Batfort

Style reveals substance

Tag: interior design

Personality Type in Interior Design

Some people want their homes to look like decor magazines, or like furniture showrooms. These are the people who buy the $5000 Viking stove because it looks pretty, not because they cook a lot.

Other people want their homes to be more functional, like an artist’s studio. (That’s me.) This is Julia Child and here extremely functional, yet aesthetic, kitchen.

Still other people seem to have no interest or aptitude for the look and feel of their living space. I don’t know if this is time, energy, money, or just plain ol’ apathy, but there are a LOT of people who kit out their pre-fab homes with big-box furniture, no art, and call it a day.

I’m interested in what “good design” might look like for different personality types.

For instance, by the Big 5 measures I’m pretty high in openness and medium in conscientiousness. I do better with a bit of clutter–like leaves on a forest floor, or a busy wallpaper–than I do with minimalism.

I’m curious to see how this might play out amongst other personality metrics.

It will probably play out in aesthetics–how something looks–but also in the functionality of a space.

What does Intuitive style look like? How do Thinkers style their spaces, rather than Feelers?

Like most personalities, I don’t think this will be completely straightforward.

For instance, take introversion and extraversion.

Bookshelves designed by Kelly Wearstler

The knee-jerk reaction would be to peg “introverted” design as bookshelves. I can’t argue with that line of thought–I would bet that introverts are more likely to have legitimate libraries than extroverts, more of whom I would bet have libraries just for show.

Most introverts I know have at least one bookshelf in their space. Ain’t nothing wrong with that. Reading books is a pretty solitary activity, unless you’re reading aloud to someone.

Conversation Pit by Eero Saarinen

When I consider extraverted design, I think of design that is facilitated for a lot of people, or parties. Though a relic of the bygone era, the conversation pit comes to mind.

The conversation pit is designed for one purpose and one purpose only: to get people talking–the ultimate extraverted activity.

But is that necessarily true?

What if an introvert really likes to have intimate dinner parties that involve intense conversation, and therefore designs his house around those principles?

Why do we automatically assume that an extravert entertains at home? An extravert’s habitation could just as easily be a crash pad, since he is always away at some other dwelling or party.

Extraverted people like to read, introverted people like to talk.

There’s more at play than simply slapping a label onto a design element and then banishing it to a personality type forevermore.

I plan on exploring these ideas in more depth over the coming months, first on a high level, and them perhaps even delving deeply into specific personality combinations and aesthetic styles.

I wonder if it would be possible to predict aesthetics based on a personality analysis.

If you can predict things like how clean someone’s dwelling space might be, it makes sense that you could predict how much effort, at the very least, had gone into creating a cohesive aesthetic experience.

This will be fun to explore, and I’ll bring you along on the journey.

When you want to decorate your room like a Red Velvet promo photo

Aesthetics, people.

The way things look matters, especially the way that the spaces around you inspire you and urge you on (or don’t) to living your best life. Go into a gothic cathedral and tell me that it doesn’t make you feel different from going into a cinderblock church.

I used to think that “good design” was mostly the bones of the design, the way that a system or document hierarchy functioned. But I’m coming around to the idea that the actual aesthetics of the things, the “finishing touches,” matter a great deal too.

Design resonates differently with different people, and I’ve been thinking lately about what types of design stick with different type of people.

I, for one, wouldn’t mind if my living room looked something like this:

Red Velvet / SM Entertainment

Surrealist neo-victorian with a liberal dose of naturalism. I can get behind that.

The question is: how can I get the moon to park so close to my window, and what’s the best cleaning method for tree-rugs?

That fine line between beautiful and useful

You’d never know there was an upside to a housefire.

That upside, for me, is salvage furniture that’s wasn’t damaged, but is written off my insurance. Apparently they sell it–for cheap–which makes it an idea place to find affordable, quality furniture.

I’m now the owner of a Restoration Hardware couch, which I bought for $200. Yes, please.

One of the pieces that I looked at was a beautiful coffee table, brass with a wood burl veneer on top. It was exquisite. New, it cost $3000. Fire salvage, $250.

An absolute steal.

But would I use it? I need a coffee table. Does it fit with my couch and the other furniture that I have? Or would it be difficult to work around? Being that much more “nice” than everything else I have could be a detriment, because by comparison everything else would look shabby.

I would have had to design an entirely new life to fit in around that coffee table, one where I artfully drink coffee on Saturday mornings and have decorative objects picked up from my latest trip to Borneo clumped artfully on my fireplace mantle. (Problem: my apartment doesn’t have a fireplace.)

Yes, the coffee table was a great deal monetarily. I have my doubts on whether or not it was a great deal in terms of lifestyle and context.

It was beautiful, but not for me. Not right now at least. Sometimes you have to know when to admire and let go.

That used to be difficult for me. I would want to become that new person who lives that life in which the coffee table (or the blouse) makes sense. As I’ve gotten older, though, I’ve started to realize that there’s only one person that I can be (me), and if external trappings don’t help me to become more fully that person, they don’t belong in my life.

No matter how beautiful, if an object isn’t useful–both in an absolute context and relative to other objects that you already own–it’s effectively worthless. It makes me sad to think about that coffee table in this way, because the craftsmanship was so good, but it doesn’t make sense in the context of my life right now.

I could be wrong. Maybe I’ll wake up in a cold sweat tomorrow morning because I didn’t buy that gorgeous coffee table.

But I doubt it.

On Fillers

Dearest Reader!

This week I have been thinking about the concept of “filler.”

You know, the stuff that we stick between the gaps of real things. Like snacks. Or grout. It exists, and has to exist, to tide you over between meals, or to prevent getting your pinky toe stuck in the gap between the tiles on your bathroom floor, but nobody has ever gone into a beautifully-tiled bathroom and said, “My God that is some fantastic grout!”

(Now, interior designers are doing some cool things with grout these days so it is possible that someone has actually said this. Interesting grout, coupled with tile set in an interesting way, could in fact exist. Inside of a larger context, grout is useful and even perhaps beautiful. But on its own, grout is nothing.)

Or take meat products, since I am writing to you as perhaps the only carnivore that you know. Delicious sausages and hamburgers require no extra ingredients: meat, fat, perhaps a little salt or other flavorings, that’s it. Cook those babies up and you have quite a satisfying meal. Or if you want to get REALLY fancy, smoke ’em. I am now tempted to drift away into fantasias of smoked sausages….

No fillers are needed to make a good meat product. Some fillers might be added to say, a sausage, to create extra delicious flavors. Chicken-apple sausage is a popular variety, in which the (cheap) apples stretch the (expensive) chicken farther, but also provide a refreshing counterpoint in both taste and texture.

However, some purveyors of meat use fillers to use less meat while charging the same price-per-pound. These fillers are usually starch-based, and add nothing but cost-savings to the burger. No added flavor or texture for the end consumer to enjoy other than extra starchy things to digest. These people are why you can’t trust any pre-made beef patties and have to read the ingredients every single time. Thanks, fillers!

The idea of fillers also exists in art and music, in the form of white space, or rests. Good use of white space in a graphic design, or negative space in a painting or sculpture, can add oodles of visual interest and breathing room to the piece. In fact, I would argue that negative space is essential to good visual presentation. (Bear in mind that you can’t have negative space without first having an object for that negative space to react around.)

In music, the space between the notes is often just as important as the notes themselves. There’s a vast difference between the short, clipped notes of a march, and the long drawn-out notes in something like a tone poem. A complex rhythm is the interplay between positive and negative, in they way that the filler interacts with the drumbeats. Any specialness in the silence is a byproduct of how that silence interacts with the musical notes.

If you try to treat the silence between the notes as Its Own Thing, you end up with such ridiculousness as John Cage’s 4’33”.

The point: fillers are not necessarily bad, and can be useful or even helpful as a part of a bigger picture. On their own, fillers are neutral. The problem comes when you try to substitute the filler for the real thing.

A day full of snacks is a day at the end of which you’ll (read: I will) be unsatisfied and cranky.

A bathroom full of grout is…well, unfinished.

A hamburger full of fillers is still a hamburger, I guess, but not one that I would want to eat.

A painting full of white space is…not a painting.

And let’s be real, a “musical composition” of silence is not a musical composition at all.

That leads me, dear reader, to the topic on which my mind lingers…mental filler.

I spend more time than I should on Twitter.

It’s is fun! It’s full of novel content that makes me (mildly) amused and makes me (shallowly) think. There’s always something new!

But social media is primarily a connector–grout, if you will. Some people are doing good work of providing premium content on social media (this tweetstorm by AJA Cortes is a good example), but for the most part, all the content on social channels is dependent upon the primary media that tweets link to. Or references, in the case of many of the parody or esoteric accounts.

Twitter is very good for connecting things, for discovering, for bridging from one content creator to another, but as a “meal” in itself? It’s ultimately unfulfilling.

It can be very easy to fall into the trap of wanting mental snack food all the time. It’s easy, it’s amusing, and it’s very readily available. (And often wrapped in brightly colored, single serving containers!)

But I have to remind myself that single-serving snacks, be they mental or food, won’t build a good body. Whether it’s a body of work or body of thought doesn’t matter.

One can’t build a solid, delicious hamburger out of starchy filler.

And if I (or you) don’t want to end up blown away like a pile of dried up starch on a tile counter made of actual tiles by people who Did The Work, can’t focus on the filler. We have to focus on the substantial things. Meals. Tiles. Meat. Good art and music. Solid thought: books.

We must relegate filler to its proper place–to fill in the gaps.

It can be a beautiful, delicious, or amusing way to fill in those gaps, but it must exist within the proper context of Real, Solid Work.

So do the work, dearest, and enjoy the fleeting space of filler in its own due time.

(If you thought I was giving you advice, my dear reader, you might be wrong. I am mostly giving myself a lecture here. This is a common failing on my part.)

With all my love,

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