hot take: Coffee tables don’t belong

reJeCt cOnFORMATION

I love ceremonial preparations and exchanges of beverages. My first chance to grow my appreciation came at the beginning of 2020’s lockdown. Suddenly made available by quarantine, an Airbnb Kyoto experience gave me 1:1 Zoom access to a ceremonially trained matcha teacher. My love grew while practicing in the traditions of her school.

Before then, I’d become newly aware of coffee as a leisurely social activity partaken outside of a to-go cup, thanks to… duh-duh-duh-daaah Netflix. Turkish drama Lovebird had put me on, watching families come together or visit the workplace, with coffee.

My family rarely sat down to enjoy coffee, for self or others, as far as I recall. It was a to-go thing or a fuel. A ‘good cup of coffee’ was still talked about, and the pot was always on; But the imbibin’ and the functioning of that day’s chores or child calendar was simultaneous with the quick consumption. What I actually remember is, “Damn, I didn’t even get to finish my coffee.

Specialty-beans-have-got-to-go, we-only-drink-Americano type vibes.

21st century kid with a busy village in a non-communal suburb = more likely to see Black leisure rituals depicted in our home’s art than observed in life.

Long before my birth

my grandmother Velma’s best friend and neighbor Miss Georgia would call the landline from her own home deeper in the cul-de-sac. Miss Georgia would call to invite “her” friend, my mother Maria, over for “kaaaw-fee,” emphasis belonging to my grandmother, as she retold me these histories, spun out syllables demonstrating Miss Georgia’s dulcet tones and high tilt of head.

Now, Miss Georgia was the fine owner of many fine things, including a glass coffee table. On which she would eventually come to find me, promptly seating my 3 year old self to the surface—helping my gleeful behind to crystal-clasped mounds of cinnamon and peppermint chews—during our first introduction.

Presently

the coffee in our home finds neglect on any number of tables, MOST especially the coffee table… In the case of my sister, append to this enumeration of place: the bathroom sink and shower wall. Whereupon, after arrival, the latte art resides there to sit and sour through shower and workday. I am convinced she simply likes the ritual of making it, not drinking it, considering the new fancy machine.

Okay, specialty bean, come black. Consistently, the best coffee I have.

But MY POINT: coffee tables are a place where hot beverages go to die.

Coffee on the coffee table? Wild

“I thought coffee tables were for books you want people to peruse while sitting there. I’ve actually never seen coffee on a coffee table, is that too bougie?… Coffee, on the coffee table?” - olivia’s person

What has the coffee table become in the interior space but a place for theater and, really, playing supporting actress to a screen? Or at least in its ideal form, exhibit A…

Do talk shows hate hydration?

So, I did a 20 minute foray to investigate talk shows, a frequent coffee table sideshow. I went on Youtube, skimmed some clips, and observed for beverage drinking. I looked at contemporary shows, a white one and a Black one (The Jennifer Hudson Show), both of which would like you to believe that the coffee table is starring, center stage as she is—how dare they? And Anthony Mackie did, in fact, drink from his mug of somethin’ during his segment! Several sips even. The good times are not dead, phew.

some white show interviewing a director I might like, Francis Ford Coppola. I don’t own this content. Rights to whoever does.

The alt-text isn’t working, so (left) Anthony Mackie, one hand on mug, other hand pointing at you… Like he knows you should dump your coffee table. (right) Jennifer Hudson and a man who’s name I forgot (wait I found it, Druski) are armchair seated in the background, where the foreground is a coffee table, floral center piece, and an untouched mug.

COFFEE TABLES DO NOT INVITE GENUINE EXPLORATION.

Where are the alternatives in African American homes? Ways of designing socially inclined, leisure inducing, community spellbinding texture to interior spaces. I don’t see coffee tables filling that need-void (unless you live alone), and that is bs.

Trade it for an extra large junk drawer and make your de-facto workstation elsewhere!

(Dramatically undercutting the efforts of many great curators)

A gallery can’t just hang things on walls, put a bust in the corner, add some tape on the floor—AND EXPECT A GRAND EXPLORATION OF THE SPACE.

I intend my interior space to prioritize exploration, self-identification/ envisionment/expansion, and desirable function! Imagine.

Coffee tables don’t serve us

in their current assigned function (we serve THEM—THROW dOwN THE CHAINS! No, just kidding, ha!). Its presence is like an autopopulated yes, I-need-surface-for-put-stuff placeholder. Or a wannabe wish for your leisure time with a cup of coffee. Or a space for table-book experiyonce-extravaganza. Plenty of Black folks I love don’t have coffee tables. They still drink coffee, kiki in the kitchen, stand on the porch. These are coffee hotspots I know and love.

Can we begone with coffee tables in the designing of an Afro-Diasporic interior? And what are African American designers already doing to fill that space with objects more familiar, more functional, more loving towards restfulness?

And if anyone wants to use this as an opportunity to reference ‘rest is revolutionary,’ peep Imani’s necessary words on the matter and pay disabled creators.

Speaking of…

But Imani first

legal stuff: I don’t own the images or video content attached to this post. Copyright to whomever owns copyright.