We’ve all heard of slow food, a movement that originated in Italy in the 1980s. We’ve also heard of slow sex – thank you Sting and Trudi. But recently a new term has been creeping into the vernacular, ‘slow decorating’, with various industry insiders speaking up in favour of the practice that promises improved results, environmental benefits – and, perhaps most remarkably (certainly for those of us who’ve lived through them) enjoyable renovations. It is, in essence, a rejection of the instant gratification of social media and the successive room reveals that appear to be check-lists of the latest trends, in favour of, describes Paula Sutton of Hill House Vintage, “slowing down, and taking time to understand our true likes and loves in the hope of achieving a fully authentic and therefore life-enhancing environment.”
But what exactly does that look like - and how do we cope with what might be a lengthy interim period? Are there different ways of applying the principle? And how does it realistically work with a renovation? For at the other end of the spectrum from Instagram importunity are people like Bernadine Evaristo’s father, who allegedly left a bath languishing uninstalled against the bathroom wall for several decades – and I’m not sure many of us would be thrilled about that. Clearly, we need to investigate further.
Let’s start with defining the practice via something small, such as a well-crafted rattan chair: “a rattan weaver might spend up to four hours choosing the materials for that one chair. All the bales of rattan are together, and he is choosing the perfect canes every time, and they’re the things that make all the difference to how good that chair is,” explains Lulu Lytle of Soane, the company that produces probably the best rattan seating in the world. The point is that time enables us to hone our taste and decision-making process, resulting in something better than if we had prioritised necessity (any chair will do), trends (unless we genuinely love them and they suit our style) or availability (there’s a lead time for that Soane seating). Theoretically, that’s the case even when we scale up.
Social media aside, the idea is to move away our culture of haste, multi-tasking and self-imposed deadlines, which I think we can all agree has occasionally resulted in pretty poor decisions, whether that’s agreeing to a certain curtain heading due to lack of time spent doing research, or impulse purchases that aren’t always appreciated long-term. Rather, “if it takes you a long time to find the perfect colour or light, you can usually rest assured that when you finally make that decision, it will be the correct decision,” explains Paula – who, incidentally, has been at Hill House “for 15 years, and there are still rooms that haven’t been finished.” John Sims-Hilditch, co-founder of Neptune, has compared slow decorating to gardening, “it’s a lifelong quest” - which Paula agrees with: “knowing where the sunshine hits and where the hard frosts will settle can save you months of heartache and wasted bulbs. Similarly, knowing if you want the evening sun to hit you in a certain spot – a reading nook with a comfy chair for instance, can dictate how you decorate and furnish your space.”
The same applies to renovations: it’s about refining ideas rather than dashing in and pulling down walls before you’ve perfected the intended flow. John recalls the French hotelier Jean-Louis Sibuet telling him that “in any property, you should keep everything you can and only add when you need to,” - explaining that, with those words in mind, he and his wife Emma Sims Hilditch decorated around an old beam at their house in the Cotswolds. “It gives me pleasure whenever I see it. If I’d been rushing, I’d have whipped it out,” he says. Equally, slowing down allows for rethinks along the way: Tori Murphy is raising young children alongside renovating a house (five years in and counting), and “the luxury of time has allowed us to create something that is right for our family – which is nothing like what I had in mind for the interior of this house when I bought it.” But importantly, says Paula, slow decorating (or renovating) is not “about inconveniencing yourself or being a martyr to the decorating cause. If something in a bathroom or a kitchen doesn’t work or isn’t fit for purpose then of course that needs to be dealt with immediately.” (Which makes sense, for I don’t think anyone can claim that being kitchen-less and bathroom-less in a Saharan-worthy sandstorm of plaster dust is ‘enjoyable’.) And, says Paula, regarding timeframe, “slow is whatever you’re comfortable with.”
Notable is that none of those quoted thus far are interior designers talking about contracted projects – and it may seem that slow decorating is not applicable in such instances. But most interiors designers do slow decorate, in that they are fully across the options for curtain headings, build lead times into their planning, and are likely to work with local craftsmen. The fact that the job is their job ensures that due time is allocated – and it’s rare to come across a professionally put together interior that has taken less than two years. Then, a relationship with an interior designer, and their relationship with a project, doesn’t necessarily end. Lucy Clayton – writer, podcaster, and dolls’ house designer - has been working with Ben Pentreath since 2012; they have developed “a kind of elegant shorthand which means things run smoothly and it’s always good fun,” says Lucy. What’s more, Ben is a designer who has said, of his method, “I rely on people to live in their houses and collect. I provide a framework and, over time, rugs, paintings, and books can be added.”
What differs between a professional approach to slow decorating and ours is that chances are we’ll be living in a project long before that framework is in place, and for some of us that is tricky. Even Tori admits that there have been occasions when she’s wanted to speed things up. There are, of course, ways of making an incomplete house function – Paula describes eating in a dining area in the family room “until I eventually found the perfect table and chairs for the more formal dining room.” But while waiting, “you have to trust the process and try not to be hassled into having everything finished and done,” she continues. She recommends making a list of “necessities, such as dining chairs, side tables” accompanied by measurements, widths, and heights. “You can then shop vintage and antique in whatever town, city or village you are visiting.” Having a mood board alongside – “either online, on your phone or in a scrapbook” is, she says, “a great way of honing your eye so you can focus on the look you really want which enables you to spot suitable additions when you stumble across them.” It allows the search to be savoured, really making decorating fun again - while, psychologically, this organised approach will prevent the feeling that nothing is happening, leading to that sudden urge to just buy something, anything, to fill the gap.
For at the heart of slow decorating is the concept of “do it once, do it right” and part of the joy, explains Paula, comes with the satisfaction of getting it right. Increasing our chances is the fact that the approach rewards us with time to save up for big ticket items and make more considered choices that, as well as suiting our homes, hopefully “abide by the values that we’re all espousing, which are about treating people properly, paying them fair wages, not mistreating animals, and not increasing our carbon emissions,” says Lulu – which is how ‘slow decorating’ relates to its sister movement, ‘slow food’, and its emphasis on local ingredients and traditional cooking (those same adjectives apply to craft, and locally-sourced antiques.) The overlap with Sting and Trudi’s carnal practice – in case you were wondering – is intimacy; in this instance, that which we develop with the spaces that we inhabit. And all we have to do, as Tori so wisely points out, is learn that “the most important thing is not a perfect, finished house, but a perfectly happy home” - and slow down.
