Valentine’s lamps, Easter rugs: ‘seasonal decor’ has become a year-long tat-fest
Valentine’s Day is here, and it’s time to transform your home into a crimson wonderland. Or so the online lighting company Pooky suggests, selling 43 “lust-worthy lamps” (and shades) for the occasion. But is this the only way to celebrate the day? And what about the environmental impact of this seasonal decor frenzy?
According to Pooky, Google searches for “seasonal decor” have increased 70% year-on-year globally, while queries about “Valentine’s decor” have soared 2,584% since the start of 2026. The company’s chief creative officer claims that seasonal lighting is easy to rotate, suggesting that you can store one or two Valentine lampshades, a set of rose-tinted bulbs, and a handful of candles in a labelled box, and transform your home every February in minutes.
However, this raises the question: what if your “lusty lighting” box won’t fit next to the plastic tubs holding your “autumn oven gloves”, “Halloween curtain rods”, and “Easter rugs”? Wouldn’t it be faster – better, even – to join the 62% of Britons who simply throw perfectly good homeware in the bin? After all, how else will you find the time on 16 March to swap from your Mother’s Day to St Patrick’s Day decor?
The issue is more complex than it seems. More than a quarter of Britons feel homeware trends are “changing at an increasingly fast pace”, and 70 million items of home decor are thrown away every year. While some things are worth destroying the planet for, surely not this? Surely we can all agree that the climate apocalypse isn’t a fair exchange for a “brown resin Valentines dog ornament” wearing heart-shaped glasses and a little pink bow? (It’s uglier than you think, please do not click.)
It’s not that seasonal decor can never make sense. It’s the balm we’ve sought during the cost of living crisis, when many people find it too expensive to go out, and home is where the heart-shaped frying pan is. Socialising is costlier than ever, but novelty ceramics have seemingly never been cheaper. And it’s understandable that we want our living spaces to be cosy and calm when the world outside is anything but.
But leaving aside the harm to the planet – and how often we do! – “fast homeware” is full of false promises. In the 41,000 TikTok videos tagged “seasonal decor” (plus countless others hashtagged #autumnaesthetic or #springvibes), influencers promise that swapping out your homeware can boost your mood, spark joy, and even “heal your soul”. For years, marketers and content creators have savvily used the names of happiness hormones to conflate shopping and personal wellbeing. TK Maxx has a page on its website called Dopamine Home Decor (under the umbrella of Home Seasonal Events).
I hate to be the one to tell you this, but a spring-themed bath mat is not going to markedly improve your mental health. In reality, overconsumption has been repeatedly linked to lower wellbeing and even psychological distress. Personally, I know that the buzz of buying something is often quickly replaced with an empty sensation and a desire for more – the satisfaction somehow never seems to last.
Plus, there are faster and cheaper ways to get a dose of dopamine (music, meditation, and especially volunteering, for a start). And if you’re an aesthete, never fear! I actually know a fantastic little designer who redecorates seasonally, free of charge. Her name is mother nature, and she also swaps out the bulbs.
Of course, I’m fighting a losing battle: online content creators must create content and supermarkets must generate ever-increasing profits, so the year-round demand for novelty is not going anywhere any time soon. If I can’t beat them, maybe I should join them – and charge for my ideas (a jester’s-hat butter dish for April Fools’ Day; an Ash Wednesday kettle). Or maybe I have one last trick up my sleeve to make you reconsider: think of your grandma’s home.
She never swapped out the lamps – the things on her coffee table were the things on her coffee table, collected over the course of a lifetime, consistent while you grew and changed. That stained, stainless steel teapot spoke to you from a different era; it showed you the world existed before you existed, it promised that things could endure after you were gone. Isn’t there meaning and happiness to be found in consistent homeware, in a home that reflects your personality, and in a personality that’s unwavering in the face of marketing trends? Wait, no. I’ve got it: bank-holiday shoe rack.
