Lose yourself in Deptford Market and you’ll find retro sofas piled high. They’ve aged in public, but that’s what makes them magic

Revision as of 15:31, 26 February 2026 by FQJFreeman (talk | contribs) (Created page with "Vintage Armchairs, Accent Chairs, and Sofas: Proper Character for Real Homes Retro chairs and sofas have been part of my life for years. The family armchair was covered in throws but still solid. The arms were shiny from years of elbows, but it told a story. Back in the sixties, a sofa wasn’t just a sofa. You’d go second-hand instead of brand new. It’s in the sag of the springs. I once pulled a Chesterfield out of a warehouse in Hackney.<br><br>Most people would ha...")
(diff) ← Older revision | Latest revision (diff) | Newer revision → (diff)

Vintage Armchairs, Accent Chairs, and Sofas: Proper Character for Real Homes Retro chairs and sofas have been part of my life for years. The family armchair was covered in throws but still solid. The arms were shiny from years of elbows, but it told a story. Back in the sixties, a sofa wasn’t just a sofa. You’d go second-hand instead of brand new. It’s in the sag of the springs. I once pulled a Chesterfield out of a warehouse in Hackney.

Most people would have walked on, but I knew straight away it had something. It’s carried me through late nights and lazy Sundays. Furniture in London shifts with the postcode. Chelsea leans plush, with velvet armchairs. Dalston keeps it cheeky, space-saving seating options with bold fabrics. The contrast keeps it alive. Modern flat-pack doesn’t hold a candle. Armchairs with scars grow with you. They remind us life isn’t flawless.

If you ask me straight, I’ll pick a vintage sofa over new every time. An armchair should hug you back. When you walk past a glossy showroom, go dig through a car boot. Grab a vintage sofa, and watch it age alongside you.