S l e e p e r

The Best Bedside Lamps

This is a luscious, content-full site, not a catablog. I strongly believe you don't have to go buy a lot of new things in pursuit of superior sleep. But I am delighted finally to feature bedside lamps, because I get a lot of questions about them, and, truly, a good bedside lamp is hard to find. It's got to be ample, but not too large — you want nightstand real estate for your books — and pleasing to look at. After all, it's the last thing you lay your eyes on at night.

Here are some lamps I'm loving:

The Flowerpot Lamp, blooming right out of 1969, when Verner Panton designed it. It's so absolutely cheerful, it will light your way through all those dreary cases you're reading for the bar exam. Not that that's good bedside reading... but when you make partner, you won't feel bad about having paid $367 for it at the current sad exchange rate. It's also quite heavy and substantial despite its whimsical appearance.

The Lytegem Lamp: similar in mood to the Flowerpot, but can be wall mounted. If you have a toddler, or you're very nearsighted and tend to flail madly for your glasses, or you're just clumsy, or, why am I going on about this, if you like an absolutely clear surface next to your bed — which in itself is a sleep aid — this one is perfect, and at $125, a good value. Well, nearly perfect: you should switch out the dark cord for a white one if you have a white wall.

Self-assembly: Find a base you like, for instance this slim, handsome model from The Conran Shop (about $60). Toss the boring shade. Trust your imagination. Have a quick hunt on eBay, or find a shade in an online shop. Remember the one you saw in the window of that antiques shop last weekend? (This shade is one of a pair from an East Village thrift shop.)

Tube Top: A good choice if, again, you have that toddler, who might knock the lamp down; it's lightweight acrylic and indestructible. Brooklyn designer Peter Stathis designed Tube Top after a moment of inspiration looking at a pair of kitchen tongs. Nice that it has a dimmer switch, too. I like proportions of the medium size ($198, 21" high) more than the small ($98), but the small does come in all those great colors, like sun yellow. Actually, the clear version is most attractive. I'm sure the reason you don't see it in shelter magazines is because it doesn't photograph well.

Ballroom Glitz: I've about had it with Palm Beach (not really, but you have to admit it's overexposed) and post-post-Victorian eclecticism (since the world stole it from my mother, who invented it in 1963), but I am awfully fond of this lamp, which takes itself seriously, but not too, and has an airy little price ($88). If it starts to look silly, just put it on Craigslist, darling!

Eastwood Short Tree Trunk Table Lamp: I often find myself wondering why birds, deer, and antlers continue to persist in interiors now. At any rate, I realize I'm not ready to give up my woodlands obsession. This lamp ($350) has wit and dignity both, and it will still look good when all those cheap antler-y things don't anymore. Which is, you know, now.

Anglepoise: You can't afford a refurbished 1940 George Carwardine original, like this one from Ruby Beets? Look into the Counterpoise ($329) at Restoration Hardware. The wall-mounted version ($499) is nifty.

Signal Lamp: If you elect not to get an Anglepoise on account of the fact that the Soft Boys wanted to be one in 1976, for crying out loud, content yourself with this shy yet saucy French number from Conran's (unfortunately the price in British pounds is too depressing to convert — I'm just heading to bed).

Against Crispness, II

A reader writes:

Dear Sleeper:

I have to say something heretical. I have a large, dark bedroom that brings to mind the word "hibernation." Since I have other, bright rooms, I've gone with dark, and the room is in earthy colors. The walls are filled with dark wood bookcases full of books. The bed is done in shabby chic-seraglio-cave style, with many non-cheesy animal prints, both pillows (lots) and sheets, as well as 3 (!) heavy down comforters. The sheets are of very fine, silky cotton, very soft, as are the duvet covers. In short, it is a finely tuned, gorgeous mess. The most snuggle-in bed you can imagine. While I deeply appreciate the preference for a crisp, cool, smooth, and precise bed, mine is in an entirely different direction. And apparently I sleep like a baby in it, as I'm never tangled up in the morning!

Yours,
Aulaire

Dear Hibernator:

If there were such a thing as a funhouse of bedrooms, wherein a person could, on any night, dress up as Scheherezade and dive into your finely tuned, gorgeous mess, and on another night get very tired on horseback and lie down on a felt blanket in a leather jacket next to a saguaro, with soughing sounds on the noise machine or even an actual Appaloosa whinnying, I would subscribe. Wait. Why is there no such place? And why am I not its design consultant?

All this is to say, there are logical reasons for landing in this kind of milieu; like many, you simply were taken from the nest too soon, and your lot is to recreate it, in various ways, for the rest of your life. On the 1,001th night in your bedroom, you might find yourself freighted with the obligation to accessorize. If that happens, or if you're not actually living on an ice floe, you can always get a mosquito net, a lighter blanket, white linens, and transform yourself yet again. The theatrical boudoir is a responsibility. The sleepwear. The air-conditioning bill. I like to sleep under a lot of weight, but I'm not sure three down comforters is entirely sustainable.

Still, if you're finding enough co-sleepers to co-star, and you're stocked up on ambergris and snacks, and the sleep is as good as you say — that's the main thing — then follow your daemon! I am in favor of gem-colored rooms and the soft and luxurious bed. If you have never visited ABC Carpet & Home, in Manhattan, go immediately. You might be able to hide out for days in an opium bed or a giant Mughal swing under a mink blanket before the staff discovers you.

Sweet dreams,
Sleeper

Sleeping in Hot Weather

A reader writes:

Dear Sleeper,

I've just moved to Hong Kong and it is dreadfully humid and hot. Fortunately, it's still only March, so I'm not exhausted from the awful sleep. But is there something I can do to prepare my bed for the warm and humid climate?

Needing better sleep,
Paris

Dear Paris,

What's worse than a long, torpid night staring at the ceiling in deep summer in Hong Kong — or St. Louis, or Buffalo? ...except maybe the morning after. I feel your pain.

You didn't say whether your place has air conditioning, so I'll assume it doesn't, but first I'll say I'm a believer in AC, at least at night, in otherwise airless apartments or bedrooms not shaded by trees during the day, which keeps the heat down at bedtime. But if a window unit isn't an option, there are still plenty of things you can do to get a good sleep.

A fan is paramount, even if you do have AC, since cooler air sinks to the floor. If you can possibly have this Vornado shipped, do. It is handsome, but more important, it circulates the air far better than does a box fan. Put it on or close to the floor, across the room, and aim it high on the wall to the side of your bed. You won't believe the difference. As a bonus, the white noise from this fan is heavenly. (I have two.) Lower the shades during the day to keep the beating sun out.

Next, declutter your bedroom. Do you have a desk in there? Scattered papers? Dry-cleaning hangers on the doorknob, waiting to be recycled? Remove them. Then make sure the room is always clean and dusted. Just having this one room in your place (not to imply that the others aren't) neat and serene will lower the... what is the opposite of wind chill?

In a minute I will get to the bed itself, I promise.

What color are the walls in your room? A neutral or soft cool color will help a great deal. For steamy climates I love Farrow & Ball's Borrowed Light. F&B paints are made up of hundreds of pigments, so even the paler shades are complex, psychically deep. It might sound crazy, but in prepping a room for summer, every aspect of it is crucial, especially if you're at all prone to insomnia. What's on your bedside table? You don't want your mind to be toiling away when you're trying to quiet your body, although I find A Streetcar Named Desire strangely comforting on hot nights. The sultry spirit.

Your bedtime ritual should change for summer. Before going to sleep, wash your feet in cool water. Cucumber soap is soothing, but any will do, as long as it isn't heavily perfumed. Run your wrists under cool water, too. Wear woven cotton pajamas, not jersey (it clings), in white or a light color. Likewise, for your bed, choose a papery percale. Dwell bedding, made of Egyptian cotton, has a great feel for summer; it stands away from your skin. Plain white or off-white or a subtle pattern is best. Change the linens as often as possible, every couple of days if you can.

You may have already discovered that sleeping in the nude is less comfortable than wearing a light pajama.

There are some good, very lightweight blankets out there, or you could opt just for an exceedingly clean top sheet.

Eat lightly, but make sure to have some warm food at supper. It sounds paradoxical, but eating all cold foot in hot weather raises the body's temperature. And avoid alcohol in the hours before turning in.

One more tactic to try in the bedroom, from a friend who lives in Bangladesh: put a curtain rod in the doorway and hang a clean wet (not dripping) sheet from it. Aim the fan so that it bounces off the sheet.

Cool thoughts,
Sleeper

Sleeping With the Fishes

A reader writes:
Dear Sleeper,

I can't sleep in my bed, and I don't know why. I have dreams all the time about being a jellyfish. They're actually very bad dreams. Do you think it's the bed placement? Do you sense some kind of aura problem? I desperately need advice and look forward to your input.

Nodaway in Brooklyn

Sleeper responds:
Dear Nodaway,

I am terribly moved by this bed. First, the quilt is obviously handmade, and the horsey flannel/plaid patches rocket me back to my brother's room, or what was left of it when he left for college. Nothing fluffy, but a feminine hand in the piecing together of the odd pieces of what seem to be a pretty classic childhood hunched worriedly over a desk while squinting thru thick glasses at a chalkboard and being occasionally knee-kicked and whomped by stouter, bullyish boys and in the evening having bitterly to choke down something with kale. Your cheeky teal-marine combination — you naïf! — hints at an artistic sensibility. The neatly folded pjs make me want to weep.

No wonder you dream of the ocean floor, sleeping down there on it, bookshelves looming like deadly reefs. To say nothing of the threatening trench in the — wait, is that a futon?

You must banish all Japanese accessories except maki rolls. Move the bed out of the corner so that it, and you, can breathe. Get a good mattress and at least a platform, so you're not so close to the floor. I like the dark teal sheets. Some striped and wildly plaid ones will sing out "precocious imp." A couple of bedside lamps will lure smart gills into your net.

Restfully yours,
Sleeper

Not Her Natural Habitat

Sleeper is on the road, roughing it for a few months in a rented model home in the drafty middle U.S. Real estate "fluffers" styled the bedroom to lure a special kind of buyer. Let's take a look at this longed-for Model Couple's sleeping life.

Judging by the tallowy glow of the single bedside lamp (1), which creates a kind of butcher-paper mood, and which is exceedingly dim, they are illiterate.

CONNIE FROM SOTHEBY REAL ESTATE: Excuse me, that is rude. No one would have any problem making out the pictures in these books (2).

SLEEPER: What I want to know is, did you buy The Couple's Tao Te Ching for this room, or did someone give it to you for Christmas, and if they did, has it been hard to part with for the time being?

CONNIE FROM SOTHEBY: My spouse and I have a small altar in the corner of our bedroom. A budding branch, some candles, water, earth —

SLEEPER: STOP. That branch, did it inspire the Sad Grass installation (4)?

CONNIE FROM SOTHEBY: Are you from New York?

SLEEPER: I think people buying a house for half a million dollars in even this small postindustrial city would have extra-long pillow cases. In my country we call these (3) "badly wrapped dumplings."

CONNIE FROM SOTHEBY: Extra-long pillow cases?

SLEEPER: They're about the size of a large flat-screen TV.

CONNIE FROM SOTHEBY: Did you move the Sacred Passion Candle?

SLEEPER: I looked deeply into myself and learned that my beloved and I needed to bring some nourishing air into our hidden agendas (5).

CONNIE FROM SOTHEBY: I'll swap out the coconut fragance sticks from the basement stairs.

SLEEPER: What kind of sheets are these? Because I've never experienced a fabric that has no lateral strength at all. It's like sleeping in used one-ply tissues.

CONNIE FROM SOTHEBY: You'll want to stop by the Galleria and have a look around Soft Surroundings. Better leave your charge card home, though. [laughter]

SLEEPER: No we love this room. The ziggurat of slippery throw pillows (6) made us feel instantly welcome.

CONNIE FROM SOTHEBY: When I call to show the place, you can always say "You know what, we just had a wild time, we need an extra fifteen minutes."