The moments when I want to live in home decor stores

It is not feasible for a single person to buy a whole shelf of identical vases. Or a whole shelf of vases in every form and shape, but in a pleasing colour scheme. There is no point in having mountains of pillows and throw blankets on your sofa, because it simply is not practical. Same goes for having twenty silver candle sticks on your sideboard, unless you want to get the fire detector going. But it looks damn good.

I assume there are more grown up people in this world, who have coffee tables not littered with notebooks and pens and house plants, but instead beautiful curated vignettes of a golden ananas with matching candles and a picture of a loved one. I am not one of these people. I am not even that much into decorating and colour coordinating my living space, because knick-knacks are just clutter. But every time I walk into a store that sells aforementioned evil knick-knacks, that serve no other purpose than to look pretty and collect dust, I want to move in. It shines, it sparkles, it looks glorious.

It’s a little bit like hotel rooms, but bigger and more whacky. But I guess just like hotel rooms, these stores lack personality in their built-in uniformity. Our personality comes through in the randomness of found items, not in the carefully curated blandness of bulk-shopped perfection. After all, I want to live in a home, and not in an exhibition. So the moment passes and I return into my not so shiny, not so sparkly home, that is also a lot more me.

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