Shouts & Murmurs – The Affair With My Chair
The New Yorker|March 25, 2024
I’ve heard people call sitting the new smoking. Others say that sitting is the new sugar. Both wrong. I’m here to tell you that sitting is the new sex. It feels so good, especially with the right partner.
By Alyssa Brandt
Shouts & Murmurs – The Affair With My Chair

What started as a short fling to ride out a global pandemic became something more. Being confined together for months can test a couple, but the experience deepened our bond. I fell in love. I can’t speak for my desk chair from the office—well, maybe I can, since chairs don’t talk—but I feel like I know its heart.

Chair-a-la is the pet name I’ve been using. Sometimes Chair-Chair. Or Chairy-boo (but only in private). Chair-a-la hasn’t reciprocated, but that’s O.K. Call me superficial, but I’ll take three-hundred-and-sixty-degree arms, adjustable lumbar support, variable seat height and depth, and soil-resistant leather over a lot of empty talk. Words don’t fully convey how reassuring and delicious it feels to be truly held by an inanimate object.

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