Dispatch No. 2
Sunday, Oct. 11, 2026 · No. 2 · Free
The Letter
From the desk of Mr Call · Dispatch No. 2 · Thank you
FOR 25 YEARS,I have given this advice one client at a time, across a conference table, and never imagined strangers would want it. They did. The first letter reached more than 1,200 of you, and 150 more have joined since. Thank you.
So, starting this week, I am grading 100 sofas, one at a time, on FS05™, the five trade standards I built for my staff over 25 years. It sounds a little intense, and a little science fiction, but soon you may know it better than I do. It is what I taught every new hire, so they could shop the way I shop. Now I want to share it with you. Call it the 100 Sofa Project. It is also a test: I want to see whether the standards hold up outside my studio, on the sofas you are actually shopping for.
Every grade answers the three questions clients ask first. Will it look good in my room? Will it fall apart in two years? Am I paying too much?
Some sofas will be expensive and worth it. Some will be expensive and not. A few will be modest and quietly excellent, and those are my favorites.
If there is a sofa you are considering, reply and tell me which one. It may be the next one I grade.
With thanks,
· · ·
The Lesson
Notes on cushion fillDOWN IS SOLD ASthe upgrade, much as a second husband is. The resemblance is uncanny.
- Both cost more than the first.
- Both need fluffing every morning.
- Both shed.
You know the moment. The frame, fabric and size are chosen, and the salesperson leans in, voice lowered, as if offering the good table: would you like the down? Nobody wants to be the person who turned down the cloud.
It is lovely for about a month. Then it settles into the shape of whoever sat there last. I weigh 245 pounds on a good day, and down does not put up a fight.
Foam gets no credit. It is firmer, it keeps its shape, and every evening it is exactly where you left it, which is more than I can say for most things I have owned.
So smile and say it clearly: “Standard foam, please.”
Keep the second husband. Skip the down.
· · ·
The Sale
Real life resourcingTwo sofas this week, both for watching television. One is for a small room and a sensible budget. The other is for the person who has decided to be comfortable for the next twenty years.
CB2 Winona 3-piece sectional, $2,499.91 · See it at CB2 →
The one for a small room. The CB2 Winona is $2,499.91, marked down from $5,297, as final clearance. She is compact, 39 inches deep, with a low back and a mid-century line you will either love or find a shade stern. The seat is a very good 21 inches in height, and the frame is kiln-dried hardwood, made in America and responsibly sourced. CB2 does not publish the foam or fabric numbers, but a representative told me the foam is 2.5 pounds density or higher and the fabric is rated for 200,000 double rubs. Those are the best specs I have seen at this price, and hard to believe, so ask for them in writing.
Now the catch. She needs a wall. She is lovely from the front and has nothing to say for herself from behind, so do not float her. Nor is she a sprawler. If you picture yourself stretched out on an RH Cloud, she will disappoint you.
Room & Board Baylor four-piece sectional with chaise, $5,699.99 · See it at Room & Board →
The one for the long haul. The Room & Board Baylor is huge, and it is gorgeous. A four-piece sectional with a chaise, $5,699.99, marked down 34%. It could seat an entire troupe of troubadours, with room left over for their lutes.
The box cushions are thick, with a self welt, and the tall backs actually hold you up. The seat is 18 inches high, my minimum, and 45 inches deep overall, built for a large room and an evening on which one does not intend to be reached. It is handmade in the USA, with 1.8 pound foam and a fabric rated for 50,000 double rubs. You may float it in the middle of the room. It has no bad angle, a quality rare in sofas and nearly unknown in people. I think it is better than the RH Cloud.
How I would order it. It is final clearance, you cannot choose the fabric, and it is gone when the stock is. At the time of writing, there were 10. At this price, I would not stand about thinking.
The 100 Sofa Project
· · ·
The Story
Still Swiping · Episode 2: The FallA serialized story by Mr Call
Previously: a married man swiped right on a sofa and made a date.
SOME MEN DRESSfor a first date. I dress for a first sit. It is an occupational failing, and I have stopped apologizing for it.
I had the Faible’s photo on my phone: cream velvet, golden hour, a martini just out of frame. So I matched him: linen trousers and a pale Jacquemus shirt, cropped in the way that looks French in a mirror and hopeful everywhere else.
The listing gave everything but his seat height. I did not ask. One does not ask a man his height on a first date.
At the door I checked my reflection and told myself to be casual. I have never once been casual. But I am an optimist.
He was not by the window. He was not in the front vignette, where they put the ones who photograph well. Fine. Nobody wants a man who is easy to find.
So I drifted. I admired a squiggle mirror I would hate by Thursday. By the rugs the doubt crept in. What if he looked nothing like his photo? I have been catfished before, by a console.
I rounded a wall of fabric samples, and—
There he is.
The Faible stood alone in a pool of late-afternoon light. Tall, but not in an annoying way. Confident without needing you to notice. He looked like a man who would let me choose the restaurant and be glad about it. He looked like he had a therapist and used him.
He was better than his photo. This never happens.
I did what any grown man does when he spots his date across a room: I pretended I had not. I studied a lamp. Then a second lamp, as if lamps were my whole personality. Then I strolled over and said, “You’re even better in person.”
“Thank you,” said the salesman behind me.
He looked at me, then at the sofa, and backed away slowly, like a waiter who senses a proposal.
Alone at last, I touched his arm. Warm from the sun. Soft enough to lose a hand in.
I let myself imagine it. Sunday papers across his cushions. Christian at one end, me at the other, our feet meeting in the middle. Dinner guests asking how we met, and me laughing, “Oh, it’s a funny story, actually.”
I realized I had said that out loud. To a sofa. In a cropped shirt.
A woman sidled up and ran her hand along his back as if she had every right. I cleared my throat, with feeling. She moved on. I smoothed the velvet where her hand had been, the way Barbra brushes the hair off Redford’s forehead in The Way We Were. Tender. Possessive. A little unwell.
The showroom emptied. The playlist turned to a cello, which was a bit much, and I was entirely in favor.
I leaned toward his cushions and whispered, “Don’t go anywhere.”
He did not. Instead the late sun slid across his seat, the way you pat the cushion beside you when you want someone to stay.
He was inviting me to sit.
Me? I looked around. Had anyone else seen that?
From across the room, without looking up, the salesman said, “He does that.”
I chose not to hear it. This was Romeo and Juliet. Star-crossed lovers, his velvet and my linen. Meant to be.
How did that one end again?
To be continued next Sunday.
· · ·
A Sunday Invitation
If you need a sounding board, a second opinion, or a bit of help pulling a room together, I offer relaxed, genuinely fun personalized design sessions over video. They start at $50. Treat yourself to a bit of clarity.
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