, and sharp-dressed men. Turn-offs: sectionals, pleated trousers, and pina coladas.

David K. publishes Nightcharm, the only gay porn site ever to be featured on Oprah and regularly compared to Martha Stewart Living.

Eric B. does not Facebook, Tweet or blog. He uses the internet to cruise for sex, like god intended. He has leopard print in every room of his house, save one. And he does not apologize

Heather Corinna is the undisputed diva of online erotica for chicks. She publishes and is a sex guru to thousands of teenagers.

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Richard: Lurid Digs has always cast its goggling, gimlet eye on dodgy design choices: terrifying sofas, unkempt bedrooms, Babylonian towers of tchotchkes, and so on. What we've never done is peek inside people's closets.

That's because closets are safe spaces where it's perfectly okay to stash the good china, the bad china, yesterday's laundry, and the cat food that you bought two weeks ago but haven't managed to stack in the pantry. Fuck the Container Store: a clean, uncluttered closet says that you've either got a very sick, homicidally inclined mind or you're a Republican housewife who arranges shoes alphabetically by designer to hide her self-loathing shame. You know which one you are, Melania.

But this? This is exactly what a closet should look like. (Though admittedly, it's the size of a $5,000-a-month studio in Tokyo.) The clothes are orderly, but not Patrick Bateman orderly. The clutter is appropriately cluttered. The color screams either "oops paint" from the Habitat for Humanity ReStore or "left by the previous owner". And the terrifying industrial carpeting is...well, wearing socks is advised.

But that's not all. The most laudable thing about this closet is that the owner has chosen to hide his most appalling possessions in here. If that tower computer, pressboard desk, and stolen-from-an-office-park swivel chair were in the bedroom, we'd be tsk-tsking so loud, the neighbors would think an army of cyborg raccoons had invaded the neighborhood. As it is, we consider placing those items out of sight a blessed act of charity. Move over, dearest Mommy Teresa: someone should nominate this homeowner for sainthood.



Stephen remarks:

All of your commentary would be great, except, unfortunately, this isn't his closet. It is his studio apartment that probably doesn't have an official "closet" so he has converted one corner with a rack to hang his clothes and a curtain to hide who knows what.

Mon, 12/19/2016 - 16:31

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David: I've never understood the application of shelving that is too small to actually shelve anything. What's the point? Though I guess the toy train set that's positioned above the homeowner's head is fitting, given the depth of the shelf -- but still, it just looks off to me and cheap. Aside from the alarming concern for the all blue walls and door, I've got to comment on the greasy mirror. It appears as though a gorilla has been practicing his kissing techniques with his own reflection, that or someone mistook a can of Pam for Windex and just gave up once he saw the error of his ways. And what about the mirror itself? Is this a sliding door from a closet ripped from its track and leaned up against a nearby wall. It looks that way, which might explain the tumbling out of clothing and plastic containers on the right.


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David: This is one of the oddest rooms we've encountered in quite a long time, and, well, we take pride in thinking we've "seen it all." The disaster quota is low here, but our displacement meters are maxing out all over the place. The initial vibe is that we are in a back room behind a florist shop, like maybe that black curtain leads to the front of the shop and mom is out there managing customers. Ew. The strange growths contained in the old giant mayonnaise containers are creepy, in a Little Shop of Horrors sort of way. Or maybe these are young Louis Pasteurs dreaming big of curing cancer or chlamydia. Still, we recommend that those go back in the kitchen somewhere (if there is a kitchen) or the laboratory down in the dungeon. Also, do some extreme knick-knack filtering. At a certain age you don't want to promote the idea that you just hang out at carnivals collecting prizes for throwing darts at balloons or ping-pong balls into tiny goldfish bowls. The fact that both men are on their phones while fucking is another bit of tragic fallout from our tech and hookup age. Whatever happened to good old romance and sex experienced with focused intensity? I know that's not an 'interiors' issue, but I couldn't help but ask. Am I right?


The Shelf

KenKay remarks:

So, like, are those a collection of Soaky Toys on the shelf in back of him? The heads screw off and there was bubble bath inside. If so, those are valuable collectibles. Probably his mom's.

Mon, 10/17/2016 - 00:18

Behind the Little Shop of Horrors

butchvlr remarks:

One of the first thins I noticed, almost immediately after the two Good Ol' Boys screwing their brains out on the mattress and boxspring laid on the floor of course, was the cheap ceramic skull on the lower shelf of the 4-shelfer by the door with a...what? Candle?...stuck in it. Those who tend to employ skulls as any sort of design element are those one usually is best not to spend the whole night with....just a feeling.

The framed "selfie" above the mattress and box spring is a bit off-putting as well. More so if it's not of the two men we see here but of the one guy and his significant other. It takes a certain amount of chutzpah to cheat with a photo of you and the boyfriend gazing down on the shenanigans.

Sun, 11/27/2016 - 14:16

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Richard: At my elementary school, we were taught to be "normal". To get that point across, our teachers relied on drawings of bedrooms, stadiums, and shopping malls, each labeled with the same question: "What's wrong with this picture?"

I was pretty good in school, but I bombed on exercises like those. My responses were usually like, "Sure, that portrait of George Washington is upside-down, but perhaps that was the artist's intent." Or, "Yes, there's an elephant drinking from a water fountain beside the Chess King, but is that morally wrong--apart from the presence of Chess King?"

I have half a mind to send them this photo and see how they respond. Among they things they'd surely point out:

1. Laundry on the floor? Definitely not normal!

2. Miss Piggy and Gonzo? Boys don't play with dolls!

3. A bird attacking a deer wearing a wig? Not unless we're at a Bennigan's!

4. A bicycle indoors? Bikes belong outside, like dogs, children, and outhouses!

They'd never spot the real problem: the broken, leftover mirror from a shabby-chic chifforobe leaning against the wall, just waiting to rip someone's blouse. Nor would they spot the piece de resistance: a painting of the one, the only, the truly outrageous Jem above the hutch.

Fucking cretins.


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Eric: My hatred for shiny wooden walls is well-documented. Scroll waaaaaaaay back to "I Never Met A Mancave I Didn't Loathe" if you have the strength and/or you need a refresher.

Seriously, whitewash that shit. Then you have options-- gentrified rustic, industrial, country house, seaside charmer...

While the slate is blank, gather up the existing wall adornments (particularly the bizarre 'scab' coatrack and Blair Witch crucifix) and group them elsewhere. The wall over the trashcan on the back porch would be perfect.

For some reason. this room cries out to me for some '60s homespun craftiness. Macramé, beads, bamboo, yarn art, whatever. Pick your 3 favorite colors and tie-dye duvet and pillow covers. Tension rods and café curtain clip bandannas for the window.

I do like the bedside chest. Remove the placemat and power strip that's camouflaging it and let it be free to be itself.

Mirrors get their feeling of worth from what they reflect. This poor fella should be moved to the opposite wall and joined by three to five more for a view worth reflecting.

And speaking of the bed, there's plenty of space here for one large enough for encounters both solo and group. Spread your wings and fly, child of the universe. That's copacetic.


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