I just read an article that said the average person replaces their sofa every six or seven years. Unless you have septuplets and a family of llamas in your home, I would think that a sofa’s lifespan would be much longer. All I know, is that when I look at old family photo albums I see the same brown sofa in the background of every birthday, prom, wedding, anniversary, and Christmas picture from 1953 to 1978. And that sofa would be a hot commodity today because it was a piece of authentic “mid-century” furniture.

Since the clock struck midnight on December 31, 2000 and we rolled into the 21st century, a lot of date references have changed. One of the biggest changes was that the era we always referred to as the 50s became “mid-century.” In a lot of ways, I blame the television show Mad Men for glamorizing the 1950s with the hard drinking, heavy smoking, good looking ad man Don Draper. Mad Men made everything about the 50s look cool. The black and white TV, the long Cadillac convertible, and slim cigarettes dangling from the mouths of cherry-lipped secretaries. And then there was the furniture. Wooden streamline cabinets with the pop-up stereo turntable playing Frank Sinatra. The sleek end tables and corner pole lamps that illuminated the sparsely furnished living room. And of course, the stiff-backed side chairs and tightly tufted upholstered sofas. 

Having grown up with that mid-century furniture, I can tell you it wasn’t that great. In our family room, we had two vinyl chairs, one white and one blue. There was a low coffee table with corners sharp enough to slice cheese and a pole lamp that always leaned precariously close to the fireplace. Pushed up against the dark wood paneling was the brown, stiff backed, tightly tufted upholstered sofa that no one wanted to sit on. On any given night you could find my brother and me watching TV sprawled out on the floor. My father would be leaning against the kitchen counter smoking a cigar, and my mother would be perched on one of the vinyl chairs where she had to unstick her legs every few minutes. As for the sofa, it remained the emptiest seat in the house. You would think that after having endured a childhood of furniture torture, I would be intelligent enough to bypass the mid-century craze. Apparently, not. 

We’ve needed a new sofa for a few years now. TV binging, two cats, my addiction to chocolate and Tim’s weekly popcorn fest had left the sofa squishy, stained but, I must say, it was beyond comfortable. My criteria for the new sofa was that it had to have a modern look and if I could find upholstery the color of cat hairballs – even better. So, after much thought, a few furniture catalogs and one trip to Room and Board we settled on a charcoal gray, mid-century tufted sofa with attached chaise. It looked so awesome in the catalog. It looked even better in the store. It looked ridiculous in our family room.

I wasn’t home when the sofa was delivered but as soon as I saw it, I said, “It has to go back.” And as soon as I sat on it, I knew it definitely had to go back. There was no bounce to the cushions and the stiff back felt like I was sitting on a park bench. Tim couldn’t believe my reaction. “Why don’t you like it?” he asked. “It’s too small! It looks like it should be in Barbie’s Dream House,” I said. Just to prove my point, I called my friend Michelle over for her opinion. Now, Michelle is an average sized woman and when she sat down on the sofa I immediately thought of Gulliver’s Travels! She looked like a giant. This sofa was not for lounging, watching late night movies or cuddling up with a blanket on cold winter nights. Even the cats turned their noses up at it. They’d walk by, sniff it and then look at me as if to say, “Really? You expect us to throw up on that?” 

Luckily, Room and Board took it back and gave us a full refund. We quickly found a huge, comfortable lounging sofa at Crate & Barrel and ordered it on the spot. Unfortunately, we had to wait seven to nine weeks for it to show up. In the meantime, I reverted back to my childhood and sat on the floor to watch TV. Tim spent the interim in the most uncomfortable chair in the house. Ironically, that chair is a classic Eames lounger. At least we still had the showroom at Crate and Barrel to hang out in. Eventually, the salesman who helped us got used to our presence and stopped asking if we needed help. He didn’t even bat an eye when he found Tim eating popcorn and me reading a book. He would just nod his head and remind us that the store closed at nine.