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- GHENT, N.Y. — A friend of mine who has many virtues, though I’ve never considered acute observations skills among them, was discussing a subject, one might go so far as to describe it as a discipline, an entire school of thought, that didn’t exist before the pandemic.
I’m referring to critiquing the homes, apartments and hotel rooms — some more carefully curated than others — that serve as backdrops when reporters and experts join our favorite cable news shows.
It’s a human frailty, a sign of gross superficiality to which I plead guilty; it’s also almost impossible to avoid if you’re reasonably sentient: making judgments about people’s tastes, decorating skills, intellectual seriousness and even social status based on everything from the titles on their bookshelves to their choice of track lighting.
From there my friend segued into a learned discourse about former Missouri senator and MSNBC contributor Claire McCaskill. I also had some thoughts about Ms. McCaskill or rather her sumptuous home. Indeed, when I Google Claire McCaskill the first thing that comes up is “home.” The politician was one of the wealthier members of the Senate and her use of private jets became an issue during her losing 2018 reelection campaign’s “RV tour.”
But Maggi was less focused on the legislator’s professionally equipped kitchen, where Ms. McCaskill often joins the discussion on whatever news and opinion show she’s appearing, than on the Bundt cake that always seems to be dwelling over her right shoulder.
I’m not sure what it was about the cake that triggered Maggi. I suppose she was slightly in awe of Sen. McCaskill’s baking skills and curious about how much cake one person can eat?
Frankly, I hadn’t noticed the cake. Or rather I hadn’t noticed the cake anymore than I had Sen. McCaskill’s freshly cut flowers or the insinuation, based simply on the depth of field, that she lived in a mansion.
I try to read the titles on talking heads’ bookshelves. That’s often impossible to do, possibly because my flat screen TV is several generations old and delivers less definition than would be necessary to identify individual titles. Except, of course, for whatever book the guest is promoting that typically resides face forward where the viewer can’t miss it.
Presidential historian Michael Beschloss seems to have a nice home. The furniture appears Federal, he has a rolling library ladder that I envy, and there’s often a fire burning brightly in his fireplace. It lends his appearances a certain authority, a certain gemütlich gravitas befitting the author of several bestsellers on the American presidency. He seems too classy, however, to display any of them on camera.
I haven’t been asked to appear on any TV shows lately, perhaps due to my stark lack of expertise on most subjects but especially the Trump presidency, Jan. 6, and the war raging in Ukraine.
The closest I came was last June when I joined my college reunion and participated in a “The Moth” inspired story telling exercise. It was held on Zoom.
When choosing a location for my oration my first priority was that it be out of the flow of domestic life so that my wife, dog or our washing machine’s spin cycle didn’t interrupt me mid-sentence. But I’d be a liar if I failed to admit that I also gave some consideration to the backdrop.
I chose our library. It has a cathedral ceiling and bookshelves that rise to its full height. Hence, my desire for a Beschlossian ladder on tracks. I suppose I was also attempting to communicate to my former classmates a certain scholarliness that was almost entirely undeserved.
I’d feel guilty about my shallowness if a lot of other people weren’t the same way. How do I know that? Because, as with the case of Claire McCaskill, when you perform an Internet search on the person their abode is typically one of the top search terms.
Daniel Goldman, for example. The name may be unfamiliar to all but diehard political junkies. However, Mr. Goldman is a legal analyst who served as majority counsel in the first House impeachment inquiry against Donald Trump. His apartment is almost as impressive as his credentials. It appears ultramodern and approximately the length of a football field.
“Staggering depth. Composition. Lighting,” raves a Twitter account called Room Rater. “It’s good to be king.”
Curiosity virtually compels one to engage in further research. How did Mr. Goldman happen upon such good taste and a fine home on a government prosecutor’s salary? I don’t know the answer, but his Wikipedia page reveals that his great-grandfather was the president of Levi Strauss & Co.
I like to think of what I, and apparently many others, am engaged in as respectable voyeurism.
My interior design acumen may have reached its apex one evening as I watched NBC News chief foreign correspondent Richard Engel. Mr. Engel can typically be found reporting from war zones, dodging bullets and bombs wearing a flak jacket and helmet. But on this occasion he was uncharacteristically reporting from his home when I happened to notice the painting over his shoulder.
Most people, talking heads or otherwise, don’t typically have quality art on their walls. But this work, an 18th or early 19th century flower painting, looked pretty impressive.
Mr. Engel appears endowed not only with courage — he’s lately been reporting from Ukraine and his previous assignments have taken him to Afghanistan and the Iraq war — but also refined taste.
A couple of clicks offered a possible explanation why. The war correspondent’s mother ran an antiques shop and his father worked for Goldman Sachs.
I’m not saying I’m proud of my sleuthing. But what do you expect when you let people into your home?