Now that over a year has passed since I first arrived in Denmark, I find myself reminiscing more. I love to remember the one-year anniversaries of mundane details, tiny-discoveries. But I also think more about the experience as a whole, the lessons I learned, and how they have changed me for better or for worse.
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I knew next to nothing about Denmark before flying over 4000 miles to live in Copenhagen. I know how ignorant it sounds to admit that, but the decision was largely informed by the recommendation of my Belgian advisor who assured me that Copenhagen would be the best place for me to further study design. I figured I’d get a much better sense of the culture and history through my classes and immersion that I would through a google search. It quickly became apparent, though, that my advisor was right. As the capital of Denmark, Copenhagen is the hub where all the different facets of Danish design intersect. Slightly edgier than its competing Scandinavian counterparts, Danish design is the apex of cool, an effortless aesthetic.
There are of course exceptions, particularly in high fashion, but the street style (like the people) is largely homogenous. Black dominates, followed by white or shade of grey, with beige or navy accents. Spring colors appeared in storefronts, in magazines, and on fashion blogs, but on the streets, the black persisted. Simple clothing, but clearly expensive. Certain logos stand out, but only a handful. The people on the street pass each other without greeting, a blur of white-blonde hair and minimal make-up to match neutral facial expressions. Fashion week of course brought color and diversity in people, languages, and personal style. But once the week-long whirlwind ended, it was back to black.
One of the first things I did when I got home was pull out my favorite sweatshirt— a find from Goodwill: oversized, olive-green, with a realistic giant bald eagle soaring across the front. I had decided not to pack it. I knew even then that the tackiness, and lack-of-polish would have immediately marked me as American if I had ever dared to wear it out in public. Before, fitting in was of the utmost importance. Looking back now, I wish I had brought it with me anyway.
The same sense of style that the Danes project with their bodies extends into their sparsely decorated homes. The perfect Danish home is minimal, yet warm— a perfect backdrop with plenty of space for “hygge” to develop. The atmosphere of a place is not created by things— it is made up of flickering candlelight, warm drinks, relaxed bodies and deep laughter.
This is not to say that I did not enjoy these aspects of Danish design. I was initially thrilled to find that the locals dressed in dark neutrals like myself. But near the end, it felt like a minimalist void that sucked away the more colorful parts of my life and my personality. As a child, I had a particularly ostentatious phase in which I wore huge, pink sunglasses— even on cloudy days. Those who know me well still affectionately tease me about it. I've never grown out of my penchant for bold, colorful shades, but was recently saddened to realize the the stark contrast with the severe neutrals that comprised the rest of my wardrobe. That’s not to say that neutrals cannot be bold— the Danes have mastered high-impact minimalism. But as an individual, I tend to stray from homogeny, a word that more often than not can be replaced with “boring”. I needed to get back to expressing myself in a way that felt authentic and personal.
On the last day, I looked around my room one last time before packing up the rest of my things. This was my second apartment, and I was startled at how little there was to take down from the walls. I had dozens of pictures, mementos, posters, that I saved and brought back with me, but had kept in a folder on my desk rather than displayed. I had grown used to the sparse, minimal style that surrounded me everywhere else. The organization of the sheer volume of visual media would have required careful consideration to ensure it didn't look like a mess, but I wish I had taken time to do it. Maybe then the second semester would have felt more like home to me.
Instead, the mementos of my time abroad are arranged on my wall at home. A bright turquoise backdrop to images that I have always changed to suit my current tastes, outwardly reflecting what I like and who I am. I think I'll be happier to create and inhabit spaces like that in the future, and I consider this phase just that— a short exploration of identity and expression as part of a greater narrative in which I am constantly evolving.