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My apartment is perhaps the ultimate prima donna: a diva with a hissing radiator and sybaritic tenant. Posters from La Scala line the walls, Maria Callas records flood the floor. The first time I opened the door to my studio—a simple, 400-square-foot white box on the Upper East Side, north-facing and architecturally unassuming—I thought I’d either conquer the space and make it entirely my own or relent and bend to its will. After living here for more than three years, I can say I’ve landed squarely in the middle. Its theatricality is both inherent to my style and essential to my “lifestyle” (though that word inspires the heebie-jeebies).
I drunkenly sewed these curtains myself, using Colmery Paisley Panels from Schumacher, lined in Peter Dunham’s Jaali onyx block print. The lyre-back chairs are upholstered in a terra-cotta stonewashed linen, and the reading lamp is from Visual Comfort.
Melanie Acevedo
I love to fill the space room to the brim with friends. They sit on my king’s ransom of lyre-back chairs and pile on the sofa while scattering drinks on my coffee table—a felt-bottom antique that opens to reveal some type of cue sport—and sculpture stands I bought for a song on LiveAuctioneers. I mix martinis in the kitchen, separated from the living room by a pair of curtains drawn when appropriate; I hate to smoke out my friends with the heat of the oven, plus, the curtains make a great backdrop for a cabaret performance after one too many.
My bench-seat sofa feels like the ultimate luxury. It requires a bit of fluffing from time to time, but you never, ever feel like you’re going to plunge into the cracks of cushions. The chances of finding a better team or piece of furniture than I did at Billy Baldwin Studio are slim to none, and by some twist of fate (read: divine intervention), I was able to cover their St. Thomas sofa in a cotton-linen ikat from Schumacher and squeeze it into my apartment. We removed the front door by its hinges to make it fit and I drank like a fish that night from the trauma, but all’s well that ends well.
The Inspiration of the Past came from Kinsey Marable, who acquired the book from Mario Buatta’s auction at Sotheby’s. Dahlias in my great-grandmother’s rose bowl sit atop a ceramic plate by Remy Renzullo for Carolina Irving & Daughters.
Melanie Acevedo
Playing with symmetry is the decorating “device” I use most often. I could be faulted for having too many things, but balancing each piece with its partner somehow justifies their presence.
Melanie AcevedoWhile I aspire to a Bill Blass level of chic—sensational scale, rooms without demarcation, floating furniture on pools of parquet—I knew that wasn’t in the cards for me. When it became immediately apparent I’d have to disguise my own blonde-wood floors, I grabbed a rug from my childhood dining room. I love how the center is saturated with color, protected by our dining table from years of sun on its periphery. I also knew I’d have to draw a line between a space for entertaining and a space for sleeping (I love my friends, but not that much). A wicker screen now divides the two, and I treat it like a wall, hanging art for the illusion of permanence.
The “bedroom” is now my favorite for its haphazardness. Abraham Munting botanicals I found in the garage hang above a headboard covered in my favorite fabric, Beau cotton-linen moiré by Patterson Flynn for Schumacher. A hunting scene named Bachelor’s Hall in a cinnabar frame breaks up the grid of botanicals; it was a gift from a dear friend and makes me laugh. “Bachelor’s Hall” is what I’ve dubbed the apartment.
With the help of my best friend and style inspiration, Hudson Moore, I painted the apartment in Little Greene’s Silent White, which is perfectly warm and quiet. I keep records in wicker baskets throughout the apartment.
Melanie Acevedo
The chocolate brown task lamps by my bed were a Facebook Marketplace find. They help bring the fuddy-duddy botanicals down to earth. The pillows are Schumacher’s Sozan Velvet.
Melanie Acevedo"In small, dark apartments it’s always nice to feel self-indulgent, whether by layering rich textiles or creating intimate moments of respite."
The second of Patricia Highsmith’s Ripley novels starts with the antihero living grandly in a home outside of Paris blasting Mendelssohn’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream on the record player. (An alligator mask I picked up in Venice sits atop mine, flanked by speakers and the least fussy Staffordshire dogs I’ve ever met—they were bookends in my dad’s office growing up.) I always feel like that decadent Mr. Ripley when alone, supine on the sofa playing Puccini at an inappropriate volume. In small, dark apartments it’s always nice to feel self-indulgent, whether by layering rich textiles or creating intimate moments of respite.
My advice to any young man in New York is to always have a clean tuxedo shirt at the ready. Some of my best nights in the city started as day-of invitations which called for black tie.
Melanie Acevedo
Don’t let the olives fool you: I prefer a dry gin martini with a twist. The lamp was a Facebook Marketplace find. I love the neoclassical shape atop the utilitarian worktable.
Melanie AcevedoTo say I’m remotely an authority when it comes to decorating would be almost as crazy as saying I “decorated” this apartment. In reality, it came together after endless instances of trials and tribulations. My fortune lies in my influences: My mother gave me her taste and graciously some of her possessions, which people my age should feel emboldened enough to recontextualize. I was lucky enough to work for Keith Langham for a spell. His unflappable fearlessness in decoration and his understanding of the way people ought to live informed mine enormously. Lastly, my funny apartment would never have become what it is were it not for my current mentor, Dara Caponigro. Her style is always on my mind and her voice always in my ear, gently reminding me to “edit, edit, edit.” I would be wise enough to listen to all three voices, and then let the noise come to a soft spin, reminding me to flip the record and to enjoy it all, minute by minute, second by second.
