This city don’t live off flat-pack. Cut across Shoreditch backstreets and you’ll see accent chairs with bite. The polish is long gone, but they’ve got soul.

Back in the day, you didn’t buy stuff to bin it after a year. You’d save for a proper armchair, leather armchair green and it’d take its lumps. That’s what old-school means in London.

I once ducked into a warehouse, after a bit of mischief. I saw a battered Chesterfield. It weren’t showroom clean, but I slid in and felt straight — this seat had lived.

Markets still hold treasure. Brick Lane spit out vintage finds. You need to keep your eyes peeled. I’ve stood ankle-deep in junk, but the payoff comes.

Postcodes carry personality. Kensington plays plush, with wingback chairs. Shoreditch stays scrappy, with mismatched accent chairs. Peckham’s daring, and chairs for living room leather you’ll spot stripped leather that don’t match but somehow fit.

People make it what it is. Old boys sipping tea on a chair they won’t sell. The clash keeps it alive. I’ve walked away then come back and bundled luxyry armchairs into cabs. That’s retro life in the capital.

Truth is, scars make it real. a chair’s part of your story. It holds arguments.

So next time you’re out, leave the plastic rubbish alone. Grab a retro armchair, and let it talk back.

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Pub: 22 Aug 2025 10:54 UTC

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