Shopping for the Future

Words By: Lauren Blaser Photos By: Lauren Blaser and Eileen Shelton

I was always sure that the day I got excited about any sort of functional lifestyle appliance would be the day my soul perished. The youth would be fully excavated from my body, and in its place a pitiful whisper of the child I once was... undeniably pragmatic and dull.

I didn’t expect the day to come at the green age of twentyone. I unboxed my back-ordered Williams Sonoma tea kettle on a warm autumn afternoon, placing it on the stove with the level of caution you might reserve for a freshly risen dough. The cherry red color was a deliberate choice, intended to stand out amidst the overwhelming whiteness of my on-campus apartment. It was also a testament to the inspiration of the purchase: my old roommate Carmen. Red is Carmen’s color. She has a really powerful energy about her, one that leaves a lasting impression long after she’s left a room or stopped talking. She wears red often, but it’s her that complements the color (and not the other way around). She also really, really loves tea. Carmen brought a white kettle to the apartment we used to share with two friends, and although I’ve always been a fiend for mug-worthy drinks, I was hesitant to use the pot at first. “Don’t even ask,” She reassured me repeatedly. “Use it whenever.”

And I did. There were weeks of winter during which I heated the kettle everyday, multiple times a day. I became attached to its thick black hook of a handle, and the way it gleamed when I wiped it down from stray stove grease. I couldn’t imagine living without it, so I bought one of my own. I compared brands and prices and appearances for a full week, all to settle on the same brand and model Carmen had. The only difference between mine and hers is the color, which I associate with her anyway.

A red kettle was the first kitchen tool I bought of my own volition, and not because I absolutely needed it. I could have continued to microwave cups of water for hot chocolate and tea bags, the same way I did it for the twenty years leading up to life in my old apartment. I didn’t want to, though. Plus I figured I would carry the kettle with me to my first home post-graduation, whatever that space looked like and wherever it ended up. It would be a reminder of college friends, college nights, and college kitchens.

Thus, a new era of my life has commenced. It is one in which practicality has an appeal.

Initially, I was at a loss as to how this change of mind had come about, and when… but it hadn’t been as sudden a transition as I thought. Nearly a year ago, a friend received a fancy knife set with a wooden block sharpener for the holidays. To my surprise, it wasn’t disgust or confusion that I felt. It was envy.

You kind of can’t be a fully actualized adult unless fresh garlic cloves are in your life, and hand-mincing garlic every week is a battle I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. The only proper solution is the stainless steel press that my roommate Molly brought with her to our kitchen last summer. I didn’t just wake up one morning and suddenly decide that a garlic press, of all things, was worth more than seven dollars. It just

happened. Suddenly I was adding a twentyfour dollar stainless steel garlic smusher of my own to a shopping cart, and telling myself I would keep it forever.

A common thread pulled through each of these practical investments is an ingrained tribute to someone of significance in my life. I’ve always been a sponge when it comes to the people I surround myself with--I soak in whatever they love and make those things my own if it feels right. Whatever I buy is not just for me. I’ll hold on to the items extra tightly, with the intention of sharing these pieces of those I love with the people I have yet to meet. The ones I haven’t met yet. Significant other? Kids, if I have them? New friends? At about six years old, I watched Barbie Fairytopia for the first time, and my mom’s favorite scene was always when the fairy named Azura is shown lining up plate settings for a huge table, even though she’s only expecting a few guests. The extra spots, she explains, are for the people she doesn’t know yet, but expects to come across at some point. She wants to be ready. My mom used to repeat that line to me in earnest, and I would nod and smile, but think, ‘I don’t get it.’

When I pressed the “Confirm Order” button on the Williams Sonoma website, I was buying more than just a container for hot water. I was buying the foundation of an heirloom. A piece of my present that I’ll take with me to the future, to share with whomever I cross paths with, wherever we end up.