John Thain: America's New Sun King

Louis XIV (1638–1715), by Charles Le Brun

On July 18, 1668 in the gardens of Versailles, Louis XIV threw quite a fête for himself to celebrate his military victories. "Le Grand Divertissement royal," it was called, and cost one-third the yearly budget of Versailles. Royal parties were expensive. So Louis raised taxes -- relying heavily on the peasants -- and forced prosperous towns to pay homage of huge sums.

The Sun King was well known for his opulent extravagance. This is best exemplified by the construction of his palace at Versailles, his Hall of Mirrors and over the top baroque furnishings. Louis' motivation was not based just on his eye for luxury, but it was also a way of controlling the nobility, reducing their power and keeping a sharp eye for any potential rivals. Louis was flattered by all as much as he was feared. He insisted on his particular daily rituals, the Levee and the Coucher. Around 8:30 am the king, resting in his bed, would hear: “It is time, Sire”. The levee was a ceremonial rising just for him. Doctors, family and a few favored friends entered the king's bedroom where he was washed, combed, shaven and dressed. Then he slurped down a breakfast of broth with everyone standing around. It was estimated the attendants numbered one hundred, all male. At 11:30 pm, The Coucher, was performed -- a reverse, shortened version of the levee to celebrate Louis retiring to bed.

Skip to nearly four-and-a-half centuries later in America and I can’t help to see some similarities. John Thain’s task last year was to oversee the sale of Merrill Lynch to Bank of America Corporation and take over the bank's wealth management and corporate and investment banking divisions. He had to reduce expenses and fix the security firm. In order to get his wits about him, he needed to spend $1.2 million of the bank's money to lavishly redecorate his Merrill Lynch office while major layoffs were looming and the firm was going down in flames.

Thain hired (the fabulous) Michael Smith for $800,000 to create an environment where he could adequately think about this mess. Smith procured two area rugs for a total of $131,000, two guest chairs for $87,000, a nineteenth-century sideboard (mistakenly called a ‘credenza’) for $68,000, four pairs of drapes at $28,000, Roman shades for $11,000, a mahogany pedestal table at $25,000, a George IV Desk for $18,000, a sofa for $15,000; a custom coffee table for $16,000; Regency Chairs for $24,000 (personally, I question if they were period and designers out there: is this appropriate for a commercial application?); 40 yards of fabric for wall panels for $5,000, six wall sconces for $2,700, and a parchment covered trash can for $1,400.

In his private dining room he ordered six chairs for $37,000, a mirror for $5,000, and a chandelier for $13,000. And lastly, a $35,000 "commode on legs." (I assume this means a toilet and not a French dresser.)

Thain signed off on the purchases, as well as, "Labor to relamp the six wall sconces" for $3,000, and another payment of $30,000 to pay additional expenses Smith had incurred.

Michael Smith is being paid $100,000 to redecorate for the Obamas, which includes items from Target. (According to The Daily Beast), by the way.

We live in a society where an outrageous level of compensation is a justifiable reward for executives. Apparently, this level of extravagance is standard operating behavior. And apparently, high-profile CEO’s have the power, magnitude and all the glory of kings.

Are the rest of us mere peasants? According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics the national average salary is a little over $40,000, or in other words, approximately one thirtieth of Thain's expenses for the redecoration of his office.

Bank of America received $25 billion in bailout funds and then an additional $20 billion mid January while Thain spent $1.2 million to have his office redecorated out of the profits of the company as previous employers he axed were out of work. Merrill Lynch lost $56 billion from sub prime loans and the credit crisis, so what’s another $1.2 million, eh John? As Marie-Antoinette allegedly uttered a century later, “Let them eat cake?” – and we all know what happened to her.

Hey Thain, what principles were this great country founded upon?

(Thain resigned at the end of last month after being found out and has vowed to repay the funds. Must be a drop in the ocean from his end-of-the-year bonus.)

We Need More Space. We Must Have More Space!

Indians Viewing Landscape by Thomas Cole, 1827

One of the tenacious beliefs in America is that we need space. We don't have enough. We can’t get enough.

Consider our history. We first landed on the Atlantic shore, and from there moved inland to the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. From there we came out onto the rolling prairies of the Midwest, which soon flattened out into the Great Plains, which were then brought up short by the massive phalanx of the Rocky Mountains. We wanted all kinds of space, we demanded it, and then we quickly filled it up with our presence.

Americans don’t like to be fenced in. With a population of over 300 million people, the unthinkable is happening. We still covet big homes on large lots, located on wide, smoothly paved streets dotted with small newly planted trees. Big houses on big lots cost money. More money than most people have to spend.

From The Economic Cottage Builder, 1856

Early in the history of our country, the size of a house wasn’t important. Owning it, making it over into something inimitably our own, was. Back then, a home was both a refuge and a place of work. It was cozy and comfortable, without any frills or unnecessary accessories. It was where the family came together. Where they established their identity.

A small house was not a liability; it was efficient and affordable. Smallness was a virtue. The decoration was restrained. The woman of the house was to keep the premises tidy and functional. That was her job.

All this changed in the second half of the nineteenth century. With the acquisition of wealth, houses got bigger. Within the span of a few decades, the new middle class changed the concept of domesticity.

The Breaker House, designed by Richard Morris Hunt in 1895 for
Cornelius Vanderbilt II

Designed by McKim, Mead and White for Henry Villard and his family in 1882; completed in 1884. Villard went bankrupt three months after moving into his mansion.

Bigger houses meant more wall and floor space. And they needed to be decorated. Bare walls in a really big house were a sign of weak imagination. All that money and no decorations? The self-made moguls who were transforming the American economy needed to build houses that matched the grandiosity of their tax-free business enterprises. “So and so lives there,” people would whisper out in the streets. “The marble columns come all the way from Italy.”

Great Hall in the Villard House

It was important for these robber barons to strut and display their new-found wealth. Why accumulate money without flashing it around? So they built gigantic domiciles. They coffered the high ceilings, carved fireplaces into elaborate caverns, paneled the walls, installed stained glass windows and posted iron gates around their property to separate themselves from everyone else.

J Pierpont Morgan’s Drawing Room in New York, 1883
Decorated by the Herter Bros. in a style of “Pompeian inspiration … a mild gaiety of expression amid the aroma of perfect taste.”
The ivory white woodwork was sprinkled with gold.

They decorated the inside with artifacts that had virtually no meaning to them personally: suits of armor, oil paintings, statuary, tapestries, and oriental rugs. Some went as far as to have their furniture gilded to give it a smooth satiny finish – reminiscent of what the Sun King had. Above all, they needed to distinguish themselves from the other moguls, and also from the paltry efforts of the middle class.

George W. Child’s Drawing Room, 1870s
Paneled in aramanth wood, large mirrors,
Aubusson carpets and a “Byzantine” clock.

America was founded on principles of equality. The newly rich didn’t want equality. They didn’t want to have anything to do with earlier domestic designs. They thought that was homey and lame. They sent their decorators to Europe to strip complete rooms out of an old chateau in France, old-world palazzos in Italy, musty old castle in Britain paying their impoverished owners the lowest prices. They wanted anything they could find that was European that would cover up the tinselly newness of their new-found wealth.

Ames-Webster House, Boston, 1890s
Interior by Herter Brothers

Ironically, as they looted Europe of its architectural treasures they felt a need to recapture the past. Designed by a new generation of Paris Ècole trained architects, they developed a visual language based on classicism, in which architecture, painting and sculpture combined to express a new sense of national purpose. While a few American voices such as Louis Sullivan were calling for an expression to build with the latest technologies, materials and in a new progressive American style, the American millionaires didn’t want that. They looked to the past. They mimicked the past and added at will. Popular magazines published pictures of their grand houses, which alerted the middle class to the fact they had a long way to go to try and match the excesses of the really big robber barons.

Why are we so interested?

Going to the Opera (depicting William Henry Vanderbilt family) by Seymour Guy, 1873.

Most people are curious about other people’s homes. What does the furniture look like in there? What do they have on the walls?

We can’t help ourselves. We’re just that way. Haven’t you gone out after dark to walk the dog and paused momentarily craning your neck to peek through people’s windows hoping to get a glimpse of the décor?

That kind of snooping is nothing new. It’s been going on for centuries. Well, at least since the 19th century with the advent of the Industrial Age.

The rise of the mercantile class brought with it both the urge and necessity to show off one’s new-found wealth; suddenly, people with pots of extra money were wondering what they were going to do with it. Flaunt it, of course, and what better way than to decorate the walls and floors of a brand-new house in that upscale neighborhood in the very latest fashion and décor?

How the new, moneyed housewife exhibited her possessions became a vital issue. It was no longer a routine matter of putting fresh thatching on the roof or sweeping the bare, packed-down earth floor every morning. A sturdy house with spacious rooms demanded an intriguing interface of furniture and color. A house was no longer just a structure to inhabit but an expression of the people who lived in there.

Above all, a stylish house was the earmark of a virtuous woman. If she had taste, knew how to mix colors, had a keen eye for the form and function of furniture knowing how to properly display the outward signs of new wealth, she was well on her way to providing a nourishing environment in which her family could thrive. If she was lacking these virtues, no amount of money could compensate for their absence.

Why is it that we yearn to glimpse into other people’s homes? What do they have that we don’t?

How our home looks offers an intimate peek at how we view ourselves. Do sprawling chunks of over-sized furniture indicate a demonstrative personality? Do small pieces tightly arrayed signal a cautious sensibility?

Design is a vital prerequisite of the cultural make-up of everyday life. Especially in a free-market society, it’s accessible to anyone who’s interested. Granted, some people have more innate flair for design than others – a good sense – and this can have a salutary effect when they exercise it.

Design is seductive. It can make us think we are something we really aren’t. It plays on our deepest fantasies. It give us the illusion that we are a lot more classy than we really are. After all, why do people retain the services of an interior designer?

One way out of the doldrums of an ordinary life is to live in a fashionable environment. Can’t we see ourselves properly sitting on that silk settee in those flattering photographs that adorn those slick interior design magazines? Isn’t that where we secretly want to belong?

These design magazines both fascinate and alienate. Their alluring images, in reality, may not promise an immediate transformation, but they can teach us how to imitate the look and make us feel we are at least getting a shot at a more glamorous life.