34 ▼ m arch 2 1 , 1997 ▼ ju st out
M artha S tewart I s D ead
The empress of elegance has abdicated the mantle
of the elite and set up shop at Kmart
T
by Gary Horn
ome, my brothers and sisters. Let us
gather together in a prearranged, hand-
stenciled nam e-tagged circle and
mourn the passing o f an icon. Let us
dim the lights we rewired ourselves
and light a home-dipped beeswax candle. Let us
fill our crystal goblets with a fine Chardonnay,
squeezed from the vineyards so carefully tended
in our spare time betw een appearances on Good
Morning America. Let us bow our heads for a
precise moment o f silence in deference to the
passing o f that paragon o f fine living, Martha
Stewart.
O f course her body lives and breathes still, but
her spirit— her essence o f all that is gracious in the
home, her irreplaceable talent for perfectness— is
dead. M artha Stew art’s gracious living has been
forever tarnished. By Kmart.
Please, I know it’s difficult to believe. W e’ve
all salivated surreptitiously over each fashion
ably printed page o f her books and magazines,
wanting, needing to display just a fraction o f her
decorating genius in our own homes. Oh, I know
it’s difficult for any self-respecting homosexual
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back yard. She presided over a new line o f “every
day accessories” in the home living department
o f... (choke)... Kmart.
Oh, granted, Kmart has toiled endlessly to
upgrade its image, to join the ranks o f retailing
respectability. But some things were just never
meant to be. Would you sell Dom Perignon from a
Pepsi machine? Would you peddle Rolls Royces
from a Chrysler-Hyundai dealership? Even Jesus
himself said, “Would you cast pearls before swine?”
No. There was, and always should be, a distinction
between “everyday living” and “gracious living.”
Martha has abandoned us for the masses.
One cannot blame Kmart for wanting to join
the socially acceptable. Dare I speak ill of the
dearly departed, I must cast blame on Martha
herself. I began to worry months, even years ago,
as she expanded her fine living empire, cornering
every media segment with furor and carefully
crafted homemade steps. Even her business savvy
had flair. She conquered television after success
fully burying her neighbors in “I’ll-tape-where-I-
please” mulch. She increased circulation o f her
magazine, sold books, became a regular colum
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to admit he or she doesn’t know everything about
fine living, but M artha did, and to her we bowed
cerem oniously with each wondrous appearance
and helpful tip.
W ho am ong us hasn’t dream ed, even at
tempted, to throw the perfect dinner party, so
easily executed in step-by-step fashion from
M artha’s kitchen? W ho hasn’t roamed the coun
tryside looking for yard sales to purchase the
antiques o f a bygone era and restore them to
better-than-original glory for display in our sit
ting room? Who hasn’t felt the com pulsion to
plant gourds in our garden, just so we could make
smart and kitschy porch lamps for summer out
door entertaining? W e’ve all sighed with adm ira
tion for M artha’s unstoppable energy and style.
Then it all died. How, you ask (still in shock)?
She sold out to Kmart. The sight was devastating.
I dabbed away the tears with my hanky, fashioned
from an heirloom quilt, and searched in vain for
the organic aspirin I’d w hipped up from M artha’s
own recipe. Anything to ease the pain o f that
discovery. For there, on the cover o f a recent
Sunday Kmart circular, stood M artha, beaming as
if she had just discovered an easy way to carve the
Italian marble she mined herself from her own
nist in the newspaper section that only the devoted
would read religiously. W here did she find the
time to do everything, and so well, too? That was
her magic. Her art. Her demeanor. But Martha
went too far. Perhaps she didn’t get enough sleep.
I should have seen it coming. I should have
prepared myself more. Maybe it was denial. Maybe
it was a stubborn disbelief that the nonpareil o f
style would ever make such a heart-wrenching
business decision, resulting unexpectedly in her
own marketing death. I’ll never know.
Will our M artha’s passing be the birth o f a new
decor queen for the have-nots? Will trailer parks
all across the fringes o f suburban America sud
denly display some sense of good living aw are
ness? Will the new “com m on” Martha indeed
elevate Kmart to a minimally passable retailing
level, akin to Target or Sears? Perhaps our loss is
bulk Am erica’s gain. For even the slightest eleva
tion o f the masses surely benefits us all.
We will miss you, Martha. We will miss your
energy. Your presence. Your ceaseless ability to
make it all look so simple, yet so elegant. This
moment is yours, Ms. Stewart. Will there be a
television special on how to exit fine living gra
ciously?