Seven Years of New York Treasure Hunting, One Final Sale
When I moved to New York seven years ago, I inherited more than just family heirlooms—I inherited a curator's eye. These aren't pieces I found scrolling marketplace at 2am. They're the real deal: passed down, fought over at family dinners, survived cross-country moves in dubious packing jobs.
My grandmother's occasional chair. My dad's vintage record collection. The brass lamp that's been in three different living rooms across two generations. Each one's got a story that predates my NYC chapter.
Now I'm relocating, and I can't take them all with me. Which means your apartment gets the glow-up it deserves. Authentic vintage with actual provenance. No drop-shipped "antique-style" nonsense.
Come see what seven years in New York taught me about holding onto the good stuff—and letting it go to the right people.
Chairish: Because these things deserve their next adventure.