The Furniture We Keep
- Bruce Boyce
- 5 days ago
- 6 min read
Our Changing Relationship with Material Culture
This essay complements our latest podcast episode exploring how domestic spaces changed during the 16th century. Listen here:
Imagine being a Burgundian peasant in 1500, where your entire world fits into just one room. You’d have a few old clothes, a simple stool, a basic table, a bench, and the planks of a bed, along with sacks filled with straw — that's all. Jump ahead to 1750, and your descendants would find this way of life almost unrecognizable. They now sleep in cozy feather beds with bolsters, sit comfortably on chairs instead of benches, and have specialized furniture in multiple rooms.
The events of those intervening centuries weren't merely about economic growth; they marked a profound revolution in how humans interacted with objects and, through them, with each other. The shift from medieval austerity to early modern abundance reflects a narrative far broader than furniture alone. It signifies the emergence of privacy, the transformation of family structures, and the development of entirely new human experiences.
Medieval life was characterized by scarcity—material, spatial, and social. The typical home contained what we might generously call "furniture," though the term hardly captures these practical objects. A wooden chest served as seating, storage, and a table. Beds were simply planks topped with straw-filled sacks. The wealthiest might own a single chair—a throne-like symbol emphasizing hierarchy over comfort.
The reality was even more striking. Peasants in Gascony sat "round the fire, accustomed to eat without a table and to drink out of the same goblet." Their homes had dirt floors covered with straw in winter, herbs and flowers in summer—a custom that continued even in royal residences until the 16th century. Dutch paintings show this raw honesty: Adrien Brouwer's peasants singing around "a few stools, a bench and a barrel doing service as a table." Read my Substack article One Room, One Family to learn more.
Then something extraordinary happened. Beginning in the 15th century, European interiors experienced what can only be called a furniture revolution. The Borgherini camera in Florence (1515-1518) exemplifies this change—a single bedroom so densely packed with furniture and art that contemporaries called it the "Camera d'Oro." Fourteen painted panels integrated with intricate woodwork, specialized furniture, and a stunning bed that served as the architectural centerpiece.
This wasn't just about wealth—it represented a deep change in how people viewed their connection to material things. While medieval families often shared simple, undivided spaces with few possessions, Renaissance families took pride in creating unique environments where each object helped tell stories about their identity, status, and dreams for the future.
Perhaps no example better illustrates this transformation than the bed. Medieval beds were practical items—places to sleep, often shared by multiple family members, servants, and guests. According to historical inventories, even relatively well-off peasants only possessed "the planks of a bed, sacks filled with straw," while the poorest slept directly on the floors, separated from livestock only by screens. The Count de Forbin, traveling through France in 1683, encountered entire peasant families sharing single beds—a practice that horrified Renaissance sensibilities increasingly focused on individual dignity and privacy.
The Renaissance bed revolution signified more than just comfort enhancements. These beds evolved into architectural icons and social focal points. In Florence, the bedroom transformed into the emotional heart of Renaissance life, with beds reaching up to 3.5 meters in width that were used not only for sleeping but also as spaces for business discussions, private talks, and social gatherings.
By the 18th century, beds had become more than just places to sleep—they transformed into beautiful, theatrical spaces that told their own stories. The French "ruelle," or the cozy space between the bed and the wall, became a special spot for intimate conversations, quiet reflection, and even seduction. What began as simple warmth providers—bed curtains—quickly evolved into symbols of privacy and social status, adding a touch of elegance and distinction. This shift from shared sleeping arrangements to individual beds, complete with feather pillows, bolsters, and decorative covers, marked an exciting move toward modern ideas of personal space and family roles. It’s fascinating to see how these changes influenced the way we think about comfort, privacy, and family life today.
But the social significance of beds varied greatly across cultures. While Europeans created increasingly elaborate sleeping furniture, many societies stuck to floor-based traditions that Europeans often misunderstood. The contrast shows how furniture choices reflected deeper cultural values about privacy, hierarchy, and individual versus communal identity.
In this way, the history of seating reveals one of the most insightful cultural stories. Medieval Europe, like much of the world, sat at floor level. Chairs symbolized authority and were reserved for those in power. As one contemporary source notes, most non-European civilizations had no tradition of elevated seating—Tamil had no word for table until Portuguese contact introduced "mecei" from "mesa." Islamic regions maintained a floor-based culture so thoroughly that Spanish writers claimed cultural superiority by stating their elevated seating habits were more civilized than ground-level customs.
However, this cultural chauvinism concealed intricate realities. Chinese civilization experienced its own "chair revolution" during the 2nd-3rd centuries AD, creating an impressive dual furniture system that supported both sitting and squatting customs. Within the same space, chairs and high tables were placed on the lower level, while the elevated kang platform housed traditional low furniture where people took off shoes and sat on the floor for close gatherings.
This created a fascinating distinction that travelers might notice between cultures. Europeans often found it difficult to sit cross-legged in Ottoman carriages, while Japanese people described European seating as "hanging up the legs." These interactions led to interesting cultural blends: Spanish women kept sitting "Arab-style" until the 17th century, giving rise to the court expression "tomar la almohadilla"—meaning "taking the cushion"—which was a polite way for a lady to be allowed to sit in the presence of the queen.
While Europe was busy gathering furniture, the Islamic world was perfecting the art of portable magnificence. When Turkish forces seized treasures from a Kurdish prince in 1655, historical records paint a stunning picture of wealth: ivory and ebony boxes, chests decorated with precious stones, fragrant rose-water flagons, Korans with beautifully jeweled covers, silver-bladed sabres in golden sheaths, hundreds of tiger skins, and countless carpets.
This wasn't about having less—it was about having things differently. Islamic homes showcased a simple fixed furniture setup, but they were filled with portable treasures that reflected their rich culture. As modern observers pointed out, these homes didn't have beds or chairs like in Europe. Instead, they had mattresses that were rolled out at night and stored away during the day, along with many cushions and beautiful woolen carpets often layered for comfort and style. One observer described these as "the belongings of a race of nomads"—yet these nomads had access to some of the world's finest luxury goods, blending simplicity with elegance.
What's impressive is how consistent these styles stayed over centuries. Historical sources indicate that Chinese interiors from the 15th century could easily be from the 18th, while traditional Japanese houses kept their core features, with morning routines of tidying bedding to keep living areas clean.
Meanwhile, in Western Europe, observers noted that everything was in a state of constant flux. Each generation introduced new styles, arrangements, and ideas of domestic comfort. This reflected fundamentally different interactions with material culture. Unlike other civilizations that refined solutions and preserved them for centuries, Western Europe fostered what can be described as an obsession with innovation.
The early modern furniture revolution established patterns we still follow today. The idea that possessions mirror identity, that homes should showcase personality, and that comfort and beauty are rights rather than privileges—these concepts arose from centuries of transformation in European domestic life.
The contrast between Islamic portable luxury and European accumulation offers insights for modern debates about sustainable living. The Islamic model showed that impressive environments can be created without permanent, resource-heavy furniture. As we deal with questions about overconsumption, these historical alternatives remind us that luxury and minimalism don't have to be mutually exclusive.
Today, as we work from home and find ways to blend professional and personal boundaries, or create our living spaces for social media, and navigate the balance between minimalism and meaningful possessions, we're still exploring the questions sparked by the early modern furniture revolution. How do objects influence our relationships? What do our possessions reveal about us? And how do we balance personal expression with our social responsibilities?
The story of furniture reflects our own story — our dreams, our connections, and how we understand what makes life meaningful. Every chair, bed, and cabinet holds a piece of human social history, showing us that some of the most meaningful changes happen not in grand palaces or battlefields, but in the simple, peaceful moments right in our homes.
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