I hate dust ruffles. I hate everything they stand for: frills, clutter, shabby chic, girly-ness, and most of all, ruffles. When it comes to decorating my apartment, I have a tendency toward masculine design, more minimalist than cluttered. I haven’t always been this way. I confess to you that my childhood bedroom was resplendent in the vile trappings of lace, snow globes, and floral motifs. But in recent years, my decorating mantra has been the simple question, “Would Indiana Jones have this in his house?”
And yet, swathed around the rectangular simplicity of my box spring is a cotton lace dust ruffle that covers a steel bed frame. It belonged to my grandmother in the 1980’s. Yes, it is that bad.
I have considered several solutions to my dust ruffleitis: a box spring cover (but the steel bed frame with its clumsy plastic wheels is a little too industrial), a simple bed skirt (but it’s still a dust ruffle, don’t lie to me), an Indonesian teak bed (freaking awesome and freaking thousands of dollars.)
But then I had an epiphany. Would Indiana Jones care that he had a dust ruffle? Would he have even noticed? True, Indy would probably have the Indonesian bed, but not because he went to Pier One and bought it in a flat pack. I have put far too much thought into this damn bit of bedding. I can say I am a minimalist, but being overly conscious of minimalism sort of defeats the purpose. As it stands, I have a functional piece of bedding that serves its purpose well. It is clean and in good condition. I hate dust ruffles, but I am not defined by my dust ruffle.