I’ll Never Be Ashamed of My Everything Chair
With all of its sad monikers—the Clothes Chair, the Depression Chair—it’s hard to imagine that this catchall signifier of giving up was once a sign of wealth.
With all of its sad monikers—the Clothes Chair, the Depression Chair—it’s hard to imagine that this catchall signifier of giving up was once a sign of wealth.
Welcome to The Trend Times, a column that explores design fads in the age of doomscrolling.
When I first moved in with my now-husband, we were blessed to have nearly identical taste. There was no heated conversation about the couch. We somehow had complimentary Le Creuset colors. The mutual passion for tchotchkes was almost uncanny. But there was one thing he vetoed from our bedroom that I couldn’t get past, and I wondered how he’d functioned for three decades without one. Doesn’t everyone need an "Everything Chair"?
This question has been explored again and again, the assumption being that this type of chair is an eyesore to be managed and not a welcome addition to a room. This never seemed to bother me; my whole life, my Everything Chair, sometimes called a Clothes Chair, has been one of my favorite bedroom objects. It’s typically some kind of lounge chair—though desk or dining can also work!—that sits in the corner of the room unassumingly. What it looks like isn’t super important, as it’s often obscured, and rarely used for sitting.
But it serves a clear function: collecting items temporarily. Everything from laundry, tomorrow's workout set or an extra blanket can be strewn across it for easy access. It’s the perfect place for clothes, like jeans, that you’ve worn once. They aren’t quite clean enough to go back in the drawer but they're also not ready for a wash. There’s simply no other place in the house that serves this same function.
The best thing about the chair is it appeals to everyone: both the bedrotter who doesn’t want to put anything away, and the hyper-organized early riser who lays out their work outfit in advance. On TikTok, some users have taken to calling it their "Depression Chair," as it’s a constant that brings them comfort and ease when they’re struggling to function.
Using a chair in this way seems to elicit shame and perhaps that’s why they aren’t marketed explicitly (anymore—more on that later). They seem to signal laziness or messiness. Related to minimalism’s stranglehold on our culture and popular practices like the Mari Kondo method, content about them frequently aims to help you solve the problem of having one. The Chair is an eyesore that must be done away with. Frequent suggestions are to use one that contains storage or bins (essentially a dresser?) instead.
As someone with OCD, I understand the desire for tidiness, but storing the crap that would go on the chair defeats the purpose. The whole point is easy, unfettered access. You have to be able to throw things on it at night and casually pick them up in the morning. Perhaps I’m biased from lifelong use, but as long as it’s not out of control, I’ve even come to enjoy the aesthetic. An Everything Chair gives the room a bit of life, signaling that someone actually lives in there, a trend that’s on the rise.
It hasn’t always been this way; at one point, the concept of a place to temporarily throw your things was actually associated with wealth and having your shit together. During the 1800s, valet stands were used by British servants to help keep their boss’s suits pressed to perfection and staged for dressing. They became even more popular when the First World War gutted the service industry, and suddenly a growing middle class could afford to buy one to enhance their own dressing experience. In 1951, designer Hans Wegner had the idea for a Valet Chair, called ‘Jakkens Hvile’ in Danish, which means ‘the jacket’s rest.’ But as our culture has become less formal, these chairs fell out of favor, and now the Wegner and other Valets are mostly lusted after as antique design objects.
What this has meant is that we are forced to use chairs that are meant for other places in the home to serve this critical function. Some people don’t even do that, perhaps out of embarrassment, and instead misuse their treadmills as clothing racks, something that has become a meme. We need it, but we judge ourselves too.
After a year of trying to go without, I convinced my husband it was time to simply try out living a life of ease. We set up an Everything Chair in the corner of the room and it immediately became the go-to place for pajamas, his wallet, chunky socks for when it gets a little nippy. Sometimes, to put on shoes, we even sit in it (on top of all the clothes). The uses are endless, and I refuse to be ashamed about anything so practical.
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