Furniture, Unfurnished

Ahh， IKEA. A winning combination of minimalist Swedish design and affordable bourgeois domesticity， all folded up into a lovely little flatpack box of soft power， and served with a side of delicious meatballs. Anywhere in the world where people want something sustainable to sit on， the export-ready IKEA experience can be perfectly replicated C although not imitated C with no risk of compromising on the company’s squeaky-clean Scando-socialist ideals. Or so I thought， until my first trip to the Beijing flagship store， one of the largest in the world.

Growing up in the UK， I’d always had mixed feelings about IKEA. Yes， it’s decent value for money and the food is nice， but it’s undeniably soulless. A weekend trip to my local branch， wedged in among outlet malls and megastores on the outskirts of the city， would leave me feeling drained and unimaginative. A visit to IKEA in China， however， is both a fun day out and a masterclass in shopping. Last Sunday， in need of bed linen and a rug， I made my way over to the Beijing branch.

First stop， the canteen， where a cup of coffee comes with free refills from an unmanned coffee machine. IKEA obviously bets on the fact that customers will be satisfied with one tiny mug of weak Swedish coffee. However， they gravely underestimated the old lady standing in front of me in the line for the machine. Unimpressed with the tiny mug， she’s brought her own Thermos， and she’s going to hold down that “dispense” button as long as she likes. Well played. Note to self： next time， bring flask.

Next， I head into the labyrinthine showroom， which begins with the sofa section. Maybe it’s due to overindulgence in the canteen， maybe it’s the central heating， maybe it’s the overwhelming ecstasy of space-saving storage solutions， but roughly 10 paces into the IKEA experience， everyone already seems to be completely exhausted. Roughly 75 percent of couches C the comfiest 75 percent C are occupied by sleeping people， mostly children and the elderly. Another smart move C after all， can anyone truly judge how comfy a couch is until they’ve taken a nap on it？

Perhaps the biggest advantage that the Chinese IKEA experience has over the Western one is that it’s invigorating， rather than soul-destroying. At Ikea back home， the model rooms， no matter how well styled， always feel sterile and staged. The spotless tranquility makes it difficult to imagine how it would feel to live in one. The Beijing branch， with its tens of thousands of visitors per weekend （most of them families）， has no such problem - the store buzzes with domestic clamor.

As I wander through the various sections， I feel as if I’m in the world’s largest， most busiest shared living space. In a dining room， an entire family C two small children （perhaps the fruit of the conditional Two Child Policy）， their parents and grandparentsC chats around a big， circular dinner table. Two old women set the world to rights in the kitchen. A puffy-eyed young couple， apparently mid-argument， hold back tears as they sit in silence on the edge of a bed. The place feels alive.

The market hall， which Westerners will know as an endless maze of rooms seemingly designed to make it impossible to locate the one or two items you need， is a different experience altogether， especially during the pre-Chinese New Year sale. My original plan was to avoid distractions C keep my head down， work the angles， and make a beeline for the rugs. However， the Beijing store has put a clever twist on the turgid IKEA market hall： managers appear to have picked out the most garrulous staff members， given them megaphones， and created the feeling of a traditional Chinese marketplace. Forget the rugs； this is entertainment！

Finally， the exit. Despite the rabid consumerism， watching these families trundle out of the store with more affordable Swedish-designed merchandise than they can carry is weirdly heartwarming. It feels like watching a baptism into the middle class.

As I leave， with a truckload of new furniture and a multi-pack of frozen salmon （but no rug）， I wonder whether IKEA might be the most successful foreign consumer brand in China. Nowhere near as flashy as Apple nor as pervasive as Coca Cola， but ever-present， understated， almost invisible. Perhaps I was wrong about the company’s ideals - in China， IKEA seems to be doing exactly what IKEA does best.