Concerning the Anachronistic Insidiousness of the Mid-Century Modern Bubble, or Why Mid-Century Modern is so Popular Among Millennial Yuppies
I’m sure it’d be better for my blog and SEO if I had titled this piece just the second title, but I really liked how fun the first title was. Mid-century modern is an aesthetic that strives to imitate the furniture and interior décor of, well mid-century modern design. For the neophytes, modern refers to a set of ideas that emerged following the horrors of the War, trickling to an end in postmodernism. I have no idea where we currently are, these things are best labeled in retrospect. Without delving too much into unfamiliar territory, the ideas of modernity are concerned with rejection of the ideas of the old, like most ideological movements. Specifically, they strove to radically break with narrative traditions that have existed for millennia and ascribe meaning to our world, rejecting the ideas of the Enlightenment. The breakneck speed at which the early twentieth-century moved scared people to their core. Though at first glance, the ideas of modernity have no connection to its aesthetics, the tenuous connection does become important.
MCM first appeared in my sights around this time last year, when two of my trendier friends suddenly agreed that it was the single way to turn four walls and roof into a home. At their means, it mostly consisted of wicker furniture, cool lamps, and gasping about wood paneling. Some friends bought imitation Eames recliners, and others started talking about the Barcelona chairs. Others leaned subtly towards the aesthetic’s organic shapes and unadorned designs. Towards the end of summer, I attended a party where folks were referring to the movement by its acronym. That’s when I knew we were in an MCM bubble. But what had caused it, and how did we end up where we are?
The middle of the twentieth century was a fantastic time for America. Yes, much of mid-century modern design was influenced by European movements and designers, and often carries their names as well, but I’m chiefly concerned with the revival of mid-century modern among North American millennials. With a devastated Europe, and Americans flush with money from the wartime savings, coupled with Cold War spending and topped with expansionary policies, America was perhaps at its greatest during the Greatest Generation and the Silent Generation. It was during this time that the need to make cheap lodgings was met with the surplus of new materials, greatly influenced by several other pre-war European Modernist movements. The end result were these quirky, colourful pieces that seem bite their thumb in the direction of tradition, using simple curves and combining materials new and old, and seemingly aesthetics both new and old too, simultaneously Midwest and Space Age.
Because of the incredible economic prosperity in America during mid-century, it’s no surprise that the there is a yearning to return to that era. It is remembered not only as a time of wealth, but also one of simplicity: after the war, everything seemed inconsequential. Movies like Forrest Gump are set entirely during this period, idealizing and romanticizing the Greatest Generation’s heyday. But it’s also important to remember the issues that existed during this period that were swept under the rug: PTSD and substance abuse, as well as the isms (sex, race, and commune). Everything was rosy because the problems were too pervasive for conflict to actually break out. Recall that the pill was only approved in 1960, King marched in 1963, and Stonewall was raided in 1968. It was almost a dystopian paradise, a perfect setting for contemporary fiction.
Recently, I read Ira Levin’s The Stepford Wives, a book that is often referred to recently, as the American political right reducing the advances brought force by even second wave feminism, as well as in critiques of Don’t Worry Darling, a recent movie with similar themes: men using technology to strip away the wills and liberty of their wives after being threatened by a progressive society that is no longer to their liking. Interestingly, though both address contemporary issues, they are set in mid-nineteenth century America. The Stepford Wives places a modern woman in a nightmarish mid-century America, whereas Don’t Worry Darling places us in mid-century America, but it is eventually revealed that the characters are actually from present day, and live in a fictional universe. The make-believe world where all the men work important jobs and the women stay at home cleaning all day is mid-century America. It was seeing the décor in Don’t Worry Darling that inspired this piece: all the architecture and interior design was sleek, crisp, and looked like my friends’ dream homes. But as the large glass window nearly crushes the female protagonist, and the shiny, alien-like headquarters dominates her dreams, the hues of MCM began to seem sinister.
Even as the film ended, I found myself wondering if the allure of MCM was in part driven by the disillusionment that millennials have with their busy lives: always working, never able to afford property, and robbed of any sense of achievement. Why did the boomers sap up all the dividends of that era, and leave nothing for them? Does the appeal of a shapely glass lamp lie in the lamp itself, or the open space houses of California, with large windows and solid oak beams? Is part of the appeal the simplicity of the gender roles? What about a fear of other cultures? Was anyone living in those beautiful mid-century houses not white or straight?
A movie that spoon-feeds this theory to its viewers is the 1998 production, Pleasantville, where present-day siblings get sucked into a black and white TV series set in the 50s. Though they enjoy it at first, eventually their modern sensibilities lead them to realize that it isn’t the perfect world they thought it would be, and they start introducing their morals to the inhabitants of the show. Eventually, the denizens who are convinced go from black and white to coloured, creating a divided population, a clever callback to the racial inequality during this era. In the end, the movie serves to remind its viewers that the 50s only look good through the rose-coloured glasses of wistful remembrance.
Of course, I don’t think that all my friends who collect MCM furniture are sexist, racist, and conservative, yearning for a time when they were masters of the world. Yet within the aesthetic’s newfound appeal, I believe there lies a firmly rooted desire to return to a simpler time, when things were clear, when there was a right, a wrong, and a bad guy to fight. It is hiding in plain sight, the ideas of the age beckoning from its designs.
