Of all the therapists I've ever seen, none have had the quintessential shrink's couch. I have no interest in Freudian analysis but I've always coveted Sigmund's couch. The distressed leather looked comfy. The Persian rug draped across the couch smacked of European glamor. Who wouldn't want to rest their head there and navel gaze at the ceiling?

As a former interior designer, I value good design. I've had a number of good therapists but few with any design sense. When you visit a therapist's office week after week, it's hard not to notice the details. I confess to being hyper-vigilant. I notice everything. The nicks in the furniture, the cheesy knick knacks, the books, photos of their kids, the art or lack there of. I also notice what the therapists wear. The cut of their suit, the quality of shoe leather, the color of their socks. Sometimes it's not pretty.

My very first therapist, back in the dark ages (the '70s) wore the identical outfit every week. Khaki green pants, orange socks tucked into hideous orthopedic shoes, a green striped shirt with a orange knit tie. I can't remember his last name but I'll always remember my secret nick-name for him, Harvey Wallbanger, named after the then popular orange cocktail. I never found out if he co-ordinated different outfits according to the day of the week or wore the same outfit all the time. I never sat close enough to sniff him.

The shrink with the most style was an elegant middle-aged fellow from Istanbul. At the time, I attended art college in Montreal and trying to develop my own style. I loved my sessions with him, in part because of the ambience. The office design was straight out of Casablanca. Palm trees, heat blasting even on the most frigid winter days, layers of richly woven Persian rugs, exotic woods and the sweet scent of Cuban cigars. I can't imagine any therapist smoking cigars these days but back then it seemed normal. He dressed in impeccable suits, co-ordinated with fine cotton shirts and highly polished, expensive shoes. His office had a leather couch but I preferred sitting in the leather club chair. Sure, he helped me through a dark, depressing time but he also influenced my design esthetic.

All therapists give their patients or clients choices where to sit. There might be a couch and a chair, or three chairs or two armchairs like the one in my current therapist's office. There's probably some analytical reason why we choose to sit or lie down or why we prefer one chair over another.  I wonder if there are any interior designers who specialize in designing therapist's offices? If there isn't, maybe I should hang up my shingle again.

Which brings me to the reason behind today's blog. My therapist is moving next week and I'm nervous. I'd just gotten used to the oily smell in the elevator, the dingy beige walls of the waiting room and the over-sized armchairs that make me feel toddler-sized. What if I don't like the color of the new walls? Will there be stinky, new wall to wall carpet emitting noxious fumes? Will he spring for some new furniture and what about those big chairs? I know I can't cross boundaries and promote my design services but...
Stay tuned...