Like most of my peers, I watch HGTV and browse an occasional decorating blog. I enjoy an hour with Nicole, Chip and Joanna, Jen, and, if I’m lacking a good book and feeling desperate, Drew and Jonathan. The Nester has totally convinced me that it doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful. And I’ve learned a lot from Sherry and John, as well as from Shannan.
One of the things they’ve taught me is that decorating is one more category in which I am a
freak rare bird. Not only do I insist on wearing my hair in its natural state (curly), I apparently also swim entirely against the tide when it comes to home décor and design.
Let me even go so far as to declare that I, a person who neither lives in Texas nor hunts, have no business adorning my home with taxidermy. Sure, I heard a rumor about the oversized deer population in my city, but I don’t usually use wildlife trends to inspire my decorating. So, until further notice, the only antlers you will find in our home are the following:
You know what else? I have no interest in open concepts. I mean, what are “concepts” doing in home design anyway? Could you find a more lifeless, bland word? I realize this makes me an anomaly among Americans between the ages of 23 and 69. But seriously, how do these people with open homes hide from their children? Where exactly do you eat your sneaked dark chocolate? And, why on earth would I want to be able to see the chaos that is my children at play while I am laboriously attempting to summit the mountain known as cooking supper? Boundaries, friends, boundaries. I need ’em. Not just in my relationships, but in my house.
Further, I actually want rich, vibrant color on my (gasp!) walls.
Contrary to the trend, I need whole walls slathered not in cream, grey, slate, morning dove or ivory, but in the vivid hues of chocolate, crimson, and seaside blue. Rich color delights me. Deep color, if well chosen, helps me to relax and feel at home. Not just “pops of color” here and there, but whole backdrops:
Because if I wanted to live in the middle of a snowstorm or on an Atlantic beach on a sleeting day in November, I would.
I don’t want to shock anyone, but I am also unmoved by granite counters and farmhouse sinks. I guess I’m just not a counter hobbyist, but if I wanted to drop several thousand bucks, I would be far more excited by a trip to a European city, a renovation of my trapped-in-1949 bathroom or a weekend with friends at a spa resort. Priorities, people. And call me narrow-minded, but don’t farm sinks belong somewhere in the vicinity of an actual farm?
Finally, I laugh in the face of bedrooms that aspire to be “master retreats.”
I need to retreat from the challenges of daily life as much as the next guy, but I’m also a realist. I know that no serenity will be found until I learn to promptly hang up yesterday’s clothes, put away the clean laundry in fewer than five days, and vacuum under my bed more than twice a year. Plus, I share my bedroom with a man who has never met a piece of paper he could throw away faster than 390 days.
So, you go relax in your morning dove open concept living space with farmhouse touches after you arise from your master retreat where you’ve slumbered peacefully under a pair of antlers. l’ll be over here behind my caliente red walls with my big, curly hair ascending to the heavens, cultivating my rare bird school of wild design.
© Laura Goetsch and goetschblog, 2015.