In Praise of Unaesthetic Houses

Celebrating cozy character, homes with history and the mess of lives well-lived

A rare sight - our dining table not covered in stuff

Our dining table needs refinishing. The varnish has worn off on parts of the tabletop, there is glitter glue embedded in the wood grain and the paint on the legs is chipped. At least once a week I look at it and think to myself “I should really sand that back, repaint and revarnish it” but in my heart of hearts, I know I probably won’t anytime soon. Life is short and I have infinite other things I need to (or would rather) do. Besides, I’m such a ridiculously sentimental creature that I’m actually kind of fond of the glitter flecks and the smudges from my son’s pencils.

My home is full of sentimental things. I don’t like clutter and can’t concentrate in mess, so I regularly clear things out and donate what’s not needed, but the items that remain in our home year after year, are the things that are meaningful to us.

Our teabags are stored in a tin that we bought at Buckingham Palace when we visited London ten years ago. The blanket on my bed is one of those lovely old checked woollen ones, inherited from my grandparents. It is royal blue and I am not really a royal blue kind of girl, but it brings me comfort to know it very likely kept my mum cozy and warm when she was little. In my wardrobe you will find a stack of sailboat paintings painted by my father’s mum. The sails are vivid colours that, like the blue blanket, don’t match anything else I own, but I plan to get them all framed and hang them in our hallway nonetheless. A treasured little piece of my beloved nana, extra precious now that she’s gone.

Our sweet kitties on a vintage blanket inherited from my grandparents

Occasionally, I fall down a rabbit hole of Pinterest-pretty houses and Instagram inspiration and I get the itch to change everything – paint the walls, buy new art, make things match, curate my crockery cupboard. But it never happens. Partly because I don’t have unlimited funds but mostly because I don’t actually want to change my mismatched mugs for matching aesthetic ones. I like that they tell stories.

The most beautiful homes I have ever been in were not houses that aligned with a particular aesthetic or contained items that were particularly in fashion. When I think of the loveliest homes I have visited, I think of the little miner’s cottage some friends lived in for decades, with fruits trees they planted out the back and antiques inherited from family inside. I think of the home my best friend grew up in, made of handmade mudbricks with their family member’s names etched into one wall. I think of my aunty and uncle’s old weatherboard house, with stained glass windows my uncle made and a bathtub outside under the stars.

I believe a home should reflect the unique lives, interests and tastes of the people who live there. Family photos hung with love, children’s art on the walls, hand-me-downs and heirlooms passed down through generations, and furnishings chosen because they delight the unique people who will live with them – not because they match a particular trend or style.

In a world where social media influencers give the impression that it is normal to replace your sofa to suit trends annually or to renovate an entire house then immediately sell it and move on to a bigger and “better” one, I cherish the quiet charm of cozy, “unaesthetic” homes that tell the stories of lives lived and memories made. Homes that might not fit the mould of conventional style or grace the pages of any interior design magazine, but possess real character and warmth.

There is so much beauty in imperfection. Chipped paint on the front door that speaks of years of welcoming family home. Scuff marks on the skirting boards that remind us of childhood games gone by. A gifted lumpy handknit blanket that is a testament to the giver’s love.

There is also something inherently freeing about letting go of the pressure to conform. When we quit trying to keep up with what’s in fashion and forget what we saw on Pinterest, we can instead focus on creating a space that feels good to us. We can use our homes to celebrate the weird and whimsical things that bring us joy and to tell our unique stories. I have a little cabinet that proudly displays my great grandmother’s antique china alongside a huge collection of quirky misshapen animals my son has made out of polymer clay, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Our tiny kitchen

This is a home to be lived in. A space where there is no need for pretense or fear of damaging shiny new furniture. Instead, there’s room for genuine connection, authenticity and vulnerability. A cozy, comfortable place where we can feel at ease to be ourselves.

Perhaps one day I will get around to refinishing our scuffed table, but I know I won’t ever replace it. It was chosen not because it fitted a particular trend or aesthetic, but because I liked it. And more than 10 years on, I love it even more now than I did then, because it holds so many memories. Our dining table is the heart of our home – it is where we share meals, where my son draws and where I write. It is where we blow out birthday candles and leave cookies for Santa. It is where we come together every single day.

Decor trends might come and go but this place where we gather? It is sacred.

Glitter glue and all.

Katie xx