I think somewhere between the cosy sweater I posted on Friday, the marathon of Million Dollar Listing with the wonderfully ridiculous and adorable Swedish broker, Frederik, I watched on Saturday, an article in last month’s Vanity Fair called “Nordic Exposure” which investigated our cultural obsession with all things Scandinavian (H&M, IKEA, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, etc etc), and a sheer desire to use umlauts, my love affair with Swedish winters has been reignited. That’s a weird statement, I know. I can barely hack winters in Philadelphia, yet somehow sub-zero temperatures and 20 hours of darkness a day fascinate me. I’ve made no secret of my adoration of Scandinavian stark-white interiors, but it really extends to the whole sensibility of Scandinavian living. I’d gladly eat herring and wear down coats well into April, flipping through an IKEA catalog by candlelight while listening to Ace of Base (that’s what they do, right?).
I know everyone is saying it these days, but I legitimately cannot wait for fall and winter. I am over being drenched in sweat from just stepping outside. Give me wooly socks and boots crunching in the snow any day. Preferably soon. And preferably a winter that looks something like this:
Ever since Fitz the Demon Puppy ate a hole straight through my Pia Wallen Crux Blanket, I’ve been considering getting another one. Because I am an idiot who never learns. But nothing says “Scandinavian winter” better than that wool blanket. My mom agreed to get me a very early birthday present in the form of those Bean Boots, since I need something to trek back and forth to the subway with, and my current pair of galoshes are far from waterproof (how far? my socks end up soaking wet every time I wear them). It’s raining today, and the idea of stuffing my feet into a pair of comfy socks and curling up with a book and a cup of lingonberry juice is super appealing. I’ve never read a Jo Nesbo book before, and I think it’s time to expand my Swede-author horizons past Stieg Larsson. Those J. Crew weekend pants are on sale and I’m considering snagging a pair while I can, but I know that once I put them on I’ll never want to take them off. They’re sort of work appropriate, right?
How was your weekend? I went to the museum with my mom and had dinner with my grandmother on Saturday, and completed a flurry of domestic activity on Sunday, including such riveting tasks as scrubbing the toilets and folding laundry. There was also a sufficient amount of trashy tv involved, lest you think I’m slipping.