With a beard. Then I would be living in this loft in Amsterdam. Sitting at the table with my guy-friends-with-beards eating steak, just slightly seared, and a salad, because you know, we ARE watching our carb intake. But with wine. Good wine. And telling stories about how and where I got all those knickknacks lying about in a carefully arranged manner.
After dinner we’d be chilling on that leather sofa watching a film, something with Steve McQueen. Or Jack Nicholson. Because we are kinda heavily into bad-ass non-heroes.
Alright, we want to BE Steve McQueen.
And after my buddies had gone to their own amazing bachelor pads (think refurbished warehouses and churches) I’d take a long bath while smoking a cigar. And climb inbetween my crisp linens thinking “Phew, survived another day without that plane-thingy crashing down on our heads”.
But seriously: A-MA-ZING.
But also seriously: really not too sure about that plane-thingy.