How not to define yourself by the Swedish furniture store

The problem with IKEA is that it’s fucking everywhere. Their storage solutions pack our lives neatly into the same spaces and their tealights illuminate houses in exactly the same way all across the UK. Fucking. IKEA.

To fight the universal fade into ubiquity my friend Alison and I, who by chance have both moved  several times recently, have made a pact: No more IKEA: we are INDIVIDUALS.

We put firm rules in place because when we said NO IKEA, what we actually meant was SOME IKEA. We   were still allowed to buy poster frames, plants, glasses and tea lights (so sue us). We were not under any  circumstance allowed to buy any furniture: no beds, no chairs, no drawers, no Billy bookcases. Nothing that is supposed to hold weight in any way. Or lamps. Or cushions.

We were extremely pleased with our resolution: we were going to regain our individuality through the medium of home furnishings. We were going to spend our Sundays rooting through hard-to-find-yet-achingly-cool old furniture stores and find just exactly the sort of thing to make our homes the amazing places we planned them to be. Exciting times. I can feel you are on the edge of your seats.

But wait.

We formed this resolution late one evening at her house: an evening of smoking, wine drinking and ‘do you remember that song….’ You know the sort. I remember she paused, took a slow drag of her cigarette and leant towards me: you know, she said, I do *need* a new bookcase. Does it count if I get someone to buy it for me?

You can’t do that! That’s totally against the whole premise of our brilliant resolution.

She looked crumpled.

Oh. Ok. We’re also allowed to buy shelving, but I think this is a slippery slope, Ali.

So you see, friends, the power of IKEA is strong. Very strong. Ali caved, like, right away. But we remain determined; there will be very little IKEA in our lives from here on in. You should join us: stand up for your right to be nearly unique. I think it’s going to be exciting.