I had an acquaintance who although was very much into shopping vintage items, she had become one of the Stepford Wives. Everything had become controlled, had a perfect spot, children/animals were not to be in rooms and either crated most of the day or sent to quietly play in rooms with one specific toy. Nothing had any meaning but when she put a pic on instagram it had that run of the mill nothing flair of a staged presence. Great, she mastered duplication. She was meeting some design esthetic that was conceived by others.
A couple things wrong with that scenario, people with character, penache, love of memories, etc.... don’t live for “perfect” instagram posts. They use their instagram to share ideas and not set up the most contrived setting and wait for the response. I always felt I had to respond to her posts or she would get mad. She verbalized when others didn't respond and so why wouldn’t I be included in that gripe? In my world, everything does not have to have a perfect curated place, sometimes things evolve into where they end up.
Ms. Stepford, keeping her anonymous, also wants everyone elses world to be as hers. How you raise your children, making sure your spouse works, in addition to him cooking, shopping and does virtually everything. She also questioned and stated who you should associate with, what politics, etc... I think I burned out on so many “helpful” hints. I have grown children her age and they all work, eat and are productive. So I think I am good there. She still has ones that are ten and under with a husband who does everything, good luck. So I wasn’t upset when we parted ways. I felt strangled by no toys, no kids artwork, seen and not heard, robots, uncomfortable encounters when the children wanted to share their enthusiasm and mom told them this is HER friend. Her statements that weekends were for her and not for any sport the kids would want to participate in. Large dogs and pups crated all day only to be let out to do their business. I felt those canines pain.
Judgemental of others and how they kept their homes was always at the top of her list. I listened and so I never let her come to my house. I am a lover of things that comes through the eye, evokes emotion and other playful memory filled sparks.
I think I have mentioned before my mother was a minimalist, very mod but minimalist. I tended to go the other the direction. I love textiles, ethnic, artsy, whatever but they have to bring something to the table. I love how one thing plays off another. I would walk in a room a million times to see how it effects me. It is my easthetic, no one else’s.
Some offspring of creativity would be more up my alley. Currently reading several books on clutter, collecting and chaos. A lot of work goes into collecting, shopping, loosely curating. In addition, there is that visual of my now deceased friend, “Don’t deny yourself!!!” Across a flea market, with strangers agreeing as I walk on by. Yes many of a time I just get what I think is my thing to get. I will work out where it goes later. So it evokes memories, such as the exclamation across a flea market. That is what I think is important. I am not discounting minimalism, I think that evokes other memories and emotion. Sure I want one of those rooms too and then I want the rest as a cavalcade of personal, ever-changing emotional eye candy.
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