There is almost nothing I like better than to sit down in a comfy chair with an armful of interior design magazines. I subscribe to Architectural Digest, World of Interiors, and Colonial Home (though I'm letting that lapse since they've renamed it Classic American Home and stopped concentrating on Colonial and Federal styles). I thoroughly enjoy looking at architecture, design, furnishings, and the decorative arts. It lets me teach myself about the history and language of design along with offering an opportunity to ridicule other people's taste. I am constantly amused and appalled by what people think is attractive. I look at some of those houses and think, "I can't believe they spent money on that."
Granted, my own house shows zero design aptitude. Everything I own, aside from the artwork, was purchased on the cheap and higgledy piggledy. Five years ago I went into debt to Pier 1 so I could buy proper furniture instead of Salvation Army rejects. We bought our desk and seven bookshelves from Office Depot (not all at once, mind). Both of the chest of drawers came from convenient garage sales and are circa 1960 with no style but plenty of room for undies and tshirts. I still don't have a headboard for the bed, a decent set of chairs for the dining room table, or a full length sofa. I really thought one day I'd have furniture that was sophisticated, or at least reflected my real taste. Now that I have a house of my own I'm determined to decorate it instead of making do.
That takes money, of course, and I don't have much left over right now. Meanwhile, at least my decorative items are interesting. I have curious objects I've collected from all over the world. I own paintings, lithographs, and photographs by talented friends (and one elephant). My Tuxedo Sam wall clock is a collector's item now although I'd never sell him. And I've recently begun buying interesting enclosed candleholders -- having two cats means never having open flames in the house. So even if my furniture is funky and falling apart no one much notices. They're too busy exclaiming over the fantastic moon-village ceramic sculpture from Ecuador, or the Satsuma wisteria vase from Japan, or the ebony carvings from Kenya. That, at least, satisfies my incipient homeowner's pride.
As for my home improvements, I won't get carried away. There are no Regecy sideboards or mattelasse bedspreads in my future. There are just too many fur-bearing, claw wielding mammals in this household for it to ever look like truly chic. That's all right. I don't like formal houses anyway, except to look at in magazines. I wouldn't really trade what I have for a big house with lots of breakable antiques.
But I think I'd kill for a full length sofa.
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