So it's all over. No more jelly cushions or cookie dough-scented candles. Au
Naturale will soon have sold its last retro vase.
There are two eras in interiors, at least if you live in Scotland and didn't
inherit your furniture: pre- and post- Ikea. Before the Scandanavian
invasion flattened everything with MDF, there was Au Naturale. When the
Swedish retail monolith arrived north of the border, it ran a series of
advertisements featuring the immolation of chintzy sofas. The revolution had
arrived! As though we jocks were all still slouching on couches covered with
crimpolene chrysanthemums...
Ikea clearly didn't know about Au Naturale and how it introduced us to
chocolate-leather everything.
Founded by the Glaswegian entrepreneur Ken Cairnduff, who sold out wisely two
years ago for £45m, the chain offered the masses access to modern home
furnishings at a time when the only other options were the high street
horror of mock Chippendale or the ubiquitous black ash pioneered by the
overpriced Habitat.
The masses in question were not your lumpen, high-street harpies, however.
Cairnduff's offerings, with their faint air of hippie chic, appealed to the
discerning social worker/teacher/communications classes.
These were the same public-sector professionals who had shopped at Cairnduff's
Razzle Dazzle fashion outlets when they were students the previous decade.
He specialised in capturing the zeitgeist and serving it up for £1.99. I
know, because I wore those yellow bauble earrings and that dreadful white
rara skirt.
In the mid-1990s you couldn't visit a friend or neighbour without being
visually assaulted by the latest Au Naturale acquisition - those cheerful
Mexican sun motifs figure prominently in my recollections. As do the
mini-drawer sets for storing more of your pointless purchases.
Cairnduff and his partner built their business by travelling back and forward
to India to source the products. They combined ethnic authenticity with a
modern edge - absent at that time from the high street. And, of course, it
was incredibly cheap.
I was a victim myself. I saw in the millennium with impossibly tall - and
fragile - champagne flutes that failed to survive the first dishwashing
cycle of the new century. I still get sentimental about that painted seagull
coat-rack that hung on the back of my daughter's bedroom door. And even
today I defend my purchase of those Delft-style Christmas tree baubles back
in 2004, even if they do need reinforced wire to keep them on the branches.
Au Naturale is about to close because its parent company has massive debts.
Reports suggest this may be due to poor management and the “difficult retail
situation” of the last year.
Personally, I could have told them that the tat had become too expensive and
predictable - particularly given the competition, including Ikea. But I also
wonder if the demise might signify a more profound shift in our consumption
habits. We are fed up with “stuff” invading our houses and gathering dust.
At its height, women couldn't keep out of Au Naturale, because they could
instantly possess a little piece of authenticity/craftsmanship/quirkiness
for less than the cost of a Starbucks venti latte.
Eventually, though, the consequence of such spontaneous, small-scale purchases
comes home in a bad way. As the mother of a teenage daughter who left for
university 10 months ago, I know this to be true. It has taken me all that
time to clear her room of cheap clothes and shadow box trivia; half a dozen
novelty mirrors, inflatable chairs, dolphin bookends, squishy soft toy cats,
seashell prints, pocket-sized IQ tests, feather boas, miniature air hockey
sets, unmatched toe-socks, glass animals, flower fairy lights, angel wings...
Many of these were presents from other teenage girls, who had just enough
pocket money to buy something “original” from Au Naturale, Claire's
Accessories, Papyrus or similar. But how long will these friendship tokens
retain their emotional value?
Today's teenagers have vast social networks and more disposable income than in
the past, thanks to their hard-working, guilt-ridden parents. They also
profess to be more environmentally aware, as do their families.
But such idealism is meaningless if, for every plastic milk bottle we
carefully rinse and recycle, we buy another useless piece of household
paraphenalia destined to fester in the garage in a few years time.
I cannot claim here that the said teenage daughter is entirely to blame. Did I
really need that coat-stand, bread-maker or foam-filled day bed? Was the
luminous Frisbee essential?
I find myself hankering after the simpler life of my childhood, when we grew
up surrounded by my parents' wedding presents. The hairbrush was a familiar
friend of many years standing, not one of a number of recently purchased,
and mislaid, Superdrug bargains.
I wore the same red, seersucker ribbon in my ponytail for years - it was
regularly laundered. I remember every little bubble in the fabric, every
frayed thread. Furniture was treasured and polished: the bedside cabinet
where we kept our library books was handed down from maiden aunts. I still
have it, housing the sheet music for my own kids' instruments. Being solid
oak, it will survive long after the last wonky, chipboard bookcase has hit
the last landfill site.
Clutter is the new evil. Television personalities such as Dawna Walter of The
Life Laundry and How to De-Junk Your Life have built successful careers
encouraging us to throw out what we squandered our last two decades of
earnings on.
There are clutter support groups on the internet now. If you are very wealthy,
you can even hire a personal organising team. We have woken up to the fact
that less can be more. That doesn't mean, however, that we must balance the
telly on top of a cardboard box - even if it is a lightweight flat- screen
model.
I suspect that we consumers are starting to think about the long term. The
earthy Au Naturale approach has been much imitated, in its quick-hit,
low-cost, fast-turnaround approach.
But its very rapidity exhausts resources, in the creation of the object and
its transportation. Plus, it's very annoying when out of fashion.
If we bought higher quality less often, like our parents and grandparents, we
would be at peace with our, hopefully timeless, surroundings. Our bank
balances would be calmed as well. And we would never again make the mistake
of falling for wrought-iron candelabras.
joan.mcalpine@sunday-times.co.uk
For 16 years I have had the same pine furniture and this is after four children. I spent all the money I had on my table. I like the idea of hope, that people will have ideas of their own. Start to adapt what they have, buy good quality furniture and change it adapt to suit you.
Denise Reid, Cumbernauld, Scotland