Scandi vs. Baroque: a relationship grudge match

It’s a wonder we’re still together.

When we met, he owned a three-seater sofa in the most opulent fabric I have seen outside Versailles: gold damask, with gold and navy tassel tie-backs.

I brought to the relationship a white leather number I had inherited from a former housemate, nicknamed “the porn couch” for its tactile appeal and wipe-clean properties. It wouldn’t have been my first choice of living room furniture but it didn’t look completely out of place with the other homewares I had accumulated over the years.

There were the two hulking IKEA Expedit bookshelves (the closest thing to a cult design classic that I owned), a couple of satin-finish stainless steel desk lamps and a limited edition print of an artwork by the American artist Audrey Kawasaki – all pretty and pale in washed-out shades of green and white.

While my interior tastes veered towards natural timbers and soft colours, he was all about rich tones and lavish finishes. I lusted after the pared-back Danish interiors on Borgen; he could picture himself living on the set of The Borgias.

Moving in together was a clash of civilisations.

While my interior tastes veered towards natural timbers and soft colours, he was all about rich tones and lavish finishes. Photo: Lisa Cohen, Styling: Michelle Halford.

There were, of course, the foreseeable adjustments that come with sharing a home with a new partner. Would it be rude to insist he fold my T-shirts with creases down the sides, not in the middle? Who knew it was possible to find football on TV all year round? Did he really drink International Roast?

But the real battleground was homewares. Scatter cushions were returned to the shop for being “too dull”. A doona cover copped criticism for being “too beige” (to my eyes it was a warm grey). The porn couch was shipped off to a niece’s place and the Kawasaki print stowed in a storage cage. The bookshelves and bedside lamps were about the only items of mine that made the cut.

Though it felt like I was deferring to his tastes, in the end it was more a pragmatic decision. I had moved into his place, a small art deco apartment in Sydney’s east, and his things were already there. Call it a home-ground advantage. We both knew that one day we would move into somewhere bigger and I could throw my decorating weight around when that day came.

Little did I realise a more cataclysmic interior styling challenge was about to enter our lives. My waters broke early one Friday morning. On the gold sofa. Though I loved looking at photos of beautifully styled nurseries (the pompom garlands!) in reality it was a good day, in that first year, if I could eek out enough time to have a shower: let alone create a theme for the baby’s room. As for the washing, it was lucky if it got folded at all.

I lusted after the pared-back Danish interiors on Borgen; he could picture himself living on the set of The Borgias. Photo: the13.com

We did move into a larger place – another art deco apartment, just a few blocks up the road. I racked up a few interior wins, painting the vivid turquoise, acid yellow and mauve walls a neutral white. I found a second-hand teak dining table that wouldn’t look out of place on Borgen and – my most stunning victory – six low-profile mid-century timber dining chairs with curved green vinyl seats and backs. We also finally had enough room for the white leather couch. After all the action the gold one had seen, my husband reluctantly agreed to give it away.

Two years after my daughter arrived, my son was born. Now aged two, he has yet to display any appreciation for either Scandinavian or Baroque design, but he does enjoy leaving his mark on our interiors – Banksy being more his style. I keep meaning to scrub the dinosaur-shaped squiggle off the wall in my office.

One day I’ll get around to removing the vivid ink mural in the playroom, made in a frenzy during his purple period. If you look really hard, you can even see where he used one of the green dining chairs as a teether.

I look back with nostalgia at a time when my husband and I had the time or energy to debate the virtues of different decorating styles. In fact, I now give him credit for caring at all. Better a gold damask sofa than a towering installation of pizza boxes or milk-crate side tables.

We’ll probably upgrade the porn couch one day and if there is a battle about what form its replacement should take, I don’t expect it will be particularly hard-fought. My bet is it will be leather. With a bit of hairspray, it’s amazing how many stains you can remove.