Magic Cleaning: Why are other apartments tidier than mine?

In times of Pinterest, blogs and Schöne-Wohnen.de, everyone can do it with furnishing. Decorate in groups, indirect light sources, a little shabby in between and everything is perfect. Our author knows Pinterest. She has already tried Magic Cleaning. And putting vases in groups is child's play for them. But it doesn't help her because she lacks an important detail: talent. Dr. Prof. Internet no further.

by Marie Stadler

In the first apartment (ok, it was only one room) I thought it was the money. In between I flipped through a few lifestyle magazines and was sure: With a few euros more it would be so nice for me too. The first bigger booth, the karma just wasn't right and when I moved in with my boyfriend, the huge plasma television destroyed the ambience. 10 years and 5 apartments later, I have no choice but to admit: It's up to me. I just don't have any talent. And somehow I'm not getting any neater either.

We now live in a new development in a suburb. Yes, you could have guessed it, but I thought it was just a cliché: people who use tablecloths live there. Ironed, I mean. When my neighbors start inviting each other (including me), I first think: "How nice!". The rude awakening comes in the form of a napkin-cutlery-tea service-flower arrangement that takes my breath away. And thats just the beginning. On the dust-free country house chests of drawers, there are small vases next to picture frames of the same color, which house photoshopped children's photos. Black and white, of course, so that the color concept is not disturbed. "Tunisia," says my neighbor when she sees my gaze. "The world is so excitingly chaotic and original." Chaotic and original, there is also that in the immediate vicinity, I think, but don't say anything.

Even what is inherited matches the interior – how does it do it?

The coffee is served, we get milk and sugar from small containers that she inherited from her grandmother. Coincidentally, they fit perfectly. At home, not even the tone of the floor matches the color of the wall. With coffee, you quickly find a topic of conversation: perfectionism. Know them all. You can only relax when everything is back in order, when the dog's hair has fallen victim to the vacuum cleaner, when the pots are dry stowed in the closet. I am listening Fortunately, nobody asks what I have to say about it.

I would really like to gossip about suburban stuffiness and over-the-top design, but it doesn't work. As much as I resist it, the order and aesthetics of this house let my chaos-plagued eyes come to rest. I feel right at home in this neighborly parallel world, in which everything has its place, in which the spatial karma knows no "Oh-God-they-come-soon-panic" and nobody is ashamed of the mess on the shelf that you quickly get was not master.

Then it's time to say goodbye. I unwillingly give back my guest house shoes and try to memorize how the pictures are arranged in the hallway. I get disturbed while memorizing when the hostess asks me about the loft conversion. It must be fun to furnish a new room. "Sure", I lie and think of our living room, which impresses with a non-functioning furniture concept and still bare walls. The sofa is too dark and too big, the table too small, the books are not on the shelf, they are lying, which is why there is no space on the shelf for decoration. It's better that way, because I tend to make bad purchases. What looks beautiful in shops magically loses all aesthetics in our rooms. Am I missing a gene?

And then she just stands in front of the door

A week later my neighbor is at the door. Just because. She wanted to take a quick look at the expansion because she was thinking about it and all that. I'm getting hot and cold, I would like an invisible cloak when she sits down on the oversized sofa between the unfolded laundry after the already embarrassing inspection of our completely dirty shell. Next to us the ironing board. On the table is a laptop, two old coffee cups and a pile of mail. "Am I disturbing?" She asks, confused. "No, I'm just reading a book at the moment!" I say and only realize after the sentence that it must have been my fatal blow to my image. Then I notice her look. There is no arrogance, no disgust, no arrogance in this, but deep admiration. "I wish I could too," she sighs and begins to tell. To be able to relax only when everything is perfect basically means to yourself No way being able to relax. She would also like to read a book again. But there is still so much to be done. Always. I think about it for a while, then I go to my shelf and pull out my favorite book. Then I make us coffee, which I serve in a Mickey Mouse mug and a stolen mulled wine mug.

In the end it was good too – differently good, but good

Two hours later we are still in chaos and wake up contentedly from the worlds of our readings. "May I come back soon?" Asks my neighbor. "Only if I can sometimes drink coffee at your table with the ironed tablecloth," I say. She hugs me laughing and for the first time in my life I am happy about my chaos gene because it forced me to have the talent to be able to relax even in chaos. And I notice: she thought it was good with me. Otherwise good. But good!