Well, you didn’t ask that. But you thought it. I heard you.
I’ve always been envious of people who say with absolute conviction, “Our style is contemporary,” or, “French Country is my taste,” or, “I like a rustic look.”
Many of my clients say their taste is, “transitional.” That’s the word that Pottery Barn and Crate & Barrel have coined to describe everything north of Victoriana and south of minimalism. It’s a dumb word. But I know what it looks like.
When my husband and I first merged households, we simply didn’t have much. John preferred sparsely furnished rooms anyway, and since a spare look suited the architecture, I didn’t push.
This was the condo we bought together:
We could have used more furniture, no doubt about it. And if we’d had the wherewithal to buy a big, gorgeous, red Iranian carpet for that room, I would have been in seventh heaven.
But whenever I suggested buying something, my husband would grumble, “How big is it?” (He fears clutter like some people fear H1N1.) I finally learned to respond, “Well, my darling, it is not invisible.”
When our twin daughters came along, a third-floor walkup was no longer feasible. We found the house of our dreams one neighborhood away.
At that point, I perhaps would have described my style as “modern with a healthy mix of antiques.” That’s not even a term, so you can see the problem. (May I remind you that by this point I was well on my way to becoming the mega-designer I am today :) Helping others = a joy and a breeze. Helping myself = challenging, to say the least.)
I thought I wanted to keep the spare look in our new house. We bought a huge abstract painting on wooden panel, and for years I tried to make that the cornerstone of our 1910 living room. I tinkered with the wall color (well, tinkering is perhaps an understatment), and bought 1950s Swedish safari chairs in Hudson, New York.
As many of you know, I never really got that room to work. And surprise, surprise: minimalism doesn’t lend itself to children and pets. AND you know what? I realized that in this house, anyway, this spare, quasi-modern look wasn’t really me.
I like stuff.
So now that painting has been replaced by a sideboard that’s well on its way to being covered with photographs and small objects. I (slowly, determinedly) am making that room cheerful, more comfortable, and more me. It is not a stage set, after all.
How would I describe my style now? Funky traditional, maybe?
The truth is that very few of us have a single, consistent style in our homes. Our stuff – furniture, art, accessories – is likely a combination of:
- Things we’ve purchased in a leisurely way, when we’ve had money and time
- Things we’ve bought unwisely, under duress
- Things we’ve been given as presents (things bought for us), and
- Things that have been handed down from family and friends.
That’s a lot to reconcile, isn’t it?
Add to that the reality that different styles appeal to us for different purposes. In other words, refined elegance may make you swoon in a city apartment,
but you might prefer a relaxed look in a weekend house.
Add to THAT the realities of your current stage of life. You may love antiques, but if you’re raising small children, you don’t think it’s practical to add to your collection now. You may long for a spa-like master bath, but you don’t plan to be in your house long enough to make it worth the investment.
My mother inherited a house’s worth of English antiques and lived with them for 30 years. Guess what? Her taste is clean-lined and fairly contemporary. Only after downsizing twice was she able to decorate to her own taste. (And now I have the antiques. Yippee!)
The point, Gentle Readers, is this: it is not important to label your style.
It is much, much more important to put together a home that is beautiful and comfortable. You may need help – you know how to reach me – but that, not a label, is the goal.
Most of the pictures are from the tasteful xJavierx’s Flickr photostream. The last picture of the grey and orange living room really is my parent’s apartment.
