The need to find unique pieces of furniture came both from maturity and a floor lamp, with one of these being the reason I won’t frivolously buy for my home anymore. My first apartment, like many, had that ever so eye-catching Malm dresser from Ikea. Yes, the one that was a perfect cube of toe-slamming discomfort and comprised of three drawers that fit snugly with wood pegs and hope. It didn’t move with you, but rather was passed down to the next unsuspecting undergrad tenant needing a utilitarian way to store clothes. Ikea is great and there are some gems in that big blue warehouse, but too many cardboard boxes and dollars gone to waste have taught me not to fall for quick fix furniture. Still, maturing from an undergrad to an alum wasn’t the moment that sparked my real furniture wish list. I remember walking into a home store that was well out of my price range, but like any good shopper I put on a blank face and studied the price tags intently as if those four figures were completely reasonable. At the brink of slinking away I came across what looked like a grown up version of the Pixar lamp, the one that bounces across the screen in true animated fashion. It was much taller, sleeker, and had a simple nob at the top with concealed wires, but that little cock of the lamp head made it whimsical. The lamp was the Grasshopper Floor Lamp and its precise design was what made me embrace furniture that tells a story. Whether it is the bright knobs of a classic hanger, the sharply splayed legs of a dining room table, or the fuzzy tuft of white on the cushion of an ottoman, a little touch of personality to otherwise inanimate objects makes that investment worthwhile. That lamp doesn’t perch over a chair in my home currently, but its little glow will one day be my own and for every Ikea box un-bought I’ll add to my investment list of furniture worth splurging on.