Dear Fiona,
My house is almost entirely decorated with high street buys. I prefer new stuff that is definitely clean (going to antiques fairs gives me the heebie jeebies) and I tend to concentrate on high street shops – mainly because I don’t have a huge budget. I also get real satisfaction from occasionally finding things that look similar to something that’s high end (I’m a huge fan of the House & Garden shopping pages!) and I love sales time.
I don’t like clutter, so when I find cushions or an armchair or a rug that I like more than one I’ve got, I take what I no longer need to a charity shop – they’re never there for long (I check) so evidently people are pleased to buy what I no longer have use for, and I like to think that I’m helping the charity raise money, as well as people who might not have been able to buy whatever it was at full price.
I was happy, generally, with this approach to decorating – but recently my sister has made some really snide remarks about how my house looks different every time she comes, and asks me questions that I can’t possibly answer, like “and what do think the supply line looked like for this rug?” She’s currently filled with anti-consumerist fervour, her new baby wears cloth nappies, she is growing her own vegetables and she buys her ‘pantry staples’ from a refill shop (that she has to drive forty-five minutes to get to in her diesel car.)
Is what I’m doing so bad? For I do care about the environment – to which end I only take public transport. Admittedly the turnover in my home has been quite high recently – but that’s because I felt like a change, and then that change wasn’t as successful as I hoped, so I changed it all again, etc. (I’m still not quite there, but I think I will be.)
Love,
A Keen Shopper XX
Dear Keen,
Thank you for your letter. I’m not going to tell you that what you’re doing is wrong (I’m not that kind of Agony Aunt), though nor am I going to respond with a sanctioned “crack on!”. Shopping and consumerism are too nuanced to be dealt with by the first response (also, John Chapter 8, ‘he who has never sinned’ etc. - and I know the local Amazon delivery man by his first name). At the same time, I don’t think that you’d have written to me if you weren’t having the occasional doubt concerning your decorating method. But there’s more to unpick here, besides the environmental impact.
First though, let’s clear one important thing up: there is nothing wrong with buying things that are new. If everybody only bought second hand, a lot of product designers would be out of their jobs (not to mention everybody else in the industry) and what would happen to progress? That said, what interests me in your letter is not so much your buying habits, but your disposal habits – not the way that you dispose of things, for it’s lovely that you make sure that your things have another life beyond their life with you – but the fact that you do dispose of things, so often. If you’ve read Jean-Paul Sartre’s Being and Nothingness: An Essay on Phenomenological Ontology, you’ll know of his theories on the inextricable link between our possessions and our identity – which, to a greater or lesser extent, is the basis of most interior designers’ approach to decorating, i.e. there is a belief that interiors should be biographical. Most of us take comfort from the familiarity of our possessions, but yours possibly don’t feel familiar if you keep replacing them. Reading between the lines of your letter, I’m not sure that the idea of the stuff you buy relating to you is informing your choices, and I wonder, therefore, if that is why, maybe subconsciously you keep replacing things? To return to Sartre, do you think it might be possible that your interiors are having a small existential crisis, and that your buy-donate-buy cycle is reflective of the fact that you are looking for the thing that does connect, and that does feel like you?
Keep hold of that thought for a bit, while we explore the ways in which we bond to objects. There’s the superficial level – which might be that something is in a colour that we like or has got something on it that we like; for instance, I know that I am regularly seduced by lions, tigers and leopards. Put one on a cushion or a mug, and I’m definitely more likely to buy it. But there’s also an appreciation for things that comes from an understanding of how something was made, its history, a personal attachment – or all of those things – and that can deepen our sense of connection. I’ve used Balineum’s Lioness & Palms tiles in my bathroom, knowing that the design is by C.F.A. Voysey, the Arts & Crafts architect, furniture and textile designer who, once upon a time, as an undergraduate, I studied – and knowing that they’re traditionally made, to order, in Stoke-on-Trent (a process I’ve also researched.) I’ve got a large Nymphenburg porcelain lion that used to belong to my grandparents; every time I look at him I think of them, and where it stood in their drawing room. Stuff can hold stories, and that might be to do with where you bought it and who you were with (“some of my favourite possessions are items my husband and I have brought back from trips,” says Brandon Schubert), the sheer number of parties something has seen (the aforementioned Nymphenburg lion has seen many) – or a process that you admire.
So, while I’m thrilled that you’re such a fan of the House & Garden shopping pages (I am too) I wonder if you might enjoy them even more if you cross-referenced those pages, and their enticing contents, with the Specialists section, and the houses that get published – and work out what it is that you really like and find interesting and how, in turn, you’d like your interiors to make you feel. I know a lot of the interiors we feature contain antiques – but you can look past those (although – and I know you haven’t asked about how to start liking antiques and I’m not saying that you have to – but I want to point out that things like lamps and vases can be really easily cleaned) to the things that are new, or at least newer. I also know that immediate perception can be that everything featured on those pages is expensive (and you did mention budgetary restrictions) but that isn’t always the case. (One last point in defence of antiques and vintage: they’re often cheaper than the new equivalent.) What I’m suggesting is that you deepen your criteria for buying something, and broaden where you might buy it from, with the aim of finding a connection that goes beyond ‘I like it’. Perhaps you could start exploring – and following, via social media - independent makers, designers and craftspeople, which fits with your criteria of wanting things that are new and definitely clean, and combines it with an often fascinating story. What’s more, as Lucinda Chambers explains, “craft is integral to communities and is often a way of life.” Techniques tend to be passed from generation to generation, so supporting such smaller enterprises is a positive action (Lucinda has recently added a craft section to her curated online site, Collagerie.)
I’m still not – and I want to emphasise this – saying that shopping from the high street is wrong (I’m taking ‘high street’ to mean chain stores), and, as you’ll know, we have (mostly) got a great high street. I’ve never met an interior designer who hasn’t professed their admiration for Ikea, while the great Nina Campbell has recently designed a highly covetable collection for Next (I’m about to order one of the rugs for my dressing room.) But – and to return to its being Black Friday – there are some horribly sobering statistics out there. 80% of what is bought in the Black Friday sales ends up in landfill, being incinerated, or being poorly recycled (the more materials in the make-up of a product, the harder it is to recycle.) Then, the sales deliveries are forecast to produce 429,000 metric tonnes of greenhouse gas emissions, which is the equivalent of 435 return flights from London to New York. And that, by the way, does not include the products’ own carbon footprints. Emma Hooton, founder of Studio Hooton, has researched the environmental impact of interiors, and can share a helpful checklist which, if we all followed it, might mitigate some of the above. She urges everybody to think about the distance something has travelled and its weight (incidentally, you absolutely can email a company about their supply lines), the materials something is made from (most natural materials, e.g. cotton and wood, are biodegradable, although sometimes chemicals might have been used in the making process), and the longevity of an object – pointing out that anything trend-based, or of less-than-good quality, is likely to find its way to landfill sooner than you might hope. There is often (but not always) a link between the cost of something and its carbon footprint and quality – but I think you’re about to find that your budget has increased.
For what I hope that this letter helps with, more than anything, is assisting you in taking lasting pleasure in your interiors and rescuing them from their existential state (if indeed, that is where they are.) You’ll doubtlessly soon find it easy to follow my final suggestion: to pause before you buy anything, and think about how much you really want it and how it will fit with what you already have, rather than giving in to instant gratification (I find the wait and anticipation can intensify the enjoyment of the eventual acquisition) – for that is how you’re going to find yourself in a position to buy the occasional thing that might cost more. (Obviously there’ll still be times when you fall for the odd tablecloth, cushion, or vase from Zara Home – and that’s fine, providing you use them.) In solidarity, I’ll endeavour to curb my environmentally less-than-friendly Amazon habit - or at least, I’ll tick the box for grouped delivery of my purchases. None of us are perfect, and there is no wholly perfect method – but we can try. Using refill shops, cloth nappies, public transport – and shopping in a considered fashion - are all things that make a difference.
With love,
Fiona XX
Got a question for Fiona? Email agonyaunt.houseandgarden@condenast.co.uk
