Misanthrope’s Corner

AMERICA’S latest excess, far worse even than compulsive hugging, can now be identified. We have entered the Whatnot Stand mode.

A whatnot stand, for those of you who are younger and/or better born than I, was a triangular shelf hung eyehigh in the corner of humble parlors up until about the end of the 1940s. On it stood glass figurines, made-in-Japan miniature saucers, plaster statuettes of prone babies with bare bottoms peeking from open pajama flaps, rosebuds made from glued sawdust, never-used souvenir ashtrays, a Mexican-sombrero pin cushion, and a no-evil monkey trio that glowed in the dark.

About the Author

Florence King

Florence King was a contributing editor of National Review.

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AMERICA’S latest excess, far worse even than compulsive hugging, can now be identified. We have entered the Whatnot Stand mode.

A whatnot stand, for those of you who are younger and/or better born than I, was a triangular shelf hung eyehigh in the corner of humble parlors up until about the end of the 1940s. On it stood glass figurines, made-in-Japan miniature saucers, plaster statuettes of prone babies with bare bottoms peeking from open pajama flaps, rosebuds made from glued sawdust, never-used souvenir ashtrays, a Mexican-sombrero pin cushion, and a no-evil monkey trio that glowed in the dark.