The phrase ‘shabby chic’ is, of course, an oxymoron. And that was always the point. The term first appeared in an American magazine around the turn of the 20th century, describing something whose deformity was, against all expectations, attractive – even fashionable. Something that shouldn’t make us happy and yet somehow does. The term entered the language of interior design in the 1980s, when it became associated with the tired elegance of English. the country Home: Worn carpets, faded chintz and eclectic collections. On their own? Not necessarily an appeal. But assembled over generations into a fragmented but beautiful composition, it becomes incredibly satisfying. It’s the inherent contradiction in the word that makes ‘shabby chic’ so difficult to pull off. Because ragging is easy. Not chic.
I thought about this recently in regards to some close friends. For years, they rented a house in the countryside that was, to my mind, the pinnacle of shabby chic. Nothing was quite perfect, but everything was fine. Taken together it was a house that, to me, defined unprecedented simplicity. We have stayed many times and never fail to appreciate their beautiful, relaxed version of countryside life. But in the months counting down to the end of their tenancy, I noticed something change. Bits of maintenance went quietly off. decoration Touchups undone. The rickety furniture went unfixed. And, finally, why not? With the clock ticking down to their departure date, why spend time and money fixing things?
And so the painted walls look delightfully peeled and exposed from wear. The chairs ranged from worn to tattered on the line, and the carpets were worn past the point of no return. At one of our last visits, I realized that the house I loved had become something else. It wasn’t that it fell apart, it was that they stopped caring for it. And the moment they stopped, the moment their energy stopped entering their home, the ‘chik’ was gone, leaving only the rags behind.
I wrestle with the same balance in my own life. We moved into a new house at the beginning of the year and for various reasons, decided to put off a major renovation that the house badly needed. We did a few bits – we painted the tobacco-stained walls and ceiling white, sanded the floorboards, redecorated a bit. the bathroom Fitting But, for now, we’re stuck there. Everything else is as it has been since the house was last renovated in 1965, or, in places, when it was built in the 1840s. The painted woodwork is so chipped that you can spot each one if you look closely color Color has been applied to it, like tree rings, for about two centuries. Windows refuses to open, or, after opening, refuses to close. Damp is already creeping up on our recently painted ceiling. The decorative plaster facade is falling away in pieces.
