Armed with educated eyes, unerring taste and amazing confidence, is it any wonder that the French have long held the design world in its thrall? Or that the majority buy what they like, boldly upholding the standards they insist upon while instinctively styling settings that do not appear “decorated,” but rather reveal their passions, interests, heritage and unmistakable flair—to say nothing about how they want to be perceived.
To put it politely, many raise their well-groomed eyebrows at our dependence on decorators, whom they view as leaving one vulnerable to uncertain, not necessarily enviable, results. Specifically, it is not that none would ever dream of collaborating with a design professional, only that turning over control of a project even to the most capable hands is to them a somewhat unsettling thought.
So, what if faced with myriad issues that warrant assistance? In that case, the French are likely to have a comprehensive plan, opt to be hands-on and be precise in requests: specifying styles, shapes and proportions in such detail as to leave little doubt about their wishes suggests the confidence they have in their own good taste, which is, of course, an extension of their identity. Never mind that ancestral furniture and objets d’art delivered with alluring backstories conspire to make seeking expert help unnecessary. The French are the first to admit it.
Without fail, settings start with furnishings handed down from one generation to the next, reflecting disparate influences and periods; this is to say, a blur of Louis styles that eases formality. As rooms take shape, they gather even more history-laden accoutrements that meaningfully transform the space. Suffice it to say, in France, collecting is a national pastime; some would call this propensity for hunting and gathering a personal mania. By all appearances, habitués spend a lifetime closely guarding their artistic heritage both for themselves and for their children. For some, the thrill of the hunt is addictive. Yet even the most zealous contend that less is more, for there is fear of cultural backlash against ostentation. Displaying riches like museum artifacts is frowned up, which is to say déclassé.
Despite the grandeur in which Louis XIV and his descendants, Louis XV and Louis XVI, lived in the sumptuous Château de Versailles, understated beauty is a design dictum. Those with pro-Gallic sentiments equate elegance with restraint, shunning the wanton excess identified with the ancien régime ousted in a bloody revolution that began on July 14, 1789, when thousands of proletariats stormed the Bastille, freeing prisoners and ushering in a decade-long Reign of Terror starring a guillotine stationed in the center of Paris.
Not that there aren’t glints of glamour inside appartements in the Île-de-France—the very heart of France, including Paris and seven surrounding departments—where more than twelve million people live. (By some estimates, fewer than 25 percent live in single-family homes.) In boiserie-bedecked quarters that all but demand splendor, the extravagance—layers of marquetry and ormolu, not to mention brocade draperies with heavy swags and jabots—would have surely delighted the Bourbon monarchs. Most settings, though, are neither fussy nor stuffy. With the cardinal rule of Gallic upbringing being that wealth and discretion must go hand in hand, care is taken not to flaunt indulgences that are showy trappings of success, much less break the age-old cultural taboo of appearing as though living stylishly is a preoccupation in itself.
Tellingly, of course, eighteenth-century furniture with carved ornamentation springing from one of continental France’s well-defined regions, posh textiles, distinctive porcelains and oil paintings in original carved-wood frames are instantly identifiable indicators of style and station. Much like the fine linens and heirloom silver passed down from one generation to the next, all are celebrated badges of the fortunate, having bearing on how one is perceived. But, then, so are less-than-perfect antiques that look as if they have overstayed their welcome. An area rug that is threadbare in places, a chair with fraying fabric, porcelain with chips and cracks all telegraph privilege, if not serve as a reminder that perhaps those of us living an ocean away shouldn’t try quite so hard. No matter that in our image-obsessed society it is a challenge to avoid taking decorating too seriously.
Wary as the French are of outward ripples from peers, there is, however, the unmistakable sense that their more-than-mild obsession with appearances remains intact. Marrying luxury with utility in refreshing, at times unexpected ways at once inspiring and intriguing results in settings both distinctive and yet familiar with a hint of je ne sais quoi that is difficult to explain.
Whatever one’s sensibility—modern or classic-minded, or a blend of tradition and modernity that in recent years has taken hold—it makes little difference. The warmest, most approachable settings begin with space management that not only increases the visual appeal of a room but also enhances its livability.
Put simply, traditional interiors favor symmetry, or mirror imagery, historically the key to classical style. But even when identical furnishings sit facing each other on either side of a fireplace or other vertical axis, a subtle bit of asymmetry may fittingly find its way into the room. Atop the mantle, for example, a grouping of mismatched candlesticks parked to the left may offset a small sculpture set to the right.
Asymmetry paves the way for appealing modernity, pulling from unrelated, age-appropriate pieces that work together in an inviting way. Options abound for deftly shaping a conversation grouping: from disparate chairs separated by a small table sitting across from a sofa, rather than another sofa, to perhaps four chairs diagonally situated across from one another forming the letter X, with a round coffee table at the center.
Having a strategy has obvious benefits. Here, then, are more basics worthy of note, which is not to suggest that they are unique to the French, only that Gallic instincts together with significant planning have the capability of enhancing the allure of any room:
F Furniture artfully set on an angle opens up a room. Placing pieces on a diagonal, or simply angling an armoire, for example, in a corner rather than pushing it against a wall reflects the influence of the French, who have a talent for thinking inventively when it comes to crafting areas stylish and smart.
F In a similar vein, seating that floats in space rather than hugs the perimeter makes conversing less challenging, especially in a room with ample square footage. Before doing as the French do, however, confirm that the backs of furnishings are “see-worthy,” not made of a lesser-grade material, as the flip side of some furniture pieces are. And, yes, take care that a roomy room doesn’t end up seating a fraction of the number of people possible, marring the effect of fashioning conversation-friendly clusters.
F Furnishings need space to breathe. Sturdy silhouettes require ample air space to have a positive influence on a room’s character, whether a room is enviably sized or not.
F Two wood pieces sitting side-by-side are less than neighborly. Separating hard surfaces with fabric-covered upholstery allows them to keep a discreet distance, thus avoiding the perception that something is amiss.
F The taller the ceiling, the more imposing the furnishings can be. However, unless a piece with a towering demeanor, such as the ever-present armoire, bibliothèque (literally, library), buffet deux corps (literally, buffet two bodies) or other iconic national symbol finds its way to the right place, its considerable presence can be off-putting, slanting the visual weight to one side of the room. Clearly, integrating boldly scaled, dignified, old wood pieces can be très difficile, even for the scale-savvy French.
F Striking a proper balance, meaning artfully distributing weight, is the secret behind a room with the feeling of well-being. (As a result, it helps to place the largest piece of furniture first.) Although there need not be something in every corner basking in an imperial mirror’s reflected glow, it is not by accident that in France ancestral portraits pose arrogantly on easels, taut tapestries look down from walls and folding screens brushed with painted scenes help project an air of authority, say, across the room from statuary. Or that oils, gouaches and prints swell into collections, stretching toward the horizon. Though none may tote equalizing weight, each helps view attention-grabbing furnishings in a more flattering light. Either scale (size) or proportion (shape) can result in a setting looking “off”—or in other words, with an image problem that is hard to pinpoint.
F Furnishings, regardless of how attractive, look best when varied in height, in the same way that layering large, lush blooms makes a flower arrangement most interesting. An ottoman may unexpectedly disrupt a stream of furnishings of equal stature while doubling as extra seating or as a coffee table.
Or any generously sized painting perched on an easel can offset a tall wood piece across the room while adding importance to a corner. A lamp, though, is the most common vehicle to an undulating setting, and its finish, or texture, will contrast with the wood piece on which it is propped. If space permits and floor outlets are available to hide unsightly cords, not to mention ward off potential accidents, a console may float behind a sofa, letting a pair of lamps create the wave of heights. Beyond that, the French take care that all lamps finish at the same height, generally ranging from 27 to 30 inches, varying no more than two inches, since eye-level lighting is most flattering.
F As it happens, generously proportioned furnishings not only attract more than their fair share of attention but also project a weightier appearance than those more refined. As a result, in tight quarters, most use high-profile pieces sparingly.
F Yet even close quarters benefit from thinking big. Furniture pieces of epic proportions keep a room from feeling cluttered, while filling a room with countless small-scale furnishings will make the space look even smaller. (It is wise, of course, to confirm that the piece being considered can negotiate any turns in the hallway as well as inch through the doorway, before scaling up and paring down.)
F A sofa flanked by two unrelated pieces similar in height, or nearly so, is more eye-catching than a sofa edged with matching tables. Ideally, the furnishing’s surface should be the same height, or nearly the same, as the sofa or chair arm it sides. Since the shift away from skirted tables, there has been a strong demand for vintage bar carts to lift settings from the ordinary.
F Clearly, it is fine to repeat a shape. But nestling round forms, for example, amidst rectangular, square or oval ones is significantly more pleasing.
F Commonplace or not, there is always a table beside a chair, to place a glass of wine or small plate of cheese, and there is a table lamp or floor lamp positioned just so for ending the day with a book or the newspaper.
F To move about freely yet insure that a coffee table is within arm’s reach (so no one needs to get up to set down a drink), the French not only allow sufficient knee space (approximately 15 to 18 inches) between a sofa and coffee table; they also gravitate to tables 18 inches tall, if not tea table height, or 24 inches tall. In modern settings, a cluster of small-scale square tables often works in place of a lone large one; or perhaps two square ottomans make a statement.
F Design is as much about what’s left out of a space as what is put in it. There need not be something in every corner. With beauty in simplicity, it is important to know when to stop.
In keeping with the current rage for Belgian linen, the designer’s South of France atelier produced curtains with sensuous folds, while artisans at Flamant, Paris, crafted and then covered in linen the Louis XVI chair. Flooring is centuries-old parefeuille, original to the bastide. Salvaged terra-cotta, highly coveted for restorations both in France and abroad, is available in the U.S. and Canada through Ann Sachs Tile and Stone.
Not far from the ancient village of Oppède-le-Vieux—a small town that served as an administrative center for the papal state of Avignon in the Middle Ages—a nineteenth-century bastide in serious disrepair languished vacant. Swayed by the property’s potential, a Canadian family proceeded to restore the façade and give interior spaces more than a little polishing. The result: the ultimate summer house with a private vineyard and twenty-first-century amenities. (Villagers in the South of France deem a two-story bastide more chic than the humble one-story mas.)
Impressive setting? To be sure. Three mountain ranges in the middle of Provence frame the Luberon region, with towns and villages nestling north and south.
The French consider both wine and cheese part of their national identity—and pairing the two requires knowledge of both. What’s more, when it comes to one of France’s 400 different cheeses, the republic has its own culture. The classic school of etiquette suggests that when taking a serving of cheese, it is important to preserve the shape, as the flavor varies from the rind to the heart. (So, never cut the point off a wedge; it is a transgression to do so.) Smitten by French wines, Thomas Jefferson encouraged grape growing near Monticello, which, of course, also had its challenges.
In France, the entrance hall is not merely a spot for welcoming family and friends, anymore than it is a thoroughfare for approaching rooms designed for living. Gallic standards call for gracefully rendered architectural details—as the space has the power to wordlessly set the ambiance of a house and serve as an important introduction to the interior. Certainly, it must also make a positive first impression.
Not by chance, a cabinet conceals the radiator, as stone flooring with a proud past joins textured walls to offer a warm welcome. A botanical simply leans against the wall.
Even what some would call “modest” cabinets have a purpose. Those on the right offer a place to hang outerwear, while those on the left discreetly hide plumbing. Oversized floor tiles make the entry appear larger by pulling the eye to each far-reaching corner. Glazing, more ambitious than straight paint, furthers interest.
Stone surrounds define the breakfast room and kitchen, and three steps up from the working kitchen, the formal dining area, where like tables flanking the opening are pushed together in the middle of the room for dining.
Anchoring a well-equipped kitchen is a duel-fueled Lacanche commercial range, forged in the Burgundy village of the same name—an area known for its fine food and wine. Giving the space a contemporary bent, the hood sprawls over the sink. Walls are Farrow & Ball No. 241, Skimming Stone. Steel doors open to lush plants in large terra-cotta pots.
Texture warms a generous island that meets multiple demands. Most French households have ample stock of vintage linen torchons (tea towels) with embroidered stripes that elevate the utilitarian. Highly collectable are those with red stripes, which isn’t to suggest they are for daily use. With problématique stains being far from charming, in French minds, less showy kitchen towels are fashionable. (The best place to look for those with red stripes: the Porte de Vanes flea market, Paris.)
At a table set for a family breakfast, the focus is the view: a private vineyard, a field of lavender and the rocky cliffs of the Luberon. With age difficult to capture using straight paint, somewhat more labor-intensive glazing enriches the character of cabinetry by Cuisines Fabre, Robion, France.
Though people with Gallic roots once failed to embrace new furniture, these days there are ample exceptions, including these gray-washed chairs. Adding personality: chair pads touting the country’s ongoing affection for French wines.
Half rounds host a vessel sink, while stone salvaged locally works with the weathered walls.
Although the French traditionally receive and entertain guests in le salon, overly serious rooms do not make sense in many homes. Rather, common spaces exude a casual aura suited to family life. Interweaving quiet neutrals (fabrics and furnishings) and rich textures (exposed beams, a sisal area rug, tile flooring and a stone cheminée—the latter two original to the house) promotes the feeling of spaciousness. Farrow & Ball No. 2009, “Clunch,” on walls complements the earth tones.
Small pillows sit in front of pleasingly plump larger ones—with patterns starring and solids playing a supportive role—on a sofa upholstered in au courant Belgian linen. In contrast to a decade ago, color is used sparingly in many Provençal homes and often, prints are few. And though some American designers claim it is wrong to chop pillows (create a V in the middle), the French seemingly have no inhibitions about doing so.
A cristal ball from Eichholtz Company, headquartered in the Netherlands, tops vintage notarized documents from the French firm Ateliers CSD.
Grand or petite, salons boast thoughtfully curated accessories as bold (reproduction étrusque head from Musée du Louvre boutique) or understated (baskets that keep magazines within easy reach) as one’s look demands. By French standards, the best scale for tables that back up to roomy 84- to 96-inch sofas requires leaving no more than 10 inches exposed on a side.
The French have a way of putting their own refined spin on the common, the everyday, personalizing the ordinary while quite naturally catching others’ interest. With trademark attention to detail, burlap conceals a nondescript container housing potted hydrangeas, ensuring nothing distracts from the beauty of blooms turned to best advantage.
Leaving nothing to chance, oversized lanterns bridge the first and second floors, adding importance to strategically placed cutouts.
In a nod to the property’s vineyard, a modest wine cellar is sited just steps from the main living area.
In France, the second floor is a most private space designed for slumber with all its finery—lace-trimmed sheets, duvets and in some residences, intimate canopies.
Easily maintained nickel fittings are more common than brass in both powder rooms and bathrooms in the French Republic.
With cultural backlash against ostentation, comfort is born in fine details and a serene palette. A towering beamed ceiling and wide-plank bleached oak flooring dress a master bedroom in chic simplicity.
To be sure, French country has dressed itself up since Louis XIII ascended the throne. Setting it apart now and forever is a kaleidoscope of styles reflecting various influences and periods, with furnishings most often drawn from the reign of Louis XV, without lavish ornamentation. (The Romans scented their baths and freshly washed linens with fragrant lavender.)
In France’s chicest bathrooms, color is a rarity. Gently scented chalk white towels, varying in size, jostle for space on gleaming heated rails. Nearby are tisanes pour le bain (herbal teas for the bath) in tiny cheesecloth sachets, and savons pour le bain (bath soaps), often made from formulas dating back centuries.
Strong architectural details and soothing textures conspire to reduce the need to “decorate.” Interesting but unpretentious closet doors offer clothing and bed linens breathing room.
In Provence, there is seemingly a movement afoot as habitués spurn strong, vibrant hues, opting instead for restful neutrals. Here, myriad tones of gray and brown are bedfellows. Unrestricted by the dictates of design is a mix of textures.
Left: When it comes to design, the French obsess over details. Oversized bronze-finish nail heads and contrasting welt brings distinction to soaring headboards, upholstered in fabric by Nobilis. These days, mushroom is a popular hue.
Right: Tailoring lends an individual, contemporary twist to an otherwise unassuming room. Coverlet is from Blanc d’Ivoire, Paris.
Not leaving clutter to chance, or for that matter clothes in need of laundering, a roomy, utilitarian basket stands ready to welcome most anything that might hamper a look.
During an extensive restoration, a bergerie (sheepfold) was repurposed into a bedroom while retaining its shape. Also worthy of keeping and sealing from the elements was a meurtrière (a murder hole in a passageway). The small opening in the wall—original to the enclosure that sheltered sheep during winter months—was a source of fresh air. From it, caretakers could also send arrows sailing at predators.
Neutrals join forces with textures, paving the way for a bedroom to echo the beauty of the natural world. Rows of decorative trim sewn inches apart add flair to grommet window panels.
Merging form and function brings a touch of charm to the room, while the tonal palette increases the sense of space.
This being France, the bathroom boasts a wet area—with an edgy sink, a vanity ideal for storing necessities and a walk-in shower. The water closet is concealed from view behind a closed door. Among the roses, jonquils, lilacs, violets and lilies in Marie Antoinette’s garden at the Petit Trianon, calla lilies grew. (Folio Corian offers a similar washbasin.)
No longer is exposed plumbing simply something nice to look at in upscale European hotels; it is coveted Stateside, a feature that reflects good taste.
Balancing leisure with the country’s 35-hour work week is central to the French way of life. As tourists, however, surely we would miss out if we failed to visit Provence’s historic sites, including the amphitheater in Arles, the Pont du Gard—a Roman aqueduct located just north of Nimes—and Carcassonne—France’s most famous medieval citadel. The Romans annexed the region in about 125 BC, decades before Julius Caesar brought the rest of an area then called Gaul (now France) under his control.