Steve: Welcome to my humble beachfront property. I’d introduce you to my beagle, Miss Sarah, but she’s been sleeping since Wednesday. We keep things pretty quiet around here. Mostly we like to tell the first part of jokes we remember, or sometimes we compare similar objects and make Jell-o.

Did you notice my monster plant? Oooh! Scary, right? A monster! I think it’s good to keep people on their toes. Got to stay sharp.

What about a game of Uno?


 

John: It’s always great when you blend in with the room’s color scheme. With no face to distract us, the man is saying he is not merely in the room, but of it, as well. He is not anyone; he is simply the man in the room.

And so we are drawn — challenged, really — to find the slightest hint of something more. And there it is, staring us in the face. The man is so obviously proud of his awesome V-shaped torso that he repeats himself in the shape of his tanline. All this he juxtaposes with a clipper ship on the radiator and two framed maps from the Age of Columbus, as if to say Explore me, Adore me. I am yours, the Undiscovered Land!

Thus, he states his claim: he is not a piece of furniture after all. We sense no such pride in the overstuffed couch or the yellowed maps. (The gauzy curtains, on the other hand, do seem a bit flirty and sure of themselves. But are they as shipshape as he; can they match his indomitable, indrawn waste? No, they cannot.)

There is only one focus in this universe of beige. The man in the room, who is so much of the room, has forced us, through a sheer act of glorious pride, to see at last the evergreen forest, and not the obstructing trees.

David: My god, the color scheme here actually evokes the feeling of having and living with hepatitis. This should never of happened. There should be meds to counteract this impulse. Finally, there should be a law to prevent this from ever happening again.

Richard: Dear Editors of BEIGE MAGAZINE:

Enclosed, please find a photo of my living room, which I submit for consideration in your annual “Beige Brawl” decorating contest. As you can see, not only are my walls a perfect shade of off-white, but I’ve also coordinated a bone-toned sofa and some ecru lace window coverings, which my half-blind Belgian aunt Frida tatted herself. For extra points, I covered the radiator in a soft cream, and added some framed, sand-colored maps on the wall. To reassure you that I have employed true beiges throughout, I have placed myself in the center of the photo. You can see, by contrast, that my ass is lily white—a completely different shade than the rest of the room.

I thank you in advance for you consideration of my submission and remain,

Sincerely yours,
Guy Smiley
 

Steve: This is art, right? I’m really leaning toward ‘yes.’ The only thing that’s throwing me off is that stripey purple little pillow pressed into his back. Otherwise, this is expertly staged, and culturally significant. A masterful blend of peachy rose hues with black and gold. I’m absolutely certain that something is being said here.