What do I look like?
 

 

I work in an elegant and trendy concept store showcasing curated design pieces, rich coloured walls, vintage and modern furniture, handwoven carpets, textured textiles, pure linen bedsheets, hand painted ceramics, mouth blown vases, fresh handpicked flowers, coffee table books, perfumed candles and soft lighting. In the midst of an utterly banal afternoon, a perfectly sane looking lady walked straight towards me, looked me in the eyes, and exclaimed out of the blue:

“I love your style! I love the way you look! I want my flat to look like you!”

 

Surely, I misunderstood - or got lost in translation - but as I remain speechless, she repeats herself:

“I want my flat to look like you!”

 

She is mesmerized. I am bewildered.

 

What is my style? What do I look like? Where should I start?

My bone structure? The tone of my skin? The shade and texture of my hair? The colour of my eyes?

I have green eyes and straight chestnut hair. I was wearing nude makeup under a pair of tortoiseshell eyewear, a silk blend blouse in a blush-coloured tone, skinny indigo jeans, a pair of low boots in a tan brown suede, and no jewellery.

 

“I want my flat to look like you.”

 

There once was a man who mistook his wife for a hat, so I can look like a flat!

What would it look like? How many rooms would there be? What does she see when she looks at me?

Bathroom’s green tiles? Chestnut wooden floors? Nude painted walls? A set of tortoiseshell table and chairs? Silk blend curtains in a blush-coloured tone? An indigo daybed and a pair of armchairs in a tan brown suede? No cushions, no candles, no vases, and bare walls?

 

My mind is flooding with an endless stream of what? would? and how?

How would she feel? and would she feel it in my bones?

Would she feel my steps under her feet?

Would she softly glide the tips of her fingers on the walls of my skin?

Would she smell my hair in the creases of the silk curtains?

Would she feel my lap under her cheek when she is falling asleep?

Would she see my eyes in the bathroom tiles?

Would she bathe in my tears?

 

“I want my flat to look like you.”

 

The next morning as I dress up, I take great care in my outfit.

I slip into curtains cut into a thin ginger striped cotton shirt, a sofa upholstered in rust corduroy trousers and an armchair in a cream cashmere jumper.

I paint my nails with freshly cut tulips and put some red on my lips.

I wrap an Indian rug around my neck and place a felt lampshade on my head.

I make my way out walking with poise on candlesticks.

 

A quirky smile on my mouth, today I want to look like a house.