Shape + style + memory
What does it mean for a space to be lived-in?
When it comes to interior design, is there anything from your past that crosses your mind?
Not from a nostalgic perspective, though I suppose it’s implied, but from a perspective that doesn’t know the wear and tear of time?
After reading Maybe Baby’s newsletter, Emma Chamberlain’s “deeply personal” Los Angeles home last Monday night, I found myself feeling a sense of closure, yet further curiosity about a sector of lifestyle content that’s become more and more prevalent in mainstream media. Haley, the author of Maybe Baby, touched upon something I’ve never actually been able to put into words when submerging myself in specifically ‘home tour’ content—that something being the concept of a space being lived-in; and what that looks, feels, smells and tastes like to an individual.
Whether you’re actively on the internet or not, it’s always been a thing for media outlets, magazines, and the like to publish content in regards to celebrity living spaces. As with any content that’s shared with the public, there’s usually a good amount of fine tuning done behind the scenes in order to achieve whatever the “goal” of the piece is. Since her first video back in 2017, Youtuber Emma Chamberlain (aside from the random bits of awkward dry humor, lol, this is a great sum up of her career thus far), has made a name for herself through her relatable, personal and intimate content.
So, like Haley, after seeing photos of Emma’s home all over the internet, then reading Haley’s newsletter a few days later that further questioned the home, I got to thinking. Inevitably, I also got distracted, and forgot to share the article with my friend Jenna who 1. is very versed on the being that is Emma Chamberlain and 2. also very into interior design. Last Tuesday night, she also came across the Maybe Baby newsletter about Emma and sent it over for my brain to pick at as well.
“!!! I meant to send that to you last night when I read it.” I texted back almost instantly.
We then went on a small rant about how we’re living during a time where, especially amongst internet personalities, it's become so seemingly common place to almost instantly have your shit together (i.e. a very well designed/curated/lived-in home) the second you move into a new space. Jenna and I’s tangents about Emma’s space in particular—while being well designed and thoughtfully curated for who she is as a person—agreed that it, in no way shape or form, felt like it was actually lived-in like the tone of the Architectural Digest article was implying.
Lived-in as in the smudge of toothpaste that always finds its way back to the corner of a sink.
Lived-in as in the exposure of sunlight fading a stark black ink filled photograph into a sun-kissed brown.
Lived-in as in the mismatched door handle that’s just a tad too loose for security, but a tad too tight for concern.
Lived-in as in the stack of miscellaneous books, flyers and magazines collected from various people and various places—piled up in the corner of a kitchen.
Lived-in as in the imprint of butts on couches and scuffing of shoes on floors.
Lived-in, as in, lived-in.
Granted, these things take time, as do the collection of items that may make up a lived-in space, but this train of thought made me realize the crux of my closure, and the spark of my next curiosity wave:
This back and forth with Jenna about the influence of the internet on style, as well as childhood recollections of things within living spaces, reminded me of a train of thought I had in December of 2019 while studying abroad in Nottingham, England. Growing up as the second eldest of six kids in one household and living with roommates throughout college in a city I was already familiar with, this was the first time in my life I was living completely alone, in an entirely foreign place.
When not at school, hanging out with peers, or taking myself out and about, I was in my room. There was some sort of “eye-opening” moment for me whilst living alone in this new space for 3 months; this new space I was filling with assorted bits and bobs to feel more like me for the time being. I can't quite pinpoint what or when, but overtime, my relationship with a variety of things began to cross my mind.
My room—one wooden door with a worn metallic gold knob, one oddly placed pure white command strip hanger, one tiny white square sink with two slightly rusted ‘press for water’ handles; a single square mirror above it, one full sized plywood bed frame with deep navy blue, semi scratchy sheets, one plywood drawer and wardrobe set with a jammed door, two quiet bulky blue curtains, one, also plywood, desk accompanied by a thick, also blue, faux leather chair, and one jagged patch of fresh paint missing from the newly(?) coated walls, revealing a speckled coral colored coating of foundation.
Re-reading this note and thinking about it in relation to what I’ve outlined thus far, made me further reflect on the fact that I’ve never actually known anything about what constitutes a space as being lived-in. I suppose no one does. Even though this is different for everyone, and some may not ever experience what I’ve described, I feel like there’s no way of actually knowing the intentions of a space, and that it’s more about feeling it out as you go along with what you add/remove—physically and mentally.
For me, there’s always been more to a chair or blanket or lamp—sure—I’ve selected said objects due to personal taste that’s been influenced by several factors—but it’s the ideas and relationships associated with that object that resonate with me, and in turn, what eventually makes a space feel… lived-in.