If We Could Get Men From IKEA

My friend Nancy and I see eye-to-eye on many things.  She’s probably the oldest friend I have, so she knows me very well.  We went to college together, and over the past two-plus decades, she and I have established a solid relationship built on mutual respect, cooking, and sharing.

And shopping.

Now, I should probably preface all of this by adding that Nancy and I have very different ideas when it comes to men in general.  She’s married to a great guy and has three kids.  And although there is very little we haven’t shared, I’ve never been able to get her to come out of her shell regarding men, how handsome they are, what they look like in a great pair of boxer briefs, etc.  (There’s one notable exception – she went through a phase where she wondered what Pierce Brosnan and Nathan Fillion would look like in their undershorts.  It’s probably the closest we’ve ever come to an “underwear moment,” because I agree with her.  Totally.)

I’m also great friends with Nancy’s significant other.  Lincoln is affable, intelligent, hard-working, and although he knows how to cut back and relax, he’s proficient in keeping me reeled in just enough not to go haywire and make Mardi Gras a normal event in my living room.  In short, both Lincoln and Nancy get me, in their own unique ways, and I have often said the three of us should embark on some great business plan since we all have different areas of interest and expertise.  But, just as I’ve never been able to get Nancy to really cross that “underwear boundary,” I’ve never been able to get Lincoln into shopping.  In fact, Nancy and I have a great attraction to IKEA, which opened its only Michigan showroom approximately eight years ago about an hour away.  And Lincoln, love him as I do, is an IKEA snob.

Thus, Nancy and I have an “in” that Lincoln will never be able to understand (in much the same manner that Lincoln and I have an “in” by both being male).

Now, you have to understand that when Nancy and I go to IKEA (rarely, because it is a decent trip in distance, and we have to deal with various schedules, budgets, children, husbands’ dislike of IKEA), we are truly in our element.  We go there to power shop.  We simply “shop” at Macy’s, or Meijer, or the Apple store, or any number of other well-known establishments.  “Shopping” passes time.  “Power shopping” is a completely different experience.

Nancy tends to get totally into the domestic side of shopping, looking at fabrics, wondering how “x” will fit with “y”, whether or not she should buy this pillow, or that bowl.  And I get that.  I, too, can easily slip into that “Wow, if I only had the money” attitude warp that makes “power shopping” so much fun and credit card companies do cartwheels when I apply.  But I, being the fixated male that I am, also people-watch (read: man-watch), and while I “man-watch,” you and I both know I am “underwear-watching.”  And unlike Nancy, I am so much more likely to buy an item (whether I need it or not) if the sales guy is completely hot, because instead of focusing on his eyes, my gaze is mesmerized … elsewhere.

I have made a science out of gazing at a guy out of the corner of my eye while waxing philosophic about the shelving unit that will be a perfect fit in one of the bedrooms.  I don’t know if Nancy has ever caught onto this.  Knowing her, she probably has, and as an experienced Ryan-handler, she has filed that away into the little card box cataloging my more endearing behaviors.  Nancy is an expert at managing my foibles, and I have to love her for this, because although I am sure she has been dearly tempted, she’s never tried to change me.  The worst I’ve ever gotten is a sigh of frustration with an “Earth to Ryan!” type of growl.  But I still have to give her credit.  As a working mother with a husband who doesn’t shop and three children of varying temperament, she has worked as much balance into her daily life as she can.  When I come in for a day of shopping of IKEA, I’m sure that balance is thrown off-kilter and she handles it as best she can.

I do the same for her.  Many years ago, she and I established a code word as a signal to our partner that means: “Put down what (who) you’re holding (ogling), turn around, and leave the store (dressing room).  NOW.”  We’ve activated our code word numerous times, and it works for us.  Given that I am more likely to follow my inner desires and instincts, I’m sure Nancy has perfected using our code word by my outer appearance – eyes slightly glazed, mouth open dribbling saliva, etc.  She’s good at recognizing when I’m becoming over-stimulated by shopping or “man-watching,” much in the same manner as Lincoln is when he accompanies me on rare forays to the local gay bar and my “man-watching.”  (That’s right – straight men can go to a gay bar.  It’s allowed.  Don’t knock it.  If you’re straight, and you’ve never been to a gay bar, you should try it.  Don’t automatically assume guys will jump on you the minute you walk in the door.  Be polite, announce you’re straight, that you’re visiting because you’re curious … and you won’t pay for a single drink all night.  I promise.  We love it when the straights visit our establishments.)

But I think even practically-minded Nancy could appreciate the thought behind this post.  Given that IKEA is a mix-and-match build-it-yourself heaven of affordability, what if you could order a (Swedish/Australian/Brazilian/Hawaiian/Maltese) man from off the shelves?  They’d fly through the door!  I’ve covered this before, I know I have: European guy, accent, in the buff/an extremely form-fitting pair of underwear?  (I’ll take six.)  Or what if you could get your favorite celebrity (hello, Pierce Brosnan; hello, Nathan Fillion) as your nightstand?  (Nancy would take six.)

Our only problem is that Lincoln, for all of his enjoyment of a good idea, party, or bar night, would absolutely revolt at the thought of bringing home a spoon from IKEA, much less a man.  I don’t know that I would be able to talk him into it, to make him at least give it a chance.  And it wouldn’t be his resentment of having Nathan Fillion on all fours as an ottoman in the living room, it would be that Nancy bought him from IKEA with an assortment of kitsch, tchotchkes and other accessories to make sure he matches whatever else she’s doing with the room.

I do get the basic reasoning behind his argument.  He thinks IKEA simply churns out this stuff to sell to easy marks like Nancy and myself.  (And it’s working; I am so definitely an easy mark when it comes to this kind of stuff.)  I mean, seriously: if you’re gonna buy furniture, you as a consumer should buy something that’s going to last, that will age gracefully (like Stephen Dorff, Huey Lewis, Sean Connery, Daniel Craig), and which is made in Michigan (Dean Cain, Jayson Blair), since our economy sucks and the little guy needs to make money, too.  Unfortunately, I just can’t agree with him as much as logic and common sense dictates I should because …

… furniture should also be pretty and a pleasure to look at.  And instead of just sitting in a room, it should be used.  (And that really gives new meaning to the word “woody,” doesn’t it?)

In business, concept is everything.  You have to hit on an idea that no one else has had.  You have to copyright it, protect it, and then develop it as a proprietary business model.  Once you do this, you’ll make a fortune.  And imagine precisely how popular you would be with husband-and-wife duos (both) if they walk into your home and see a guy on all fours as your coffee table.  Aside from a theme party where this happens, you’re not likely to see this.  I think it has possibilities – code words notwithstanding.  (Light bulb!  And instead of arguing about fabrics, all we have to do is make sure he has a nice variety of underwear so you can match him to the carpet or the rest of the upholstery.  We’ll sell it as an add-on – established underwear lines like Navy Sea Diver, Calvin Klein, Unico, Georgio Armani and Andrew Christian.  We’ll make a fortune.)

If Nancy and I could get this to work, it’s got the cover of Homo and Garden written all over it.  And Lincoln?  Well, I’m sure that our millions will override his well-meaning grumbling, and we’ll put him in charge of something that doesn’t have anything to do with marketing, publicity, or manufacturing … unless he wants to spearhead a "Blondes, Brunettes, and Redheads" line for bachelors (and then I’m willing to bet he’ll be all in).  As far as quality management and testing, I think Nancy and I will agree that this will be our responsibility.