Designers are Weird

My very first design conference had me almost in tears with the amount of talent that could fill a room, but from the moment I sat down all I could think about was the light that wasn't working above Kim's head. The one that matched the one on the other side. The one that wasn't working. The neglected one that sat in darkness.

For goodness sake, we were at a design conference, and a part of the room was in shade. The room felt uneven, and I found myself wondering if I could slip out and run to the nearest hardware store to fix it. I wanted to listen, but my eyes couldn't help travelling to the sad, empty space at the left of the screen.




As she talked, I wondered if I was going insane, and I was mad at myself for feeling so persnickety over something so trivial. When she came to a close, Kim thanked everyone, gave a laugh, and asked, "Is anyone else as distracted as I am by the broken light behind me?". Relief washed over me, as I knew I wasn't alone in my madness. She would become one of my most endeared friends, but my first memory will always be of bonding over the broken light bulb.

When I was little, I thought we all saw the world the same way, but we don't, and designer's are no exception. There are some that must have everything match; the blue in the drapes must match the color on the wall, and the accent in the vase, and then there are others who go by the color wheel, always wanting everything to be the opposite, and insisting that orange does go with blue whether you like it or not. Some just want to make a bold impression, and others daydream of nothing but soft, baby neutrals.

A designer friend might casually make over your bookshelf in the middle of a conversation, and another will quickly turn your toilet paper the other way around when you can't see them (didn't you know that it should come from the top, not the bottom?). We are weird, and our minds work in strange ways.
There are designer's who won't go near a flea market, and will bring white gloves to every appointment (just in case) and others who lives for the excitement of a weekend, with a pocket full of crumpled cash and a rolling, rickety shopping cart.

To match, or not to match, brings out strong opinions, yet for someone who frets endlessly about a broken light bulb, I almost break out in hives if I am presented with a living room full of identical table lamps. I agree that it makes no sense, and I need, love and adore symmetry, but exact, repetitious matching kind of disturbs me in a way that I can't explain. That being said, I do honestly appreciate a beautiful room, and I know that an extravagant balance of coordination is a skill assigned to the talented few.

You see, the thing is, whether we live for serene white walls and minimal looks, or jump with joy at the mere mention of adding even more layers to a crowded room, we are all so different ......... just wanting the same thing.