It's Not Pretty

Following on from yesterday's post about the Rough Luxe 'movement', I feel I need to clarify a few things. Firstly, I'm not advocating Rough Luxe as such, mainly because of the hefty pricetag that accompanies it. In other words, the 'luxe' side interests me less than the 'rough' aspect. What I am in favour of is the aesthetic which underpins it.

While on holiday two months ago, I first heard the term and began writing my own list of what represents to me, for want of a better term, 'rough elegance'. This is what I came up with:

• The patina of an old still life in a junk shop
• Peeling garden furniture
• Beds dragged outside onto a lawn
• A kitchen cupboard with a curtain instead of a door
• A library with foxed books and a ladder
• Chipped, mismatched china (not necessarily with roses on it - mid-century is good too)
• Peeling wallpaper that looks like a palimpsest
• Marble and stone
• Bone-handled knives
• Crazed mirrors
• Patched cushions and quilts
• Old used postcards with someone's story on the back
• Bloomsbury bohemia - hand-painted fireplace surrounds, a bath in a bedroom
• Mismatched bedding
• Chinese paper lanterns instead of chandeliers
• Plank bookshelves
• A chianti bottle with a candle

Photograph by Francois Halard

My version of 'rough' does not cost a lot of money. Its 'richness' is in the experience, as in the care taken, the hand-made quality. It's about travelling around the Mediterranean - in a freighter. It's visiting Tiffany's - but, like Holly Golightly, having my own version of the experience, even if I buy nothing. It's the cheap pensione in Florence in 'Room with a View' rather than the grand English country house.

Photograph by Nicky Kehoe

It's not about trying to re-create a 'romantic' look with cabbage roses. For me it's not about chintz or lace. I think other periods like the 40s, 50s and 60s can also evoke a faded elegance that is not restricted to the Victorian era.

Photograph by Bill Jacobson

Sometimes I think that hoteliers, shopkeepers and designers see imperfection and faded glory as a way to charge customers more for the experience. The aesthetic I'm advocating is one that 'tells a story', but not one you have to pay an exhorbitant amount to access.

I realise that the rooms in these photographs are very expensive. Agas and copper baths don't come cheap. But I believe it's possible to access this aesthetic without the feeling of exclusivity or the price-tag.

Photographs courtesy of the Wall Street Journal and Design Milk.