The XX Factor: What women really think.

The Black Market in Home Decorating

My old friends at Reason have a short video on a woman being prosecuted for practicing interior design without a license in Alabama. It would appear that the woman in question already has the skill required to competently arrange throw pillows. But the American Society of Interior Designers insists that licensing is a safety issue; indeed, that "every decision an interior designer makes affects the health, safety, and, welfare of the public." In order to get a license, this woman would have to obtain a college degree, complete an apprenticeship, and pass a test.    

One could argue that homeowners want some kind of relevant accreditation, but it's not clear to me why that accreditation need be legally mandatory. (Yes, I am dismissing the idea of color-scheme-related injury.) In any case I feel betrayed by Sally Struthers, who made it seem that any of us could become interior designers (or TV/VCR repairmen) without leaving the comfort of our living rooms.

Domino Falls

Apologies for the pun, but it's hard to be clever when your heart is breaking. Domino, the home design magazine from Conde Nast—and sister publication to Lucky and Cookie—is folding. I truly love this magazine, as my 3-foot-tall stack of well-thumbed back issues can attest. (June Thomas, ever the finder of silver linings, points out that at least my collection has now shot up in value.) What I particularly loved about Domino was its friendly, service-y vibe. Yes, there was much parading of beautiful, costly things—what E.J. might call real estate porn. But there was also a lot of solid, useful design advice that even a poor studio dweller with a limited budget could learn from. Domino really spoke to the New Victorian in me, the homebody that craved the lovely, the handmade, the chicly comfortable, and I'll be sad to see it go. Now, who wants to trade a November 2006 for a September 2005? (For disclosure's sake, I should mention that Domino's editor-in-chief, Deborah Needleman, is married to Jacob Weisberg, head of the Slate Group.)

A Half a Loft of One's Own

I've lived by myself for the past year or so. And while I love having my own space (so much so that a swinging Friday night for me sometimes involves sewing new throw pillows) I often miss the social nature of roommate life—sometimes you just want someone to sit next to you while you watch The Real World. If you assume that singleton living is just a stop on the way toward romantic cohabitation, then fine; the loneliness can be dealt with as a character-building exercise. But if you don't want to shack up with a partner—or reproduce, essentially birthing your own roommates—and you don't want to live alone, what are your options?

If you have the money—and a good architect—you can do what the two women profiled in Sunday's New York Times Home and Garden section did: design a loft that consists of two connected but separate apartments. The gorgeous space (see the slideshow here) provides the women—who are 54 and 65—both "companionship [and] a great deal of privacy." The arrangement is less than official—one woman paid for the loft and the renovations, and there's no written or legal agreement between them—but to me it's a heartening step toward recognizing the very real, very concrete role friendships can play in our adult lives. Hell, if I could have a two-fer apartment with my best friend (complete with 90 YARDS of bookshelves!) I might never move in with my boyfriend, either.