The Line Style in Context

The Line is a modern and personal approach to retail. We bring together carefully chosen fashion, home, and beauty items and place them in context through inspiring editorial features and intimate offline shopping experiences. The thematic, seasonal, and handpicked assortments we call Selections offer another way to explore our evolving edit of things you’ll wear, use, and treasure for years to come.

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Breathing Space:
At Home in SoHo

Photographed by Hanna Tveite

New York City’s perpetual motion is the product not of madding crowds but of individuals densely packed and going about the business of their lives in ways that are as deliberate as they are diverse. This urban entropy can be energizing, especially when balanced by quiet moments in uncluttered spaces. One such place—The Apartment by The Line—is the setting for a week of daily rituals aided by beautiful and useful things.

Click/tap image to shop the items pictured. Tenfold New York All-Use Textile, Striped Linen Duvet, Striped Linen Sham, Washed Percale Full/Queen Flat Sheet

Monday, 7:30 a.m.

Staycation. Never one to endorse neologisms of this sort, I’ve resigned myself to it in describing this week, in which I will attempt not to work, not to organize, not even to consolidate my multiple to-do lists into one grand unified theory of outstanding obligations. Instead I will stay home, relax, enjoy the neighborhood before the weather snaps to frigid attention. I will read. I will listen. I will watch and observe and see, not necessarily in that order. My plan is ambitious only in its lack of ambition. I decide to go back to bed.

Tuesday, 2:45 p.m.

The day is off to a delightfully slow start until I recall the birthday gift for B, which is still on the kitchen table rather than en route to Palo Alto. It’s a black glass container from Lyngby that reminds me of the flying saucer candies that B hoarded ferociously as a kid—those pastel domes filled with tiny sugar pearls. Of course I filled the container with the candies, which in the course of purchasing online I learned are in some regions known as “satellite wafers.” I add more bubble wrap to the box, seal it up, cross my fingers, and head to the post office.

If only every day could begin with a baguette from Balthazar. The rare morsel that survives breakfast mysteriously retains its optimal crispy-crustiness for the rest of the day.

Wednesday, 10:28 a.m.

Still excited from my postal outing! With parcel dispatched and tracking information in hand (priority, fragile, insurance daringly declined), I strolled down Canal Street just as Fran Lebowitz was doing the same, in the other direction. Savile Row jacket, Hilditch & Key shirt, epic wisdom? Check. Check. Check. I couldn’t even muster a signal of fandom much less a question: Had she read Witold Rybczynski’s new book, all about chairs? What does she think of the work of Diane Arbus? How does she feel about marble? About Donald Trump’s use of marble? Rather than regretting the missed opportunity, I seek solace in knowing that she holds strong opinions about all of these things.

I will head out for the night without rushing. I will employ the elixirs that live on my dressing table. I will smell the proverbial flowers, preserved in a bottle of golden oil.
Click/tap image to shop the items pictured. Las Venus Custom Ludlow Sofa, Tenfold New York Silver Fox Fur Pillow and Soft Stripe Cashmere Throw
Click/tap image to shop the items pictured. Wingate Paine, Untitled, 1964-1965; Tenfold New York Marble Sphere

Friday, 4:05 p.m.

G has promised to come over and cook dinner tonight, but only if permitted to bring a friend. He arrives solo, with assorted provisions and a copy of The Photographer’s Cookbook spattered with what appears to be dried blood (balsamic vinegar?). The meal—all dishes devised by legends of photography—will be a surprise, as will the guest, he declares. I tell him about my quiet week as he bustles about the kitchen, attempting to conceal a foil-wrapped block that I soon identify by its fluorescent contents. It is Velveeta cheese.

Friday, 8:12 p.m.

The table is set. “Presenting William Eggleston’s Cheese Grits Casserole,” says G, taking the dish from the oven as I scan the book for the recipe and accompanying image: a scene from a Velveeta-hued Georgia diner in 1976. Then the elevator door opens, depositing the mystery guest. It is Fran Lebowitz, holding a brown paper bag. Her smirk turns to a smile as she reaches into the bag. “I brought dessert," she says, presenting a pint of Rocky Road. “Diane Arbus’s favorite.”

Breathing Space: At Home in SoHo

Breathing Space:
At Home in SoHo

Photographed by Hanna Tveite

New York City’s perpetual motion is the product not of madding crowds but of individuals densely packed and going about the business of their lives in ways that are as deliberate as they are diverse. This urban entropy can be energizing, especially when balanced by quiet moments in uncluttered spaces. One such place—The Apartment by The Line—is the setting for a week of daily rituals aided by beautiful and useful things.

Click/tap image to shop the items pictured. Tenfold New York All-Use Textile, Striped Linen Duvet, Striped Linen Sham, Washed Percale Full/Queen Flat Sheet

Monday, 7:30 a.m.

Staycation. Never one to endorse neologisms of this sort, I’ve resigned myself to it in describing this week, in which I will attempt not to work, not to organize, not even to consolidate my multiple to-do lists into one grand unified theory of outstanding obligations. Instead I will stay home, relax, enjoy the neighborhood before the weather snaps to frigid attention. I will read. I will listen. I will watch and observe and see, not necessarily in that order. My plan is ambitious only in its lack of ambition. I decide to go back to bed.

Tuesday, 2:45 p.m.

The day is off to a delightfully slow start until I recall the birthday gift for B, which is still on the kitchen table rather than en route to Palo Alto. It’s a black glass container from Lyngby that reminds me of the flying saucer candies that B hoarded ferociously as a kid—those pastel domes filled with tiny sugar pearls. Of course I filled the container with the candies, which in the course of purchasing online I learned are in some regions known as “satellite wafers.” I add more bubble wrap to the box, seal it up, cross my fingers, and head to the post office.

If only every day could begin with a baguette from Balthazar. The rare morsel that survives breakfast mysteriously retains its optimal crispy-crustiness for the rest of the day.

Wednesday, 10:28 a.m.

Still excited from my postal outing! With parcel dispatched and tracking information in hand (priority, fragile, insurance daringly declined), I strolled down Canal Street just as Fran Lebowitz was doing the same, in the other direction. Savile Row jacket, Hilditch & Key shirt, epic wisdom? Check. Check. Check. I couldn’t even muster a signal of fandom much less a question: Had she read Witold Rybczynski’s new book, all about chairs? What does she think of the work of Diane Arbus? How does she feel about marble? About Donald Trump’s use of marble? Rather than regretting the missed opportunity, I seek solace in knowing that she holds strong opinions about all of these things.

I will head out for the night without rushing. I will employ the elixirs that live on my dressing table. I will smell the proverbial flowers, preserved in a bottle of golden oil.
Click/tap image to shop the items pictured. Las Venus Custom Ludlow Sofa, Tenfold New York Silver Fox Fur Pillow and Soft Stripe Cashmere Throw
Click/tap image to shop the items pictured. Wingate Paine, Untitled, 1964-1965; Tenfold New York Marble Sphere

Friday, 4:05 p.m.

G has promised to come over and cook dinner tonight, but only if permitted to bring a friend. He arrives solo, with assorted provisions and a copy of The Photographer’s Cookbook spattered with what appears to be dried blood (balsamic vinegar?). The meal—all dishes devised by legends of photography—will be a surprise, as will the guest, he declares. I tell him about my quiet week as he bustles about the kitchen, attempting to conceal a foil-wrapped block that I soon identify by its fluorescent contents. It is Velveeta cheese.

Friday, 8:12 p.m.

The table is set. “Presenting William Eggleston’s Cheese Grits Casserole,” says G, taking the dish from the oven as I scan the book for the recipe and accompanying image: a scene from a Velveeta-hued Georgia diner in 1976. Then the elevator door opens, depositing the mystery guest. It is Fran Lebowitz, holding a brown paper bag. Her smirk turns to a smile as she reaches into the bag. “I brought dessert," she says, presenting a pint of Rocky Road. “Diane Arbus’s favorite.”