Evan Barreto demandée il y a 5 jours
London ain’t about shiny showrooms. Cut across Shoreditch backstreets and you’ll spot armchairs with cracks. The polish is long gone, but they carry weight.
When Soho never slept, a sofa weren’t just a sofa. You’d save for a proper quirky armchair, and it’d soak up smoke and beer. That’s what retro keeps alive in this city.
I once ducked into a warehouse, after a bit of mischief. I saw a 1960s teak-leg accent chair. It weren’t showroom clean, but I slid in and realised straight — this thing carried London in its bones.
Backstreet dealers always know someone. Spitalfields throw up retro gems. You need patience to wait it out. I’ve clambered over dusty frames, but the chair shows itself.
Postcodes carry personality. Kensington plays plush, with wingback chairs. Brixton mixes it all, with mismatched accent chairs. Dalston’s cheeky, and you’ll see patched seats that clash yet sing.
People make it what it is. Cockney dealers shouting prices. The mix makes the market. I’ve argued for hours over a price and dragged sofas down streets. That’s retro life in the capital.
Let’s have it right, age is part of the charm. A sofa’s more than fabric. it sits through nights you can’t forget.
If you’re on the hunt, skip the bland cool armchairs shops. Grab a retro armchair, and watch it grow old with you.