They say you can take the girl out of Texas, but you can't take Texas out of the girl. This becomes abundantly clear when you try to create a hygge-filled Swedish home while your soul still craves color, pattern, and a healthy dose of "more is more."
When I first moved into our Stockholm apartment, I was determined to master Swedish interior design. I studied the principles: neutral palettes, natural materials, functional beauty, lots of white. I bought the requisite sheepskin throws and geometric cushions. I lit approximately 47 candles. And yet, something was missing.
That something, it turns out, was joy—the particular kind of visual joy that comes from color, personality, and yes, even a little bit of organized chaos.
The Great White Wall Rebellion
Swedish apartments come with white walls. It's basically the law. My Texas heart looked at those white walls and thought, "Well, that's a perfectly good canvas going to waste." But painting rental walls in Sweden? That's... complicated.
So I got creative. Large-scale art became my rebellion. A massive abstract piece in blues and corals now dominates our living room—think Swedish color restraint met a Texas sunset and they had a beautiful baby. Textile wall hangings add warmth without permanence. And yes, I may have gone slightly overboard with gallery walls, but organized in neat Swedish grids, so it counts as lagom, right?
"Hygge isn't just about neutral tones and minimalism. It's about creating a space that makes your soul feel at home."
The Texture Revolution
If I couldn't go wild with color everywhere, I decided to go deep with texture. This, thankfully, is where Swedish and Texan sensibilities align. Swedes love their textiles, and Texans love their layers. Our living room now features:
- Chunky knit throws (Swedish approved) - Velvet cushions in deep jewel tones (my Texas touch) - A jute rug layered over a Persian-style runner (scandal!) - Linen curtains with subtle embroidery - A leather pouf that serves as both seating and a nod to ranch life
The effect is cozy maximalism—if such a thing exists. It's hygge, but with personality turned up to about a 7 instead of the Swedish standard 3.
The Kitchen Compromise
Swedish kitchens are temples to functionality. Everything hidden, everything white, everything pristine. My Texas kitchen dreams involved open shelving displaying colorful ceramics, hanging copper pots, and maybe a roostr somewhere (kidding... mostly).
The compromise? I kept the closed cabinets but convinced my Swedish partner that one small open shelf wouldn't cause the design police to revoke our Scandinavian card. On it sits my collection of vintage Texan pottery mixed with Swedish ceramics. It's like a diplomatic summit in dishware form.
I also introduced color through "functional art"—a bright yellow KitchenAid mixer (it makes me happy every morning), terracotta planters with herbs, and yes, colorful dish towels. Swedish friends raise eyebrows at my rainbow of kitchen textiles, but I maintain that joy is functional too.
The Plant Situation
Here's where Swedes and Texans absolutely agree: plants make everything better. But while Swedish plant styling tends toward minimalist arrangements of identical pots, my approach is more "jungle meets botanical garden meets that one aunt who can't stop adopting plants."
Our apartment is now home to approximately 30 plants (I stopped counting after my partner started calling it "skogsbryn"—forest's edge). They live in a mismatched collection of pots that somehow works: Swedish ceramic next to Mexican talavera, modern geometric planters beside vintage brass. It's controlled chaos, emphasis on the controlled.
The Cozy Corner Evolution
Every Swedish home needs its cozy corner—that hygge headquarters where you drink coffee and contemplate life. Mine started very Swedish: a simple chair, a sheepskin, a small side table. It was lovely. It was serene. It was boring me to tears.
Now? That corner tells stories. The chair is draped with a Mexican blanket my grandmother gave me. The side table holds a stack of books (Swedish design, Texas history, and everything in between), a candle in a holder I found at a Stockholm flea market, and yes, a small ceramic armadillo (he's named Sven, and he's bilingual).
The walls feature a mix of Swedish botanical prints and photos from Texas—bluebonnets next to Swedish wildflowers, creating a visual conversation between my two homes.
Lighting: The Great Unifier
If there's one thing Swedes have absolutely perfected, it's lighting. I've fully embraced this aspect of Swedish design, but with my own twist. Yes, we have the requisite window stars and string lights. But we also have:
- A vintage Texan wagon wheel chandelier (electrified and hung ironically in our very modern dining space) - Colored glass votives that throw rainbow patterns on white walls - A neon sign that says "Howdy" in cursive (it's art, I swear) - Approximately 100 candles, but some in bright, patterned holders
"The secret to multicultural decorating? Find the common ground, then add your own accent."
The Guest Room: Full Texas
I convinced my partner that the guest room could be my "Texas embassy." It's where homesick American friends can recover from Swedish reserve, and where Swedish friends can experience "a bit of Austin." The room features:
- A quilt made by my great-grandmother - Framed vintage Texas travel posters - A bar cart (because Texas) stocked with bourbon and Swedish snaps - Cacti in cowboy boot planters (I know, I know, but they make me smile) - A reading chair in burnt orange leather
It's maximalist, it's colorful, and it's absolutely not lagom. It's also the room where everyone wants to hang out, Swedish design principles be damned.
Making Peace with Both
Living between two design cultures has taught me that home isn't about following rules—it's about creating space that reflects who you are. Our apartment might not win any Swedish design awards, but it tells our story. It's where Texas hospitality meets Swedish functionality, where color meets calm, where "y'all" meets "fika."
Swedish visitors often comment that our home feels "warm" or "personal"—high compliments in a culture that values understatement. American visitors say it feels "calm but not cold"—equally high praise from people used to more visual stimulation.
The truth is, hygge isn't just about Danish/Swedish aesthetic principles. Real coziness comes from surrounding yourself with things that make you feel at home, whether that's a perfectly curated minimalist space or a colorful collection of memories from two continents.
So light your candles, throw on your textiles, and hang that neon sign if it makes you happy. Home is where your heart is, and sometimes your heart needs a little bit of Texas sunshine in the Swedish winter darkness. That's not breaking hygge—that's making it your own.
