Envying houses that aren’t real
Social media is awash with photos of beautifully decorated homes. Lately, it appears as though some of these interiors are so perfectly coiffed, and their surfaces so silky smooth that they probably exist only in that image and not out in the real world because they are the work of artificial intelligence.
But no matter. Although many are fake, these images provide the same house envy I experienced back in the 90s when drooling over at the shabby chic images of actual homes in women’s magazines.
I never tried any of the shabby touches in my house, I’m proud to say, but I had my moments of lusting after them — just as I pine for some of the details in the decorative and architectural images I’m seeing now, things like these:
– A farmhouse sink. You know the one, a huge square tub large and deep enough to bathe a four-year-old. And with no dividing wall between two sides, I could scrub the living daylights out of my big cookie sheets and pots. It’s the rare case of one thing being better than two.
– A weirdly structural light fixture for the high ceiling in the living room, something to replace the contractor-grade brass one that’s there now. I switched out the blah ones over the dining table and breakfast nook, but the handyman needed only a step ladder for those. But then he looked at the high one and started talking about ten-foot ladders. Next.
– An olive tree. These things are everywhere in decorating now. I saw a photo of a room with three of them, including a very tall one in the middle of the dining room table. I have a personal rule that says no fake plants in the house, and it would be so unlike me to keep a real tree like that alive, so nope.
– A dried eucalyptus leaf hanging on the headboard of my bed. Everyone knows such things are only for photographs. Nobody actually does that.
– A reading nook with walls of built-in bookshelves and a window seat. I would never leave that little space and might even take up a crochet habit.
– Front porch with a swing. I had this at a previous house. That outside porch was my favorite room. If I ever move from here, it will be to live in a place with a front porch and swing again.
That is unless I moved into a tiny house. The AI-generated images call to me like a pan of cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven. The space is always used perfectly, with storage tucked under stairs, sleeping lofts with skylights and front porches the size of the house itself.
That’s all an illusion, of course. Families who have lived in those little homes sometimes last only a year or two. Really, who could get by on one saucepan and four shoes? Not to mention a bed you have to slither into because there’s no headspace for standing up.
But a reading nook? That I could do. From that place over by the window, I could stare outside at the falling rain and then look up at my winged chandelier that’s like something Calder would create. Maybe when it stopped raining, I’d wander out to the porch swing to continue my nap, but only after stopping to pick a few olives from the tree on the dining room table.
None of that will ever happen, of course. I’m content with what I have. But the big farmhouse sink? That one feels doable.