The Outdoor Furniture Conundrum

There are no good choices

In anticipation of summer, my wife and I are shopping for outdoor furniture. We should have started the process sooner, but no one here thinks about socializing alfresco during winter, and New York’s version of “spring” has been teasing us since March.

What Midjourney thinks our patio should look like.

We are slightly ahead of the oppressive heat that will arrive in June when we will chide ourselves once again for not renting that house in the Hamptons where the breeze mitigates the heat and the beautiful people avoid the less beautiful people.

Resigned to another sweltering summer in the city, we’ll make the most of our stingy air conditioning and the outdoor space we are fortunate to possess. But without something to sit on, it’s not terribly useful.

Our current outdoor furniture, which belonged to our apartment’s previous owners, is falling apart—and not surprisingly. NYC weather inflicts destruction on anything left outside for more than an hour.

How NYC patio furniture spends the winter.

Love seats and swivel chairs contract in the snowy winter and expand in the sticky, rainy summer while also repelling sloshed margaritas, over-priced Citarella salsa, dog claws, and stray cigarettes (though not at our house, because we’re good people who have heart problems). The result is corroded, splintery arm rests and cushions baked to a dangerous, crispy edge.

So, we got to Googling replacement options, and were reminded quickly that outdoor furniture comes in only two varieties:

1. Absurdly Expensive. You can purchase high quality product from a place like Pottery Barn or Crate and Barrel, but paying for it will require either liquidating your children’s 529 Plans, selling your plasma, or both. (Note: if you consider Pottery Barn a cost-effective option, please upgrade to a paid subscription.)

2. El Cheapo. However, if you shop on Amazon or Wayfair, you can get an 18-piece outdoor set for $449. Granted, these more economical options are manufactured in Myanmar by a one-armed 6-year-old, contain highly flammable carcinogens, and—worst of all—will require me to assemble them. But the savings are massive, especially when you calculate the “all-in” cost.

When you first go to the Pottery Barn website, you’ll see something that looks somewhat reasonably priced, until you realize that the cushions are sold separately, like the creamed spinach at Smith & Wollensky. Speaking of extras, since you’re paying top dollar, you’ll want to protect your purchase with the fitted furniture covers for an extra—I’m not kidding—$900, i.e., twice the cost of the whole shebang in Option #2. You could easily drop fifteen grand on something the local pigeons will soon be using as a toilet.

Dogs (and pigeons) take their toll on your outdoor settee.

In many cases, furniture that appears quite similar to their pricier alternatives will cost 80% less on Wayfair, which is basically the H&M of patio seating.

The internet cautions that “fast furniture” means low quality pieces that will last only 5-7 years. But, “only” five years? That feels like an eternity to me. Never mind that I could be dead tomorrow, but at 20% of the price, I could replace it four times for the same cost as Option 1, providing a seat for my butt well into my 90s.

Yes, we’d be contributing to the environmental disaster that is our planet, inviting side-eye from Greta Thunberg, and displacing some 5^th generation Tuscan wicker artisan. But that’s a small price to pay to be able to afford whatever over-priced college my teenagers will inevitably choose.

Of course, to go this route, we’d have to factor in the expense of furniture disposal. It would cost nothing for me to chuck the old stuff over our balcony wall, six floors down to the street below. This would be the easiest—and most enjoyable—method, though I would risk injuring my neighbor and her cute bulldog mix, Chicken.

You know what, I’m overwhelmed by the all the choices of furniture available, and the idea of hiring someone to remove our old stuff is too much for me to handle right now. I think I’ll risk splinters in my keister this summer and deal with it next year.

Besides, there are only 209 more days until winter.

THE END

What should I do?

Hey - you like to laugh, right? Come to one of my comedy shows near you…