I started this column with the best of intentions. I was going to tackle the riveting subject of residence hall life. Picture practical advice for the incoming freshman on color schemes, organization and how to deal with your new roommates penchant for tie-dyed and batiked tapestries.
I did all the groundwork. I checked out the University Housing Web site. I spent a fascinating afternoon of reading for free at Barnes & Noble. I read about Martha Stewart’s Good Things and 100 ways I could redecorate my room for less than $100. I found out about “(opening my) style file” and making a “tempting tuffet” — golden moments to treasure always.
Unfortunately, I ran into a few roadblocks on the path toward the “decorating your dorm room” column. First off, no one returned my phone calls. There went the possibility of real-life examples of stylish rooms. Secondly and more importantly, I found it impossible to get excited about anything I was doing. The thought of writing about making flowery hat boxes and beribboned message boards is deathly. Peachy keen, guys. I might as well whip up an after-school snack for Wally and the Beav’ while I’m at it. No offense, June Cleaver, but that’s really not my style.
Instead, I was left with a huge hole where my column should go, a looming deadline and the nagging question of why I had accepted the über-hip title of “Martha Stewart of the College Life.”
I kill plants. I burn cookies. I have a one-foot-tall plastic dinosaur in my bedroom. I am obviously not a maven of home decor.
But further thought led me here. I have plans for sewing bathroom curtains and making a photo album from scraps. I design stationary and bake bread. I cut up magazines and save paper in the event of a future craft emergency. I crave power tools and got a thrill out of cutting blackberry bushes for five hours to old AC/DC records. I remember episodes of “This Old House” and “The New Yankee Workshop” (wood crafting at its best, thank you very much). I harbor a secretly growing obsession for “Trading Spaces,” the show where neighbors switch houses for two days and redecorate a room — the disastrously fabulous things one can do with a shoestring ($1000!) budget. In short, I’m crafty.
The truth is, there is something incredibly fulfilling about having made something yourself. I find a childish satisfaction in getting my hands dirty and ending up with a tangible, usable product. It gives me a feeling of independence and creativity, however inconsequential my output may be.
Perhaps I’m overdoing it a little, but the sentiment I expressed is at the heart of the Do-It-Yourself (DIY) ethos. It’s about being inventive and industrious and self-reliant; doing something for yourself instead of paying for it at Wal-Mart. What can you do with thrift store finds, paint and hardware instead of cookie-cutter Pottery Barn furniture?
The spirit of the DIY movement has in recent decades been strongly associated with the politically active underground. So maybe drawer pulls aren’t very punk rock, and garage sale-ing won’t save the world. DIY started out in crafts, dammit, and it fits into my own desire for originality, as well as my tiny, college-student budget.
Screw the political agenda. I’m making a shelf.