There’s Something About Decay
When choosing between sparkling new and pristine or decrepit and nearly destroyed, I gravitate toward the latter.
There’s something about decay that appeals to me. In new cities, I can be found snapping photos of crumbling stucco, broken sidewalks, dank alleys where dandelions grow through cracks in the brick…there’s simply something about the worn-in imperfection of places that grabs my eye and my interest.
I don’t know if I’ve always been this way. I can’t remember.
I do remember ripping pages out of glossy magazines depicting interesting interiors of homes that were anything but cookie-cutter. Have an adobe oven in the middle of your terra cotta tiled living room? I’m there for it. Mediterranean arches that allow some old stone to peek through? Yes, please.
I vividly recall peeking through a doorway in San Juan, Puerto Rico and seeing the most beautiful pile of junk. Rusted metal, weathered wood, old buckets left as though someone had simply up and walked away. I had to snap a photo.
There’s something in the chaos that pushes my imagination to wonder why and how it came to be this way. The same wonder isn’t triggered by perfect places. I can easily imagine the cranes that moved the girders, the pallets of sheetrock, and the masons with their trowels. Boring.
I want to know what a place withstood. What happened there before the cracks appeared. How long it survived before it finally gave way.
I think I may be the same way with people.
I love an interesting face. I’m not drawn to flawless skin and perfect pouty lips the way I’m intrigued by a crooked nose or wrinkles that look earned. This may be why I was sad when one of my best friends traded her nose for a manmade one. All she could see of the old one was the bump; all I can see of the new one is the lack thereof. I can’t explain why, but it suited her. She was beautiful with the bump. She’s still beautiful without it. Yet I miss it.
The hold perfection has over us is unfortunate. We’re inundated with cries for youth, beauty, newness, bigger, better, sleeker, faster. More flawlessness. But perfection feels so artificial. It feels like places—and even people—have been manufactured on an assembly line.
Long, wavy, frizz-free hair? ✅
Small, narrow, slightly upturned nose? ✅
Tight waist, full bust, round hips? ✅
Six-pack abs, defined shoulders, chiseled jaw? ✅
Tall ceilings, wood flooring, expansive windows? ✅
It all feels so...same.
I once heard of an obesity convention in Las Vegas. Attendees were significantly overweight and completely unashamed about it. One was quoted as saying, “Fit people all look alike. Fat people all put on weight in different ways in different places. We’re much more interesting to look at.”
That statement stayed with me.
It’s true: Fit people do all look alike, for the most part.
As do brand-new buildings.
As do new cars.
As do just-built developments.
But things and people that are falling apart...they fall apart in all sorts of different ways. They crumble and decay differently. They’re much more interesting.
Maybe I’ve been wrong calling it decay all this time.
Maybe what I’m really drawn to is evidence.
Evidence that something has been lived in. That it has weathered time, endured hardship, survived enough life to wear some of it on the outside.
Perfect things don’t leave much to wonder about.
The worn ones always do.
xo
P.S. I’m in Knoxville, TN for the next week. It’s my first visit here. If you have suggestions, I’d love to hear them! Thanks!
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I, too, am drawn to decay. For similar reasons.
Have you ever been to Havana, Cuba? My goodness, there is gorgeous decay there.
Have fun in Knoxville!
I love old tree stumps. They have a story.