“More is more and less is a bore.” ― Iris Apfel
After spending decades collecting clean-lined Midcentury Modern furniture and accessories, stylist Wendi Weger felt it was time to give her Silver Lake apartment a playful update.
“Everything was brown,” Weger says as she sits on a plush sofa covered in pink and chartreuse striped Christian Lacroix fabric. “It looked like a UPS truck in here. I mean, look at me,” she adds, fluffing the ruffles of her Accidente Con Flores dress, her intricately manicured fingers decorated with colorful Zuni Toons rings. “That is not me.”
Indeed.
Weger, who grew up in Madison, Wis., studied cinema during graduate school at NYU and later moved to Los Angeles to work in Hollywood as a producer and stylist, is no minimalist. Always expressive, she describes her style as more akin to a “Victorian parlor meets hunting lodge.”
So it’s no surprise that her one-bedroom apartment, in a Storybook-style fourplex built in 1922, is just as dramatic as she is.
Weger thrives on “kinetic energy,” be it color, texture or a pair of bedazzled Italian loafers. In her bedroom, she mixes floral textiles and modern art with a quirky stepstool shaped like an ear of corn. In the dining room, vintage Doyle Lane ceramic beads dangle from a Mission-style wooden clock while designer handbags are draped over chairs and hat racks.
On her fireplace, an ornate gilded mirror from the 1940s she found at Sunbeam Vintage is flanked by porcelain figurines. A porcelain Capodimonte lamp nestled under vintage Japanese prints is described as “Rococo on acid.” Nearby, a handmade chandelier by artist Helen Stickler, decorated with vintage Swarovski crystals and beads, adds to what Weger describes as her “Candyland vibe.”
“That’s where I am right now,” she says about the apartment she has called home for 17 years. “I feel like I can finally play. I’m trying to bring in a candy theme without making it too grandma. At this point in my life, I don’t care what anyone thinks about me.”
Her friend, creative director Dana Sidell, says self-expression is central to how Weger lives her life. “Wendi has the unique ability to bring nostalgia, whimsy and individuality all together into maximalist style,” she says in an email.
In 2020, as the film industry slowed down because of COVID-19, Weger took a chance and opened the Curatorial Dept., a vintage and designer resale shop in Atwater Village. Popular with celebrities including Lake Bell, Nick Thune and politicians Nithya Raman and Laura Friedman, the store is known for Weger’s signature “clothing sculptures,” where she layers mannequins with dozens of pieces of clothing and accessories.
“Styling is my art,” she says. “To me, clothing is sculpture.”
To demonstrate, Weger starts layering a mannequin in her bedroom, picking from racks of clothes, handbags, color-coordinated shoes and jewelry nearby. She layers an “I’m With Stupid” T-shirt over a dress shirt and Yohji Yamamoto linen pants, then keeps adding more. “It needs a ruffle,” she says, caught up in the process, before adding a frilly collar and glittering vintage brooch.
A bright blue first-place ribbon materializes and becomes the perfect accessory. “It’s not maximalist enough,” she says with a sigh.
Weger says her apartment reflects the way she dresses, with layers of art, vintage clothes and accessories, each with its own story. She jokes that it looks like one of her clothing sculptures has “exploded across a room.”
When asked if there’s such a thing as too much, she shakes her head with conviction.
“I’ll wear a baby cup as jewelry,” she says, picking up a small silver cup from a cabinet to show her point. What’s one more charm on one of several necklaces already heavy with lockets and hearts?
Weger’s home decor follows the same idea. Some pieces, like a pink silk pleated Gucci skirt by Alessandro Michele, hang on her bedroom wall next to vintage artworks, including a framed cross stitch by a friend that reads “Live. Laugh. Toaster Bath.” Others are neatly arranged in her butler’s pantry. Clothing racks fill the hallway, living room and even her bedroom. “Clothing and handbags are art to me,” she says.
Then there’s the cashmere embroidered rabbit cape by Gucci, which she purchased secondhand.
“People chase me down on the street whenever I wear it and ask me where I got it,” she says. “To me, it’s art.”
Humor is important to her too. In the living room, a blue resin coffee table shaped like a candy wrapper adds to the playful feel, along with vintage candy dishes.
“There’s a lot of absurdity and comedy here,” she says, pointing out the Spanish angels with guns, a series of artworks from the 1600s.
“There’s something about these Spanish archangels with weapons,” she says. “They look tough and unisex to me, with mild expressions, beautiful clothes, tights, ruffles and sleeves, plus a firearm. It’s a great symbol for being a warrior, especially as a small business owner.”
Nearly everything in her apartment is secondhand, from the vintage Audubon prints arranged salon-style in the living room to the Navajo rugs and David Shrigley print she found at a garage sale. Mixing old and new is important, she says, referring to the House of Hackney hollyhock pattern she recently added to the walls of the living room and bedrooms, as well as the dining room lampshade.
Her apartment is essentially her atelier, or as she calls it, “the creative engine behind” the Curatorial Dept. She often does intake for her store at her kitchen table, surrounded by needlepoint pillows made by her Great-Uncle Elliott, who was also an entrepreneur. “This is not cluttered to me,” she says. “This is just where everything gets sorted.”
“Wendi’s style has a touch of the harlequin to it — playful, theatrical and always ready for an occasion,” writer and former NYU classmate Josh Rothenberger says in an email. “Her world is a warm pastiche of vintage and bespoke, histories inherited and histories invented on the fly. Her furniture invites the kind of existential frolic that pairs best with Cuvée — only to remind us, hours later, that true beauty should never be too precious to dance on.”
Although Weger says she isn’t a “woo-woo person,” she believes her apartment and store came from asking the universe for what she wanted. “Tell people what you want,” she says. “Especially in L.A. People support you and help you reach your dreams. I said I wanted this apartment, and because of that, my friend thought of me when she was moving. The same thing happened with my shop. I was in a different industry when I told a shop owner friend I’d always wanted a shop, that I intended to have a shop, and she thought of me when hers became available.”
She’s already thinking about what she wants next: “I’ll be sure to tell everyone I know.”
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