I love used furniture. I love the idea of having something that was owned by another person, who cared for it until it passed into other hands. A life cycle multiplied in the spirit of anonymous sharing.
There’s something to be said about the quality and craftsmanship of things that have aged. They have character and they are affordable, a far cry from mass produced items which can be found anywhere.
Every item of used furniture has a story to tell. So when a dear friend, Ross, said he had a day off and we should do a bit of antiquing, I was excited. A whole Friday catching up and “vintage hopping”.
We set off not aiming to buy anything in particular, but rather to “ooh” and “aah” over the pieces in between a chit chat and lunch. At our first shop, Ross found a silver plated toast rack with tray inserts for little bowls of confectionery.
Among the 1970’s vinyl records of Afrikaans pop and “wêreld musiek”, it was an opulent and sophisticated find which struck a chord with his English heritage and their tradition of tea-time. It would make a wonderful story, and he looked forward to sharing with his family.
Eager for my great find, I walked into the next store, and it was as if a spotlight from heaven had fallen on them: a set of three mid-century nesting tables that made my heart sing. They were ideal for my living room!
They were not in perfect condition, but the shape was lovely, the set was complete and the price was good. I was ready to put my money down right there and then, when in stormed Mr “I know everything”, wearing a black turtleneck and thick black framed glasses, to pick up the set of three for himself.
He had the audacity to ask for a discount, on top of which he apologised for being a collector of that period of furniture, which only made me feel worse.
We turned down his offer to sell us a coffee table he had in his possession, and charged off to the next store, feeling violated by the antique hijack, huffing and puffing about his pretentiousness – “How dare he assume we know less!” and “maybe he knows better, he is old” – to make ourselves feel better.
Amongst further finds, we spotted old industrial metal furniture and gorgeous dining room tables. But my spirit had been broken by the Man in Black. I searched every store for a similar set of three tables, knowing that it was a once off find.
Then we found a beautiful mid-century mahogany-legged bench with which some new upholstery work. I thought it would make a lovely accent piece in my home.
Excited by the find, I took home this piece of history. I adore the bench. It’s not perfect, but there’s only one like it. The scratch on the leg and the softness of the seat will always bring me back to the story of the Man in Black, the laughs I had with a friend, and the new lease on life this old piece has given me and my home.
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