Head down Brick Lane on a Saturday and you’ll see retro sofas piled high. They’re marked and scarred, but that’s their story

Revision as of 15:27, 26 February 2026 by FQJFreeman (talk | contribs) (Created page with "London’s Retro Revival: Why Vintage Armchairs and Sofas Still Rule I’ve always had a soft spot for old furniture. My first memory of proper furniture is my grandad’s wingback chair. It sagged in the middle and smelled faintly of tea, but it told a story. Back in the sixties, you didn’t buy throwaway chairs. You’d go second-hand instead of brand new. You can feel it when you sit down. I bartered for a sofa on Brick Lane one rainy morning.<br><br>Most people woul...")
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London’s Retro Revival: Why Vintage Armchairs and Sofas Still Rule I’ve always had a soft spot for old furniture. My first memory of proper furniture is my grandad’s wingback chair. It sagged in the middle and smelled faintly of tea, but it told a story. Back in the sixties, you didn’t buy throwaway chairs. You’d go second-hand instead of brand new. You can feel it when you sit down. I bartered for a sofa on Brick Lane one rainy morning.

Most people would have walked on, but as soon as I sat down it felt right. It’s carried me through late nights and lazy Sundays. Furniture in London shifts with the postcode. Mayfair goes glossy, with plush space-saving seating options. Hackney keeps it raw, with bold fabrics. Every corner tells a different story. New furniture looks dead next to vintage. Accent chairs from another era grow with you. Every creak is a memory.

If you ask me straight, an old funky accent chair means more than new gloss. A sofa should tell your story. Next time you’re thinking of flat-pack, wander a street full of second-hand shops. Pick up a retro armchair, and let it shout London every time you sit.