The Chesterfield is everywhere. It is found in the dark corners of cosy dive bars. It's in the window of the cafe, where elegant people sip on their bean juice. And recently, it has dominated my Facebook Marketplace feed. *You May Be Interested* in Chesterfield chairs. Or Chesterfield couches. Or Chesterfield sofas.  

For some reason, beyond the algorithms, this notion of an exotic, luxurious chair haunts me like a ghost. It persists. It tempts. It tugs at my psyche.

![image.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/holoz0r/23u65793oM4aZ5t5XaZ8oHrfDv5XvaDJwx5zY2DZ12aoMiWEwX93insLYETVBq4VtwrLg.png)


I don't know why. 

I can't remember the first time I saw a Chesterfield armchair, or a Chesterfield sofa, or couch, or whatever you want to call it, but I know that for some inexplicable reason, I am drawn towards the notion of owning one. In emerald green or brown. I don't know why. 

**WHY?** 

This isn't a recent obsession. I've always wanted a comfy one to sink into, to spend lazy afternoons with a book, or to perhaps sit in stately repose as I scheme to do things that aren't sitting down. 

Is it a symbol of indulgence? Of luxury? Of comfort? I'm not going to describe a Chesterfield in words, because I don't think that I can do it justice. You've seen one. You've probably got memories of longing to sit in one. 

I tried to find some stock images of a Chesterfield sofa. I failed. So I asked an image model to create one for me instead. 

![image.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/holoz0r/23xenF4TivLwyXeaSd5QXHn1D4ytAzRJbAtyBGDQC95pQufKpUKDD1krYxTarFSWM7G7m.png)

This is the wrong colour. I'm thinking more of a rich, forest green. Most of them are brown, though, with pillows of their leather torn by the countless people who've stopped, sat, relaxed. I know I don't want one that is leather. Leather gets too hot. It cracks. It is probably nice for a cat to sink its claws into. I don't want a ruined Chesterfield. I want the aesthetic. I want soft. 

Perhaps I'll get one in velvet.

But then I come to realise. These things are always against a wall, or in a corner. I haven't paid attention to the backside of a Chesterfield. Is that tufted, deep pattern something that continues on the derrière of the object? Why am I suddenly fetishising a chair?  

No one I knew owned a Chesterfield. No one I know owns a Chesterfield. I haven't really sat in very many of them. I am attracted to the object. I don't know why. As I said - I don't know the first time I saw one, I don't know the first time I knew I wanted one, but I know, that when I am employed gainfully once more, I'm going to bloody well buy one.

I don't remember sitting in one, but I want one. 

They look solid. They look like a piece of luxury. They *should* be comfortable, and they're utterly timeless.

But still... **why?**

Is it because they've been around for something like three hundred years? The design has truly have stood the test of time. Is it because Morpheus sits in one as he speaks to Neo about the desert of the real? Is it because they're just a gorgeous piece of design where function meets form? 

I don't know. 

But I am going to get one. Not today, not tomorrow, but someday, and I want it to be my forever couch. 

<hr/>

Please help me try to understand why I want to own a Chesterfield couch.