On why I refuse to surrender my childish antics and interior sense of design
"I want to lead the Victorian life surrounded by equisite clutter."
My bedroom is a diversified hodgepodge of accrued interests, relics, written quotes, and other absurdities. Throughout the course of moving over and over again my bedroom, despite ever so many facelifts, seems to always develop into a reflective patterns of uniquely identifiable sameness; my sense of identity somehow cannot escape being unconsciously incorporated into the essence of the room.
Wired into my very nature is a creative zealousness that impulsively invites me to think out of the box and come up with ways to solve problems through unconventional, autonomous methodologies. I'm not necessarily frugal, but I do genuinely abhor how bloated prices for consumer goods have become, especially in this city. With a need for constant thrill, I found stimulus in bargain hunting. Much of my room consists of the relics accrued in these wandering excursions to Goodwill, Salvation Army, yard sales, and Ebay. Mine is a world surrounded by a mosh pit of books, 90s nostalgia, and things I should have grown out of long ago; utter peculiarity is abound.
As a free-spirit with an aversion to conventional habits and a repulsion towards systematic blueprints for orderly living , I've always found it interesting that when we hit about the age of six and become much better able to express ourselves, we start to want to fashion our bedrooms with personally resonating adornments and idiosyncratic paraphernalia.
I was lucky to have had a mom that supported my oddball creativity, and though much to my chagrin I never did get the racecar bed I wanted, I could treat my room as a blank canvas. And boy did I ever! If I found something interesting or something I was simply drawn to, well bygolly it just had to fit into my bedroom layout, no matter how offbeat it was.
The end result was a completely discordant collage that to me, was utterly perfect, though others were more befuddled by the whole charade than awestruck. Happy Meal Toys, a great variety of books and scribbled on papers, Hello Kitty bonanza, capless Mr. Sketch markers scattered all about, remnants of failed magic potion pursuits, this was just an iota among the jumble of riffraff you could find in my room on any given day. My room was the breeding ground for my creativity and imagination.
And as a young adult, things haven't seemed to change at all, in fact. My bedroom still functions as a bastion of creative shenanigans, vibrant colors, a whole lotta pink-- my very own cabinet of curiosities.
I'm a hoarder of oddities. I've always been on the more disorderly side of the organization spectrum--not dirty just untidy. I've always been slightly, ok very hesitatnt, to just abandon youth in order to lose a sense of wonder and austerely march into the oh-so-serious workjplace. Apparently this is an actual condition called Peter Pan Syndrome
, which refers to an aversion among young adults to incur the responsibilities of being a grown up. However, in my case, I am ready to take on the responsibilities inherent in moving on past school and growing up, I just don't think we have to give up fun and silliness at the price of maturity.
As many facelifts as my bedroom has taken on throughout my life the one consistent factor is pink, lots and lots of pink. All of my grown up friends have apartments which are now so fancy and formal looking-- everything so simple, clean, and white; that will never be my style. There's nothing worst than a blank white wall. My room has no blank wall-- I made sure of that the day I moved in.
Things on my wall: A big American Flag stands next to an Audrey Hepburn Breakfast at Tiffany's poster next to an Ikea clock I covered in sequins, next to a printed picture of Thumper from Bambi. This is just one section of my higgledy piggedely array of off-the-wall arrangements Together this kaleidoscopic aggregate of fragmented kitsch reflect a sense of self reflection and evolve as a process of self-discovery.
In The Geography of Home
Akiko Busch compares the compilation of words in writing to the designing of spaces.
"Both [words and designing spaces] are about finding the logical order of things, about assembling these aggregates of experience in a way that makes sense. A room, like a page, offers us the space to do this. Sometimes that sense of order comes with the way words are arranged on the page. Other times it may come with the way objects have been assembled in a room. Both are ways of finding those arrangements with we which can live." (25-26)
In the same way that one's style of writing is a reflection of their "internal voice" or their jiving soul as I like to think of it, so, too, is the bedroom a declaration of the interior landscape synthesized within one's self. My addled mind has a way of soaring and swerving towards ideas and purposes in a manner that heeds not to logical step-by-step notions of common-sense, but unravels lyrically in a self-resonating, zig-zaggy fashion. My roomates are always taken aback by the idiosyncracies of my interior design aesthetic and esepecially with the process that is undergone in the process of bringing these tangled, vibrant ideas to life, motivated mostly by the dictates of the unfettered impulse drive. But at the end of the day your bedroom is all about you.
Image: By Mallory