I can’t believe I’m actually about to write this, but here goes.

I am oddly attracted to carnations of late.

Given how oft-maligned those sturdy grocery store standards are (how synonymous they are with John Hughe’s-era prom boutonnieres), possessing even an inkling of fondness for them just feels wrong…like a dirty little secret.

But I was picking up a few groceries last weekend and was momentarily transfixed by a particularly fetching bunch of fuchsia carnations all nestled cozily in their cellophane wrapper.  I pondered their sturdy yet ruffly petals (oh the contradictions) and the sensible 3.99 price tag (for a dozen!), and then I walked away. I couldn’t pull the trigger. I had carnation shame.

The entire way home I obsessed about those damn carnations. What if I bought five bunches and jammed all 60 of those fuchsia bad boys into a massive clear cylinder.  That could be chic, right?  That could look awesome and unexpected and wrong in all the right ways… (Yes, that’s actually what I was thinking about on the way home from the supermarket.  I have problems.  I realize.)

Then today at work, I came across this shot of a dining room by the ultra chic designer Miles Redd in New York Magazine, and BAM…(holy carnation bomb Miles) I was thrust back into my carnation reverie.

It’s official. I’m all in.  Loud and proud.  Carnations are doing it for me.

{Photograph by Thomas Loof/Art Department via NY Magazine}