Totally True Confession: I read a lot of decor blogs.
This is a peculiar habit for me, because my personal style of decor is what I guess you could refer to as “babyproofed eclectic minimalism”. When Little13 started crawling, I put away anything resembling a grabbable breakable, moved all the sharp-edged furniture away from the main living space, and left the design element to functional items - lamps and linens and wall art that my grandfather always protested as morbid. ”Why can’t you hang something nice on the walls? What’s with all this meat?”
Can’t help it. I gotta be me.
I subscribe to Apartment Therapy, because I’m a voyeur at heart and I like peeking into people’s homes and they do those damn house tours where I can see more chevron than I ever thought possible. I learn a lot from these house tours, such as the fact that people love having their pictures taken with their shoes off. Disgusting.
Other things I’ve learned from Apartment Therapy: It is a very trendy thing to do, to buy busted up old furniture and paint it loud colors. People love taking mid-century buffet tables, sanding them down and trussing them up in aqua paint like a stripper jumping out of an oversized Tiffany jewelry box. If you’re into that kind of thing, great!
I have a bedroom set that is older than my husband. It was my mother in law’s, and when we moved into her house, we absorbed this very heavy, solid wood, complete set of antique dressers and nightstands.
I…don’t really like it. It’s ornate, difficult to clean, has fussy glass tops and is very grandmotherly. It also has big doors that you have to open if you want to get to any of the drawers, and they make a loud clanking noise that can wake a sleeping child from across the house. And it’s a shade of baby-shit brown that is not my favorite - gold tinged, with big brassy hardware that you can’t replace because the hole sizes are not standard for modern furnishings.
However, I will never modify it. It’s just so purely ITSELF. And I’ll probably never get rid of it, because it is SINCERE. And of a quality that I probably could not afford, with modern earth dollars, to duplicate.
So I just pile my naked lady statues on top of it, slap up some tentacles on the wall behind it, clean the glass every week and polish all the wood once a month, and cope.
This is a metaphor for love, and aging, by the way.
Every one of us is a shitty old hunk of old furniture, and the way we deal with ourselves and the people around us can vary so widely from person to person. Some of us fight the process, tarting ourselves up with aqua paint, wigs, breast enhancements, boner pills, and moisturizers made out of rare sea funguses, and that’s fine.
Some of us polish the bulges festooning our comical clunky doors, shine the shitty old hardware and get down to the business of holding the fucking clothes, with a side of tentacles and ass statues. That’s fine too.
Just don’t be an asshole furnishing and wake the baby.
You have learned Religion. Go in peace.