I should have known there’d be trouble when my husband came back from the recycling centre with a twinkle in his eye. He’d left the house in a foul mood, muttering under his breath as I shouted at him for not separating plastic from glass and never rinsing anything out.
So, I was immediately suspicious when he arrived home with a spring in his step. Had our pretty young Brazilian neighbour admired his outfit? Had the lovely old lady round the corner invited him in to try one of her homemade pastéis de nata? “No,” he said, “I’ve got something perfect for the house.”
The House? My eyes lit up. He knows I love buying home decor almost as much as I love buying dresses and shoes. “Yes,” he replied, “and the best thing is that it was free.”
Now I was getting really excited; something perfect and free? My head was spinning with visions of blue Moroccan chests, mint Smeg fridges and turquoise rugs. He was beaming as he told me how he’d spotted this stunning patio table and chair set and how he’d had to run to grab it before somebody else got their hands on it. I’d been dreaming of white, rattan furniture for the garden, so I followed him outside with my mouth watering. There, sticking out of the boot, was indeed a rattan table and chairs; they looked brand new, they looked comfortable, but to my absolute horror, they were … BLACK.
How could he do this to me? For 20 long years, I’ve been trying to explain what perfect looks like; Portuguese tiled tables are perfect; Ikea circa 1985 Formica tables are not. I thought it had seeped in. When it comes to clothes, I gave up the fight long ago, accepting his daily uniform of dark shades. I dutifully wash and hang them out to dry, but I can’t bear to look at them, so while my colourful dresses flutter proudly on the line outside, his black tracksuits hang in shame on the backs of doors. But with home decor, I thought he had accepted the rules: black items are forbidden. I silently took the table and chairs to the terrace outside his office where only he would be able to see them. I told him that they would be for his use only, and he could sit on his black chairs all day long if he liked, wearing his horrible black sliders and puffing on his enormous black vape.
At first, he looked incredulous. He just could not understand why I had taken offence at his amazing find. Then came intense irritation and, finally, a three-day sulk. As the days wore on, I couldn’t get the banished chairs out of my mind; they must feel so lonely and unloved out there. Perhaps I should, for once, try not to be such a dictator and allow him to make his mark on our home … although the thought of that made my heart sink. Why can’t he just stick to what he’s good at, like drilling and heavy lifting, and leave the aesthetics to me? A friend dared to suggest that maybe I could try to understand that some people not only don’t hate black decor but actually like it. She even implied that their voices should be heard. Any minute, she was going to tell me that marriage is about compromise and all that rubbish. But I was tired of giving the unwanted strangers on the terrace dirty looks. They were distracting me from my work. So this morning, I woke up and decided, I am going to embrace you. I am going to see the beauty in black!
When I think of black interiors, I picture sleek bachelor pads for men who like expensive watches and fast cars. Or people who live in gothic mansions and fancy themselves as vampires. It’s quite a fashionable colour in London at the moment, with lots of people ripping out the original sash windows in Victorian houses and replacing them with black frames. We’ve got some friends who are fashion photographers and their place is dressed head-to-toe in black: the walls, the floors, the furniture, even the fridge. I feel like I’m climbing into a coffin when I go to their house. It’s such a relief to step out into the daylight when you leave.
These thoughts haunted me as I went looking for black decor in Lagos today; the possibility of seeing anything that isn’t hard, cold or intimidating seemed ridiculous. But to my amazement, I kept coming across things that I found interesting, even comforting. Now that I’ve opened my mind to black, I’ve started to question my whole breezy-blue-beach-house obsession and I’m finding myself drawn to this most saturated shade.
Black certainly adds drama, strength and solidity to a space. Bringing it into your home for the first time can be daunting, though, as it has such a powerful impact on a room. White is an obvious choice to pair with black – being the colours of yin and yang, the two complementary principles of Chinese philosophy whose interaction is thought to maintain the harmony of the universe and influence everything in it. But together in their pure forms, black and white can be jarring.
I think black works best when it is not just balanced with white but softened with plenty of natural textures and warm shades of sand and beige. And if you stick to neutral tones with your black, you can really play with the pattern. Black sofas and beds can handle cushions with bold prints; you can layer geometrics, leaf patterns and even stripes. Black is strong enough to take any combination you throw at it.
My preconception that black interiors are always hard and unfriendly is really not fair. I’ve discovered that black items that are soft, rounded or textured can be sociable and even sensuous. Take a coffee table, for example, a black one that’s square with a glass top dominates the room like a police inspector. But a black one that’s round, wooden, rustic and slightly uneven in shape becomes the focus of the room like a rather interesting guest at a party. It’s the same with cushions; square black satin cushions can look sharp, but rectangular black velvet ones with jute tassels are cosy. Black tiles or black walls in a bathroom can be really cocooning, especially with soft lighting and lots of texture. If you set the black against brass or bronze taps and accessories, plants and patterned towels, you’ll temper the strength of the walls and create an intimate space you’ll want to spend more time in.
Now that I have fully embraced black, I am sitting on my husband’s chairs quite happily. I have made some black and oatmeal geometric cushions just for them and put a black and cream printed rug under their feet. This afternoon, I have been busy painting an old terracotta planter black for a new banana palm that will sit between them. I really don’t know what has come over me. I actually feel right at home sitting with the darkest shade on the spectrum. I should start drinking Guinness to complete the picture. I realise that black can be calming; it can even be a relief for the eyes to be bathed in black and neutrals occasionally – they don’t need to be constantly entertained by bright colours.
Perhaps I’ll surround myself with monochrome and get all sophisticated in my old age. My husband, wearing his favourite black cowboy hat, has just popped his head round the door to ask if I might be putting on a black dress for our neighbour’s party tonight. You wot? I shall be wearing my bright pink mini dress with gold sandals, thank you very much. I’m not ready to be quite that sophisticated!
Main Image: Black and white chest of drawers beside archway bit.ly/42oJMXD
