In Defence of the Avocado Bathroom
The paint flaked. The wallpaper peeled. The condensation pooled. It was lovely.
A Daily Mail headline from 2015 reads ‘Want to make money in property? Buy a house with an avocado bathroom and Artex ceilings and you can quadruple your investment’. A Mitchell and Webb Look sketch hinges around a couples ignorance to the cultural consensus around avocado bathroom suites. The estate agent, portrayed by Webb, proclaims in horror, ‘What kind of people are you? The bath is not white!’ … ‘It’s avocado you ****!’
I’ve always loved naff, aged bathrooms. To me their underdog quality makes them all the more endearing. I grew up with what estate agents on TV call, a dated bathroom. Looking back at pictures of it I love it even more. If only we had just cleaned it up rather than bringing the builders in. The bathroom is unfortunately the part of the house, along with the kitchen, that seemingly every new homeowner rips right out.
Our bathroom had turquoise tongue and groove cladding, turquoise cupboard doors and tiles half way up the wall with two turquoise strips around the perimeter of the room. We scratched the paint away from a little patch to find they were brown underneath. Brown to match the three hand-painted ship tiles flying an ensign. There is a certain strangeness to our insistence that simply due to the presence of water, bathrooms are maritime environments.
A soap dish took the place of one of the wall tiles beside the bath. I spent many happy hours filling it with soapy water and watching it all gush out. Atop the tiled wall was a small mirrored medicine cabinet, with bevelled glass and a little metal pull that could spin and flip around. Beside that was a mug full of toothbrushes. The basin was cracked. The tap squeaked. The paint flaked. The wallpaper peeled. The condensation pooled. It was lovely.
The cornflower blue carpet that filled the room frayed at the edges and found itself in particular trouble around the pipe behind the loo and the small, white dusty one that hovered along the floor under the window. A huge crack came through the wall beside that window. The story goes that it was caused by the impact of an American plane crash in 1943.
My grandparents house had three bathrooms, none avocado but all avocado in spirit. One had a pink bath with a door on the side. It must have been very dull to sit in waiting for it to fill up. The second was turquoise and gloomy with shells and dried star fish all around. The third, yellow. Need I say more?
I’ve been bemoaning the destruction of old bits of house all my life. Growing up with lighting designers as parents and being nosey about building projects, I would often campaign for the homeowner to keep original bannisters, doors with textured opaque glass or interesting handles and beige tiled fireplaces. As far as I know, my advice wasn’t taken.
Many of the things I thought were old and beautiful were from the 60s and 70s. This was when many of the decision makers were children. No wonder then that they didn’t appreciate these things in the same way I did. To them, they were just ordinary old things not worth keeping. Things they remembered. To me, they were things I’d never seen before that felt different and special. To them they were commonplace. To me they were scarce.
Since everyone decided that the coloured bathroom suite was out of style and everyone threw them in their skips, they’ve become rarer and rarer. And for that they feel all the more special. Once they were a profound design mistake, now they are a rare gem of the 20th century.
I often come across pictures of wonderful, old and strange bathrooms most of which are probably coming to the end of their lives. I have recently begun to collect the images and put a little more effort into building that collection.
My favourite so far was shown to a couple on Location, Location, Location. It’s in a timber framed cottage with bright 1970s yellow floral wallpaper everywhere, even on the back of the door. The pattern is of course also on the curtains. The ancient leaded window sits behind them in desperation.
The unfortunate thing about “dated” interiors is that they are likely to be destroyed. So often are interiors changed in houses that it’s ultimately incredibly rare for any element of a house to reach even twenty years old let alone fifty or more. That’s why it excites me so much when these things stick around. Of course anything over 100 years old becomes a period feature. Oh I dream of the day the avocado bathroom will be a period feature!
Inevitably design is in many ways about taste. The constant revolving of tastes and trends is influenced by class, nostalgia, optimism, conservatism and the economy. The avocado bathroom marks a moment in time where these factors aligned to bring about it’s popularity. Because of the agency people quite rightly have over their homes and the constant changing of tastes and popular styles, the avocado bathroom is now a rare and precious thing.
I can’t insist that people keep bathrooms that they think are genuinely hideous. The fact is, most houses aren’t heritage sites. But I wish estate agents didn’t describe houses as “in need of modernisation”, having “dated interior” or “potential”. However maybe I should hold off from setting up the Society for the Preservation of the Avocado Bathroom.
I will concede the Daily Mail were right about something. A few things, unfortunately. Removing these things will probably push up your house price. And yes, get rid of the Artex. But please save the avocado suite!
Very funny