I took an instant dislike to these the night I arrived. The sheen and the luxe-inspired pattern was a bit too glamour-puss and nightclubby for me. But it has grown on me somewhat. I don’t mind it so much now.
I find the sheen soft and velvety now, not garish and plasticy. And as someone who loves Art Deco I find it curious I didn’t embrace the pattern sooner.
Upon closer inspection, the fabric has a earthy, grungy finish. And the seams that make up its pattern, unpretentious. Interesting and lovely, this shabby chic look: like a weary sophisticated traveller, stepping out of a taxi laboriously but elegantly, flashing a quick and tired but polite smile at the doorman. It has a vaguely old world charm, perhaps the window treatment to an old palazzo or seaside villa slowly falling into disrepair as the sun steamily sets behind some palm trees and Cole Porter’s ‘In the still of the night‘ rising dreamily from Ella from a gramophone in a corner of a room. A lady clad only in her robe has been standing out on her balcony for what seems like hours, staring out at sea as if waiting for someone, or something, to show up. It will be dark soon. Resigned, she exhales slowly and flicks away her cigarette, absently brushing back the greying curls the growing wind has teased about in hopeless cascades around her face and shoulders, and with a sigh retreats into her room to fix herself another martini. Somewhere in the estate, in the woods across the lawn, a dog mournfully howls as if in camaraderie.
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Sorry, I get carried away with the visions in my head sometimes (usually narrated by Morgan Freeman).
Here are some other photos:
Wandering at night 