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Owning the Entire IKEA Catalog Won’t Make You Happy
I had the best year of my life in the worst house I’ve lived in.
“Well, this IS nice,” my family and I exclaimed as I walked into my flat on my first day of university. Electric stove, new cupboards, a water-dispensing fridge. You know, the fun things in life.
This is it, I thought. My university experience has started. A fancy flat — the good times are destined to unfold.
Pah.
Despite a happy start, my IKEA-adorned home began to felt like a prison I was paying (too much) for. Some flatmates became obsessed with keeping the furniture catalog image, biscuit tins, utensils, mugs, food, everything you associate with a kitchen was laid out on the table with named post-it notes. Ah yes, kitchen-related items mustn’t stay in the kitchen. Hide. Everything. IKEA mustn’t see!
Shit hit the fan.
I received emails from reception reminding me “how to live harmoniously with others.” Music almost shattered my radiator. Death glares descended on me. I had a rubbish first year.
That all changed when the IKEA mindset ran back to Sweden.
There was a silver lining to my first year. I met the people I would live with, and remain friends with still, just down…
