Ikea is the work of the devil, in a good way
Make no mistake, I love Ikea. That’s the problem. I love Ikea and it’s a long distance relationship. I feel like all I do is give and give, and it never gives anything back. But, Ikea, I can’t quit you.
Growing up with two significantly older siblings, I heard about Ikea in much the same way that people hear about Jesus, or the Bermuda Triangle. It was mysterious. It was unobtainable information and technology, designed to make grown men weep. I heard that Ikea was expensive (yeah, I know! Ha!) and that only the rich and powerful could afford it. To see a Poang armchair in the wild was the equivalent of seeing the face of the Virgin Mary in a piece of toast.
Fuck yes, and matching lamp. And storage units. And vase. And hookers.
Then, in 1999, I saw Fight Club. Here it was, once again, Ikea worship. How I longed to touch a product, to feel the solidity of nicely laminated particleboard, the marvel at the pride of Sweden. Sweden – Ace of Base, ABBA, The Cardigans, Ikea, Volvo, Saab – can they do no wrong?
In 2002 when I graduated college, I started my first career job. This office had moved and remodeled, and all our furniture was Ikea. Everything. Every chair, cupboard, glass, mug, paper towel rack, couch. I was overcome with the colours and general neatness of everything. I felt so metrosexual that I would’ve whipped my dick out and…photographed it.
The obsession became worse as I started to look down upon other furniture. “What is this shit, real wood? Where’s the glue and push screws?” I balked.
Everything hit a fever pitch when I went to go visit my brother’s house in Toronto. He was now a photographer living in a high-rise apartment, and was a bachelor. If anyone was going to impress me, it was him. When I walked it, I nearly died. It was like I was at work. The same furniture, the same shades of green and orange on everything, the same coasters and cups. Everything was so fucking organized that I felt like God was playing Tetris.
Then my brother dropped the bomb – “I’m taking you to Ikea.”
And so it begins…
If my life ever had meaning, this was it. Losing my virginity? Beating Ghouls ‘N Ghosts? Buying my first car? Nah, none of that has anything on my first Ikea trip. I’ve heard from people that were abducted by aliens and they, too, displayed less jubilee than I on this day.
I’m not going to share my experience with you, as it was a little bit personal. All I can say is that it’s changed me forever. Ikea has my soul and I’m not sure I want it back.
I did, however, buy a bed right away. I posted this years ago on my old site, but it’s never been more relevant:
Just in case anyone told you otherwise, I wanted to let you know that owning your own dot com definitely has its benefits. You want proof? Fine. Exactly one day after the successful launch of www.tommyv2.com a rabid fan and I OWNED my Ikea bed. Normally I’d say “Fuck! What a fucking BK!” but not this time. At this point, it’s more of a pat on the back than anything else.
A visual recreation of tonight’s event:
No comments about my flower-print bed sheets necessary
Check out the collateral damage: Ikea quality my ass…
Okay, so we broke the fucking bed. But look carefully. Look where the lattice frame broke…where my fucking head was. My giant inflated head apparently weighed more than me and a girl. Is my ego really that huge? Let me say it before you get a chance: I FUCKING RULE. As if things couldn’t get any better, I also found a loonie and toonie under my bed. It’s like getting paid to have sex – and you can’t go wrong with that.
Bullshit. Can’t even take Tommy doing a v2 upgrade on a girl. Boycott! No rude comment about Russia is necessary.
I just can’t help it. I’m obsessed with Ikea. I love the little names they give shit. Do you need a clever name for a plush alligator toy? Sure you do. I dream about MALM, HOPEN and BILLY. Perhaps I shouldn’ve chosen BILLY as an example because people on the Internet can be so rude. I can’t help it – Ikea is made for us young, modern folks. It’s hip, it’s cool, it’s cheap. Shit, you might even say it’s Green. I wouldn’t though, I don’t recycle anything but other peoples’ girlfriends.
Ikea is everything that is right with this world. It’s a nerd’s paradise. Shit, they even put arrows on the floor to give you direction when you freak out from the sheer scale and choice of it all. Arrows help guide and shelter you within its byzantine walls. First time there for me it was major sensory overload, it was like living inside a slot machine while on acid. It gives that shopping joy that women feel to all us mere mortals.
Ikea is like Lego for adults. You buy the pieces, and you put shit together. You continue to buy more pieces, even though you haven’t exhausted your current plans yet. Just when you think you have it all – this year everything comes in translucent black. Goddamnit all straight back to Sweden, back to hell, do not pass go, do not collect $1.99 hotdogs and pop. Oh, did I mention Ikea serves Pepsi? My theory is that every good place serves Pepsi, and every crappy place serves Coke. I haven’t found a counter example yet, but I haven’t looked very hard.
The joke about Ikea is that you have to assemble everything yourself. Score! What guy doesn’t like building shit? You don’t just get a chair, you get a lesson in mechanics and design. That’s the best part. A giant king sized bed frame fits into the back of a Mazda Protege wagon. That is right up there with joining metal using fire. Right up there with cutting rock using water.
Every time I go there, I feel like I become a little more complete in my life. It’s like, if I get this matching can opener to go with my bowls, people will see me as a mature, thoughtful, organized individual. Then women will want to molest me as I become one of their own, because all women are inherently bisexual.
And now, with my life so much more advanced with such a bigger budget, I continue to buy Ikea products. I can’t help it. The only thing I have going for me is that I live far, far away from one. That single-handedly prevents me from spending most of my income on candle holders and transparent dinner plates that light up with LEDs and crumpled paper.
I’m afraid of what the future could bring to our relationship, though, as a JYSK has now opened up in our city. It’s like Ikea’s cheaper, sluttier, younger sister that just moved into your neighbourhood. I can’t wait until one day I get them both into my bedroom at the same time. It will be a joyous celebratory orgy of sex, credit card bills, and particleboard. I can’t wait, I got your real wood right here.
Haha. Better than the last one, I have to say.
That chair in the first picture, i have one too. It makes my back hurt, i just sit in it when i jack off.
By the way, i have to stop jacking off so often. It doesn’t feel as good if you do it daily.
My suite had a chair I hated because it was really uncomfortable. When I started buying furniture later, I saw some furniture on the IKEA catalogue I loved. When I went to go see it in person, I realized one of my choices was that same freaking chair.
Why dont you fucking migrate all of your articles from the tommyv2.com, once for all.
All you are managing to do is copy stuff from there anyway.
I copied two paragraphs out of the 1221 words in this article. Go fuck yourself.
And these paragraphs are 1220 words.
PLUS the same fucking picture….
My friend had a couch from IKEA which was the most comfortable couch in the world to sleep on, which made me have to be okay with ikea.