Walking about town the other day, I allowed myself to veer in the direction of Society, a bedding store that I’ve only ever let myself admire from outside. I usually salivate a bit at the beautiful linens just out of my wallet’s reach, and opt instead for a more reasonably priced espresso. But this time, it was not so simple to walk away. The window display was outdoing itself. There was just too much luscious stuff to take in: texture, color, softness, roughness…dyed, natural, deep, light…carmine, slate, ecru, cerulean…

And
it
was
all—

In fact, the window was full of 30 or so miniature iron beds (custom made), each accompanied with a magnifying glass, so that you could observe not only the finer points of the “bed linens” arranged upon them but the mission statement behind the effort. Embroidered on tiny tags, tucked into the edges of the bedspreads, were the words, “Details never sleep.” (The following two images are from the store’s site.)

Half the store space was dedicated to this unusual showroom, which had been created for the Salone del Mobile back in April. The back half of the store had absolutely nothing on display. Just shelves full of the actual-sized blankets and linens waiting to be purchased.

The “vision” belongs to stylist Beatrice Rossetti. If I ever have a chance to work with her, I will. I think she’s a genius. Maybe it’s because I agree with her obsessive nature when it comes to one’s profession, art or craft. Or maybe it’s because I can’t resist all that reality translated into a scale too small to accomodate a Barbie doll.

The amazing thing was how effective the display was at actually selling the merchandise. I’ve walked by the store many times and, as I said above, moved on. But this time, I couldn’t. The tininess of the merchandise forced you into an interactive and deeply imaginary role with it. You were sucked into a minuscule world of comfort, of ideal homey-ness. And there, the imagination went wild. I fell for it and bought a bed spread. There you have it: desire created out of scraps of fabric too small to line a pocket. Gazing at Lilliputian luxury from my Gulliver-world of cars and cobblestones, I couldn’t resist. As Tiny Fey said on “30 Rock,” “I want to go to there.” And so I did.