In rediscovering my love of Decorno – a wonderfully astute and oft-times refreshingly catty design blog – I was reminded of the great orchid debate started with Nick Olsen’s off hand comment that they are ‘cheesy’. Now let me preface all of the rest of this by confessing that I am not a flower girl. That’s not to say I reject all plant life. Quite the opposite, really; I much prefer receiving full-on plants as gifts than cut flower arrangements any day. My house is currently a jungle of foliage and I’m a notorious pincher of buds so that my lovelies can focus their energy on producing more foliage though I sometimes allow my elephant ear begonias their profusions of pink petals…but they’re dead headed the instant any browning turns up. Were I to get married again the ladies would be carrying giant potted ficus trees in place of bouquets and the men-folk would wear suits of porthos growing out their shoes. I’m just hardcore like that.
So, plants = yes! Flowers = no!
The exceptions being the odd bromeliad I can actually get to bloom and, of course, orchids. Being what they are, the flagrant displays of the sexual organs of plants, I find flowers funny in a puerile sort of way so my rule is: the more flagrant, the better. I don’t want the pasty, white phaelenopsis or cymbidium – the classic tuxedo adorning Audrey Hepburns of the floral world. No, no, no. When I invite flowering plants into my house the a-list is comprised of specimens which will give a kitschy ceramic Elvis (Hawaiian edition) bust (because one day I will have one) and all its machismo a run for its money. Only Mae Wests, Lucille Balls, Divines and Grace Joneses are invited to this party and orchids come in all of those flavours.
Let us have a look at a few worthy specimens shall we, crumpets?
This is Grace. I rescued her from near death, brought her to budding and passed her on having no clue what she would look like in full bloom. Remember that day-glo magenta sweater your grandma knitted you for Christmas in the 6th grade? Remember how you were certain that colour was not found in nature? WRONG! Grace proudly displays her day-glo magenta love. She’s only with me temporarily while my sister moves homes (and far, far away from me…sniff).
That’s Mae. I’ve rescued a lot of orchids before but was never allowed to keep them then one day Mae found her badass way to our home via the mister and has never looked back. She used to be more orange but she’s been switching it up for some green. She’s kind of scary, isn’t she? I don’t think Georgia O’Keefe could have captured that level of pudendaphobia.
Here are a few more orchids I do not share space with but would not kick out of bed for eating crackers:
courtesy of adesinamedia.
Courtesy of tigerorchids.
courtesy of paramount orchids.
See? They are cheesy, but same way sighting your first hooker in a snake skin skit at Jane and Finch is cheesy. You still oggled, didn’t you? Cheesy, but not boring and welcome chez nous any day.
Filed under domestics, pop