Get Thee Behind Me, Pottery Barn

This is an exciting time to be a Little Rock resident--the whole town is abuzz with the news of THREE new shopping centers. It seems every conversation contains the phrases "Did you hear we're gettin' a Parisian" or "They're puttin' in a Williams-Sonoma." Our Starbucks quotient will have increased threefold by Christmas. Yes, these are exciting times.

Though I preach fiscal restraint at my monthly houseshold finance committee meetings, I was drawn like a moth to a flame to the new Midtowne Shopping center, a mere two blocks from my office. Perhaps, I thought, I won't find anything I want to purchase. Maybe Pottery Barn, Ann Taylor Loft, Bombay Company, White House Black Market, and Williams-Sonoma won't have anything good. Ha!

My resolve held up through Ann Taylor Loft and White House Black Market. Bombay Company hadn't put out their full product line yet, so I made a quick trip around the showroom and beat a hasty retreat. Even Williams-Sonoma was no match for my iron will--I rationalized that in order to justify a new set of copper pots and pans, I'd need to cook more than once a week (I'm a liar. Once a month.).

But as I approached the gleaming storefront at Pottery Barn, I felt my self-control begin to weaken. I'm not sure exactly what happened while I was in the store--it was all a whirl of brushed stainless steel, clever desktop organizers, charming serving dishes, and timeless, attractively-upholstered furniture. Suffice it to say that 124 bucks later, I emerged from the store loaded up with two honeysuckle-scented diffusers, one candle, and a bottle of room spray.

What, you might ask, would compell an otherwise rational person to spend $124 on honeysuckle-scented knick-knacks? Satan. The devil made me do it. Pottery Barn is in league with the devil.

Pottery Barn's marketing and design teams seem intent on making average people believe their lives would be better if only they owned a Manhattan Armchair in Everydaysuede or an Emmett Occasional Table. Consider the lifestyle PB peddles to your subconscious--buy this Rhys Office Suite and your desk calendar will be covered with dinner dates, trips to Paris, and shopping lists for wine and cheese parties; buy this modular storage unit with dowels for wrapping paper and pockets for tape and ribbon and you, too, can partake in the joys of stress-free gift wrapping. Sometimes the message is more sinister: "You mean you don't own a Westholme Cabinet in which to display books on photography and philosophy? How quaint."

PB's diabolical brilliance consumes its customers, tricks them into believing that happiness is just 12 placesettings of beaded bronze dinnerware away. Set one foot into the den of iniquity that is a PB retail store and you're immediately flooded with avarice, covetousness, and lust.

So this Christmas, I refuse to patronize Satan's Houseware Imporium. I'm boycotting.

Oh, who am I kidding. I'll be back. But next time, I'm carrying holy water.