Interiors mirroring Exteriors
Why are you and your house dressed the same (or not)?
“I feel like I’m seeing the inside of your brain,” was the comment made by my best friend upon seeing my fully decorated apartment for the first time. This apartment is my baby. It’s my first time living alone—my first opportunity for complete creative control over my space. My preferred mode of decoration involves collecting stacks of books, small posters, postcards from museums and trips, plants, thrifted art, and my own work. I then haphazardly “organize” all of this on shelves or pin them, unframed of course, to the walls.
Was it the aesthetic mess that reminded him of my mind—which tends to be all over the place, but nevertheless artistic and intellectually inclined? Was it the warm, muted tones that reminded him of my down-to-earthness and overall calm demeanor? Did the giant charcoal nude of myself affirm my humility? He never elaborated on the thought, but his comment made me feel as though I had laid myself bare unintentionally.
Most of the time when I visit a friend’s apartment, their design choices make sense. A friend who wore black knit turtlenecks in the summer and always talked about moving to Berlin served me dinner on matte black plates with matching black silverware the first time she cooked for me. Everything seemed on-theme. My friend who lives in a “dark academia inspo” Pinterest post wears corduroy vests and always has philosophy books in their tote bag. Again, the alignment is clear as day. A studio apartment, with guitars hung all over the walls, a piano in the corner, and evidence of various ongoing projects strewn about at any given moment, is inhabited by an avid hobbyist bestie pursuing a career in music. Fundamental aspects of who my friends are are mirrored by their homes.
Interior design is a tool for us to tell our story, affirm our identities, and create our own safe spaces. The books proudly displayed subtly communicate interests and values. Someone’s favorite genres of music and artists are identified through their collection of vinyl or posters. A home is full of little breadcrumbs that give context to the person who lives there, whether those are photos of friends and family or nods to their cultural background. Your space can communicate a lot about you; it’s a reflection of you, a mode of expression.
Especially in a city like San Francisco, where apartments are small and most gatherings are intimate, your home is not a performance. That leaves other modes of expression—such as fashion—perhaps more susceptible to critique or even performativity. My curiosity lies in how your self-expression through fashion differs from that of your interior design. As I alluded to earlier, I see a certain degree of linearity between my friends’ fashion senses and their tastes in home decor.
One of my best friends from college has an epic jewelry collection: earrings made from teeth, necklaces custom made with stones she found, silver rings inlaid with gems of every shape and color. Her room is a mosaic of thrifted and found items, from a two foot long animal spine (unknown species) on her coffee table to feathers and rocks lined up on shelves to metal flowers nailed to the wall. She chooses to adorn her body and her room similarly with a variety of natural, found items.
One of my most chic friends—who one day will show up in a long, bleach-blonde wig and Adidas tracksuit, and the next in an ’80s-inspired leather trench and colorful platform heels rocking her natural brown, curly shag—has an apartment that is similarly ever-changing. I’ve never visited twice in a row and seen the same furniture. A different friend, who prioritizes vintage quality-over-quantity pieces in her wardrobe, recently redid her living room with one red lamp and a white couch that perfectly fits in the bay windows of her old Victorian. Simplicity is her religion. However, for some reason, when I go to grab my platform, knee-high, black Demonia boots off a rattan shelf, I wonder why my personal style and interior design don’t have that same level of alignment.
It gives me the impression that some people are able to exist in a state of full stylistic enmeshment; showing up the exact same way regardless of who is there, where they are, or what they are doing. In the most positive sense, maybe they have engineered their lives to allow for a certain level of one-dimensionality through sheer authenticity. Maybe what they want to project outwardly is exactly how they feel inwardly. Perhaps their self-expression is not environmentally limited or inspired.
I want my space to feel like a warm hug, a walk in the garden, a sunny afternoon in a quiet cafe. I want people to feel cozy and welcomed. I also want to be perceived as my authentic self, which just so happens to be achieved by six-inch platforms, chunky silver jewelry, black leather, and no bra. This could be an unconscious attempt to nonverbally communicate my rejection of the status quo, my individuality, or my artistic interests. To my conscious mind, it’s just what I feel the most comfortable in on most nights out. Your taste in interior design communicates a version of yourself that is reserved for you and your closest friends, while your fashion sense is a broadcast for mass consumption. For some those two messages may be in different languages, for others they’re singing the exact same tune.
Cover photo creds to @ ladystqrdust on pinterest .