The Wicker Guide
From Ralph Lauren finds and thrifted treasures to the pieces I'm currently stalking.
My love of baskets, as regular readers will know, extends quite naturally to wicker.
We have six wicker chairs in this house, which may sound like the beginning of a confession, but I stand by every one of them.
Wicker has a long history, which only increases my affection for it. It makes you think of Victorian verandas and Palm Beach sunrooms; English conservatories filled with ferns; old seaside boarding houses; colonial hotels with ceiling fans and iced drinks appearing at four o’clock. There is something democratic about it, too—equally at home in grand decorating and ramshackle settings.
But what I really love is what it does to a room.
Wicker brings texture, informality, and lightness. It breaks up the visual heaviness of upholstered furniture and dark wood. It allows a room to breathe. And then there is the sensory pleasure of it all: the play of light and shadow through an open weave; the faint creak when you sit down; the way a good wicker chair feels simultaneously sturdy and airy. It has presence without bulk.
A room with nothing but upholstered furniture can begin to feel as though you ought to sit up straight and discuss taxation. Wicker suggests you might put one’s feet up with a novel and a gin and tonic.
The trick is quality.
When I look for wicker, I look for a high level of craft: a beautiful tight or open weave, elegant shaping, and real rattan rather than anything plasticky or over-processed. Good wicker has an ease to it, but it should never feel flimsy. It ought to look as though it has survived several summers and intends to survive several more.
Two of our wicker chairs are by Ralph Lauren Home, unsurprisingly. They understand this sort of thing very well.
