IKEA, I just love a store named IKEA
My daughter read From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler last year, and her big takeaway from the book was that one should always have a plan for living in a museum. The last time she and I were in Ikea together, I learned that she's also taken this approach to the Swedish home-goods store, down to how she'll evade the security guards and maintain the soft-serve machine after hours.
It's been interesting watching her opinions of Ikea shift. I'm not sure how many other nine-year-olds lobby to go to the store so they can wander through the room set-ups murmuring about how they'll set up their "sophisticated city pied-à-terre" -- actual quote -- but watching this one spin her future's scenarios in staged merchandise vignettes is an eye-opening look into the persuasive power of bricks-and-mortar retail. For my kiddo, the immersive experience of an Ikea apartment is a way to try on a future identity and internalize what its physical totems are.
The last time I was watching Kiddo critically assess whether the tiled backsplash in an Ikea kitchen really worked for her, I was reminded of Mary Elizabeth Williams' Gimme Shelter:
Staging is the fine art of making a home look warm and comfortable while downplaying the fact that anybody still inhabits it. Or as my friend Randall, a decorator in San Francisco, puts it, "You want style but not substance." In a staged home, walls are freshly painted, white. Personal photos and mementos are put away. Clutter is eliminated, and the homey aroma of scented candles wafts through the air.
"If a house is empty or it's junky," explains Randall, "people can't see themselves in it. You want buyers to walk in and think, "Look how these people have it together; look at the life they lead. Their shirts are perfect and in the closet, they don't have mayo on the table.' They think, something must be great here. They see the books on the little table by the bathtub; they don't see the bath is twelve inches deep. They don't know all the sellers' crap is over at their best friend's garage, that they can't even cook a hamburger in the house because it'll smell bad."
Look at the life they lead. Even if the people who are currently squatting in a staged house aren't actually leading that life, they're devoted to selling the idea that they are.
Netflix's Abstract: The Art of Design has an episode (s1ep08) centering around interior designer Ilse Crawford, who is known for a design approach that, in her words, focuses on "creating environments where humans feel comfortable; public spaces that make people feel at home; and homes that are habitable and make sense for the people who live in them." Crawford was brought in to redesign Ikea's restaurants, and she also had a line with the company for a few years, one which I bitterly regret not buying all of because it is so very my imagined life of lush houseplants, layered textures and soothing neutrals -- and nary a stray Lego lurking to bite my instep on the carpet or someone's rocks glass left out overnight.
The big takeaway I've gotten from that one Abstract: The Art of Design episode -- and from the whole series, really -- is how little design literacy we have as consumers. It's paradoxical because, as Virginia Postrel detailed in The Substance of Style, we are living in a golden age of style as a consumer differentiator and:
The issue is not what style is used but rather that style is used, consciously and conscientiously, even in areas where function used to stand alone. Aesthetics is more pervasive than it used to be—not restricted to a social, economic, or artistic elite, limited to only a few settings or industries, or designed to communicate only power, influence, or wealth. Sensory appeals are everywhere, they are increasingly personalized, and they are intensifying.
Doesn't it make sense to understand the fundamentals of design so you can understand when and how you're being steered into someone else's vision of how you should live?
But to loop back to Ikea: They're offering a sleepover event called Swede Dreams Sleepover to lucky lottery winners in two U.S. stores next month. It's like they've read my daughter's mind and are ready to nudge aspiring consumers like her -- or consumers like me -- into the idea that we can step inside the staged lives for a one-of-a-kind experience before trying to buy the possibility of recreating it every day.
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FURTHER READING
Three years ago, I recommended the novel Horrorstör and to this day, I can't pass a PAX wardrobe without thinking of it.
Five years ago, I looked at what IKEA thinks the future will be. (This was during peak "smart kitchen" and Ikea was super into the idea of a table that could detect what was placed on it and suggest recipes based on that pound of watermelon radishes your CSA box contained.
Six years ago, we all learned that Ikea's staged vignettes are all computer-generated! Sure, humans are manipulating all those digital mock-ups of living rooms now but how long before an AI is the one deciding where the Ektorp armchair should go in a made-up world?
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On the advice of some very wise friends who listened to me moan about my writers' block, then gently asked, "Do you want us to listen or do you want advice?" ... I'm just writing my way out of a block and toward whatever big writing goal will emerge after I've just kept writing for a while. As always, any feedback, questions or suggestions welcome either via email (reply to this) or via Twitter (@lschmeiser).