The age of conspicuous consumption is over and there's a shift away from glitz and glam, writes ORNA MULCAHY.
THEY'RE CALLING it Shebeen Chic. It's the latest thing. Forget that streamlined kitchen that looks like an operating theatre, ditch the sectional sofa and cover up those limestone tiles. They look more out of sync now than a banker's bonus.
Instead, dust off the pine dresser you have out in the shed, team it with a broken-down Chesterfield, a stuffed bird or two, some tattered paperbacks and a wonky old standard lamp and you have the guts of a look that's going to be big.
In interiors, a new era of harsh reality, and even harsher upholstery fabrics, is dawning. The age of conspicuous consumption is over and there's a shift away from glitz and glam, even among those who can afford it.
No one wants to look like a modern-day Marie Antoinette, stranded in a gilded palace lit by a thousand halogen bulbs that need replacing every 10 days.
It doesn't look so cool any more to be surrounded by expensive, pointless stuff, whether it's the ugly handbag covered in chains and padlocks, the bean-to-cup coffee-maker that's been used three times or the huge car parked out on the French style gravel. Aggressive decorating and driving are out of step with the God-help-us all economy that gets worse with every passing day.
With pirates taking over the high seas, Detroit going bust and our banks falling apart at the seams, it's no time to be agonising over gold mosaic versus Iranian cats-eye marble for the downstairs loo.
Whipping a fine vintage from your temperature-controlled fridge may just depress your guests, while cracking open a bottle of champagne seems a little crass these days. Offer a Martini instead. Strong drink is needed, not more bubbles.
Designer stores too are feeling the effects of a mood swing that is not all to do with money. While regular customers are getting calls offering them 50 per cent off the latest collections, there's a reluctance to commit to yet another black suit or coat, no matter how cleverly cut. Black looks harsh and funereal at a time when there is not a shred of good news, anywhere.
Back to Shebeen style and you might be wondering how to go about getting it, on the cheap of course. The transition from cool and calm contemporary to junk shop charm, complete with Super Ser heater, might be painful, but it will put you at the cutting edge.
So I've been telling a friend who's in shock because the architect who designed her classic glass-box extension now wants to finish it off in reclaimed timber planks and vintage tweed curtains rather than, say, stainless steel panelling or drapes of duchesse satin provided by particularly well-fed silk worms. He's catching a vibe put out by Jay Bourke, whose new Shebeen eaterie on George's Street is furnished entirely from skips and delightfully quirky and cosy it is too.
The Shebeen look can't come quick enough for the antiques trade which has been in a steady decline for the last decade or more.
The new millionaires created by the boom did not want walnut sideboards or Georgian linen chests.
Where would you put them in a house that had become all kitchen? Instead they wanted reproduction French furniture made in China or knock-offs of modern Italian classic sofas and lamps, if they couldn't stretch to the real thing from BB Italia or Poliform. The absolutely in thing to do at the tail end of the boom was to hop over to Milan to choose a sofa, while the not so well off took day trips to Ikea in Glasgow, before it opened up North.
A couple I know have spent a lifetime collecting Irish antiques that they love and cherish. Not a squirt of Pledge has ever been let near their mahogany, which instead is buffed up with beeswax produced in very small quantities by Benedictine monks. They'd hoped that their antiques would be their pension. Not now though. Like their nest egg of bank shares, their dignified brown furniture has been downgraded by a market.
Young pups in the auctioneering business have told them that their furniture would be "tricky" to sell. So where can you put your money these days? Bricks and mortar have all but collapsed, the stock market is dire, and even gold has fallen back in value.
Could I interest you in a watch? Not quite from the inside lining of my dirty raincoat, but from the house of Patek Philippe, creator of those perfectly nauseating advertisements featuring father and son dandies and the caption: "You never actually own a Patek Philippe. You merely look after it for the next generation." That is, unless you flog it. In Geneva this week, nine of the 10 top-selling watches in a Christie's sale were by Patek Philippe. The cheapest sold for more than €260,000, the most expensive for almost €640,000. Some dated back to the 1930s, the last time the world was this worried. You can pick one up in Weirs. Just don't wear it for the next while. It will only annoy people.