Iris Apfel

THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS I loved about Carl that if I were to list them all, they wouldn’t fit in these pages. He was hysterically funny. He had the most delicious, off-beat sense of humor. We used to laugh a lot.

When Carl and I ran Old World Weavers, I used to make clothes for myself using sample lengths of fabric. After a few years, I decided to do something for him, so I had a bunch of spiffy pants made out of our upholstery, too. Some pants were sporty, wild prints, while others were formal and elegant, suitable for gala events. People would admire his trousers, invariably asking where he got them.

He always replied, “I just shot my couch.”

He was always good at shooting from the hip.

At one point, we created fabric and passementerie for Marjorie Merriweather Post for the redecoration of Hillwood, her magnificent estate just outside of Washington, D.C.

One morning, the telephone rang.

“This is Marjorie Merriweather Post,” the caller said. “And I need to speak to Mr. Apfel immediately about the fabric I have just received.” I asked her to hold on and, trembling, I summoned Carl to the phone.

“Mr. Apfel,” she said. “I am in my salon sitting at the top of an eighteen-foot ladder with a ruler in my hand. I am admiring the window treatments that were installed last evening. The fabric is marvelous; and I just love the festoons and trimmings. Tell me,” she went on, “these little decorative bits that go across the top—how many should I expect to have in a running yard?”

Carl took a deep breath, then spoke.

“Mrs. Post,” he said. “Every morning I eat Post Raisin Bran. Can you tell me how many raisins I am supposed to have per tablespoon?”

“Touché, Mr. Apfel,” she said. “Now I better get down before I break my neck.”

Photo Credit: Bruce Weber: Courtesy Magnolia Pictures

Everyone tells me that I am a

BLACK-BELT SHOPPER.

I like to say I was born with a souk sense.

Photo Credit: Courtesy of Iris Apfel

I LOVE FLEA MARKETS and open-air markets—oh, I just love markets. Period.

In a former life, I must have been a hunter-gatherer. I like any place where I can forage. I like the thrill of the hunt, the unexpected. I love digging through bins and finding things. There’s just a certain excitement that grabs me, a feeling of energy and mystery because I never know what I’m going to find—that’s what I find so exhilarating.

Haggling is half the fun of it. You have to feel people out: some merchants will haggle and some won’t, regardless of the culture of the market. But in most cases, if you’re told a tunic costs one hundred dollars, and you are foolish enough not to try for a better price, you’ve just ruined the merchant’s day because he feels he made a mistake not to ask you for double.

Although I don’t shop too much anymore, I’m still an avid jewelry collector.

I don’t get any great pleasure if somebody just comes and presents something to me. If I had a sugar daddy who told me to go to the most expensive store in the world and splurge until my heart burst, it would be a sad day. I wouldn’t have any fun at all. I’d find a lot of lovely things, but the thrill wouldn’t be there. I like to dig and scratch. It’s the process that turns me on.

Photo Credit: Courtesy of Iris Apfel