"Something for Everyone" promises the monumental sign, like a cheerful message from Big Brother himself. From Interstate 80 Ikea looks big; up close, it's so intimidatingly huge that even the extra-special blue can't compensate for the inhuman banality. And that's when I first realize what is happening to us: My girlfriend and I aren't just shopping for a couple of tall wooden bookcases for our living room. No, we are subjecting ourselves to the socialist shopping experience, exported directly from Sweden, a subversive paradigm offering a radical alternative to the social rifts that polarize arch-capitalist America.

In Ikea's futuristic Marxist Utopia, there will be only one huge store to accommodate the needs of an entire metropolitan area with millions of people. No choice or differentiation for the rich, the poor or the ever-rising bourgeoisie. No vagaries of styles and fashion to divide us by social class, demographic or "psychographic." Everyone will come to the same store and fill their homes with the same stuff. Something for EVERYONE!

At first I'm captivated by the liberal idealism of the place. The hordes thronging toward the massive structure constitute an extraordinarily representative cross section of humanity. Every race, ethnicity and socioeconomic niche is here, clamoring for the basic human right to home furnishings that are inexpensive yet attractive. Our consumerism is uniting us, not dividing us! It's a millennialist vision of universal harmony and peace!

My gush of egalitarian enthusiasm diminishes quickly once we make our way into the store. It's easier to love the masses when they aren't crowding against you from every direction as you try to move forward through the aisles. As we find our way across the vast space, walking, it seems, for miles, the product offerings appear numbingly homogeneous. To be sure, it's nearly impossible not to like the Ikea style, a streamlined, utilitarian look that appeals to the least common denominator of personal taste. There's nothing in an Ikea design that you can reasonably complain about, which makes it a no-brainer for couples with slightly mismatched sensibilities who would otherwise argue for weeks over what living room set or dining table to purchase.

Ikea is the ultimate safe choice. Everyone buys his or her furniture here, so no one will ever criticize your taste. The Ikea stuff is all very nice; the problem is, it's all very much the same. It banishes the conceit of expressive individuality. After an hour of staring at the stuff, I yearn for furniture with an unusual stylistic approach, an ornamental quirk or unconventional look. I was hungry for a little bit of ... American capitalism!

In the good old market economy, we'd be in a quiet, spacious store with eager salespeople to attend to us in the best sycophantic style. At Ikea we're elbowing the hoi polloi throughout the huge showroom. There appear to be no salespeople; that demeaningly servile position -- a relic from the era of class exploitation -- has been eliminated.

Since socialism is an international movement, Ikea has done away with locally tailored marketing. The product lines have gobbledygook-sounding Swedish names that mean nothing to an American: Stromstad, Bakamo, Laholm, Paong, Enneryda, Jussi, Renfors, Hakko, Hovik and Bankeryd. The cafe sells Swedish meatballs, not hamburgers. Maybe the marketing concept is to make you feel like a Swede. In that case, I want state-funded free healthcare when I leave the place.

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