Interior Design of the Damned, That 70s 'Ho! Rating Options

[PalePhoenix]

For years (thirty, in fact, so no copyrights apply), two decorating books occupied a special place in my grandmother's home. Until her passing last year, these coffee-table habitués stayed squared to the corners, dust-free, and hermetically sealed in the 'Mausoleum of the Matriarch.' She only wished she could have decked out her abode in such horrifying splendor.

My mother, I suppose, took a stab at this Singularly Seventies Style, though suburban incomes prohibited the purchase of complete rooms, and the life that appeared to come to a crashing halt within. This was the precursor to Pier One, IKEA's wet dream. There was Lucite, and shag, and herds of whatever creature gave naugahyde.

This and the next few entries will bring to you the only thing I love more than grotestque furniture: Making fun of grotesque furniture, since you were big pimpin' if this shizzle was up in your crib. In the spirit of a dull, soulless future--as envisioned by the designers of that Bicentennial Decade--I bring you a visual feast.

I bring you...Roche-Bobois. Be very afraid.



Yes, folks. It begins innocently enough. There are still a few clues here to let you know what you're in for. First off, it would appear the Seventies jet set liked to clutter up every available surface. That's right. If you didn't have your fake Chinese lacquer just swarming with tchotchkes, Zelda Nelson from Apartment 11G clucked disapprovingly and asked how your macramé was coming along.

Another thing to notice: that pleasant, thermonuclear glow from the window. One thing that seems to fix this decade in the collective consciousness--and the millions of photos which documented it--everything seemed to occur in a jaundiced haze, the thinnest whisper of nicotene on every surface, in every pore.

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One of my favorite memories of the seventies was how nearly everyone seemed compelled to raise dozens of tropical plants indoors, regardless of their space or available light resources. Many homes resembled drought-plagued regions, with stunted, blighted plants hanging on desperately, in spite of the piles of cigarette butts deposited in their potting containers. (I also know a few friends who experimented with the numbing effects of Dracaena.)

But I must point out that while what Pale has exhibited is indeed quite accurate for the upper-middle class homes of the time in the U.S. (and probably Europe), for lower-middle or middle-class homes, there were different demons at play:

-- weathered barn wood paneling, applied diagonally;

-- string art (ships, clowns, and panther themes were common);

-- "smoked" glass lamp globes and shades;

-- multi-toned shag carpeting (which, when installed came with its own rake to raise the nap);

-- Kliban cat art;

-- jute or hemp macrame plant hangers that stretched floor to ceiling, often with faux turquoise beads worked into the design;

-- oversized macrame wall art or weavings of any kind (while often natural jute was used, orange, yellow, or red was common, as were themes using owls);

-- oversized pairs of brightly-glazed or brass "ginger-jar" lamps with knife-pleated shades;

-- "Haitian" cotton upholstered pieces that were impossible to clean;

-- "rustic" living room sets made of 2 X 6s, deep-stained and notched or singed and coated with a quarter-inch of high-gloss polyurethane (the backs and seats were often a shiny polyester velveteen with nostalgic prints).

God, the horror.