I have a friend whose flat when I visit feels like stepping into someone else’s mind. It’s filled to the absolute brim with stuff: cupboards full of mismatched mugs, chintzy ceramic dogs adorning the shelves, piles of books everywhere and, most impressively, a display case lovingly filled with dozens of Kinder egg toys. The funny thing is, I always leave feeling calmer than I would in any stripped-back, magazine-ready living room.
Clutter gets a bad rap, but in a world where we’re told to optimise and streamline everything, its chaos feels stubbornly human. I think clutter, when done right, can be the clearest sign of a life being well lived. It shows that someone has character, taste and experiences they have grown from. I love seeing homes that look like people actually live in them. The worst feeling is entering someone’s house and being met with completely clear walls and countertops, perfectly matching dinnerware sets and shelves full of pristine, untouched books. It’s like stepping into The Stepford Wives.
Now don’t get me wrong, there are levels to this – and I would draw a distinction between healthy clutter and overconsumption or hoarding. Overconsumption is just buying objects for the sake of it, while hoarding is a mental health condition characterised by a difficulty of getting rid of things. But a clutter connoisseur is defined by a genuine love for the items they own and a curatorial approach to collecting more.
The objects don’t need to be expensive or particularly cultured – a devoted collection of fridge magnets from holidays or bric-a-brac from a lifetime of jumble sales works just as well as 18th-century figurines or eclectic art. Clutter does, however, need a good story behind it. If you can’t tell me why you love something and where you bought it, reconsider the reasons behind your collecting – are you buying it because you’ll cherish it for years to come, or for a quick thrill that will be forgotten by the time you get home?
At its best, clutter is evidence of curiosity and obsession. It’s a physical record of what we’ve decided to keep in our lives through ups and downs, house moves and the churn of daily life. So here’s my proposal: keep the weird mugs you love, the postcards you can’t throw away and the tiny plastic unicorn you won at the fair in 2008. Let your house look like someone has lived a life there, because someone has.
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Robin Craig is a freelance writer and journalist based in London