IKEA, Where's Waldo, and you

Two weeks ago, I was in the opening day lineup at IKEA's first outpost in downtown Toronto. It's a more compact version in the base of a condo, optimized for the cravings of those who live blocks away, or even right upstairs – and it's micro-decorating heaven.

Even though it's way larger than I expected, the stress is more on grab-and-go objects and accessories than on larger home furnishings. Swept along in the tide of deal-hungry design fiends, I surrendered myself to the expert retail choreography and walked out with a bunch of just-right items for organizing my closets.

The fact that the store is on my way home from work is a risk I'll have to live with. That said, whenever I'm tempted to go too far with IKEA, I remind myself of the scene from the movie "Fight Club" in which the insomniac narrator contemplates his obsessively curated apartment:

I've always found the sequence amusing, because my own IKEA experience is more harmless enchantment than mark of a deeper malaise. But maybe it's the narrator's single-mindedness that's the problem. If your home is IKEA and nothing else, could it be the sign of an imminent breakdown?

At the very least, it's going to bore your friends. Who wants a home where your guests can recite the Swedish names of most of your earthly possessions – and own slightly reconfigured collections themselves? That old rhyme about a bride's wedding garb – Something old, Something new, Something borrowed, Something blue – is applicable to your space as well. Be eclectic in your sources and you'll set yourself up for domestic happiness.

Where's Waldo?

My own approach to integrating IKEA purchases is what I call The Where's Waldo Principle. Like the elusive character in the beloved series of picture books, the freshly unwrapped IKEA product should disappear chameleon-like into the rest of the decor.

If you decide to adopt this principle as your own, I'll add one caveat: Do not, under any circumstances, ask one of your visitors to find Waldo. I once asked my brother to guess which item in my living room was from IKEA, confident that he would point to the twenty-five dollar FADO lamp. Instead, he picked the lamp from French manufacturer Jieldé, costing 30 times as much.

Don't let your heart be broken or your decorating choices scorned. Let the "Where's Waldo?" question remain unspoken.

Affectionately,