7 things from your 1970s childhood home you swore you'd never have (until you found them in your own)

That your home would be nothing like the avocado-green, shag-carpeted shrine to questionable taste you grew up in?

And yet here we are. Caught red-handed with macramé plant hangers, earthy color schemes, and yes, maybe even a conversation pit fantasy or two.

The thing is, those items we rolled our eyes at as kids? They've quietly made their way back into our lives, and the reasons are more complex than simple nostalgia.

1. Earthy color palettes (especially mustard yellow and burnt orange)

I spent my entire childhood surrounded by harvest gold appliances and burnt orange couches. My bedroom walls were a shade my mother called "sunshine" but looked suspiciously like mustard.

I vowed my adult home would be crisp whites and cool grays. Modern. Sophisticated. Nothing remotely resembling that 70s color explosion.

Then one day I found myself at a furniture store, genuinely considering a terracotta throw pillow. "It's warm," I told myself. "Inviting."

According to research on nostalgia, familiar elements bring emotional comfort, especially during uncertain times. Those earthy tones we grew up with created a sense of coziness that our brains still associate with safety and home.

2. Shag rugs (the modern, refined version)

Wall-to-wall shag carpeting was the bane of my childhood existence. Impossible to clean, a magnet for every crumb and toy, and somehow always matted in the high-traffic areas.

I remember my mother spending hours with the rake attachment on the vacuum, trying to restore its fluffy glory. I swore I'd have hardwood floors. Easy to clean. Sleek. No weird carpet rake required.

But then I discovered the modern shag rug. Smaller. Neutral tones. Placed strategically under a coffee table or beside the bed. It's not the same thing at all, I told myself as I added one to my cart.

The science backs this up. Nostalgia increases warmth, both literally and figuratively. Those tactile memories from childhood create lasting preferences we don't always consciously recognize.

3. Macramé everything

My grandmother had macramé owl wall hangings and plant hangers in every room. They screamed "dated" to teenage me, who dreamed of minimalist spaces featured in design magazines.

Fast forward twenty years, and there are YouTube tutorials on basic knotting techniques bookmarked on my phone. "It's artisanal," the explanation goes to anyone who asks. "Handcrafted décor is having a moment."

The partner just points to the three plant hangers already completed.

Creating something with our hands connects us to simpler times. And those knotted plant holders are actually functional for a growing collection of pothos and philodendrons.

4. Conversation pits (or at least the fantasy of one)

Picture this: a sunken living room at your best friend's house, surrounded by velvet cushions, feeling impossibly sophisticated during those after-school hangouts.

Then adulthood arrives with its practicality. A tripping hazard. Impossible to childproof. Who needs a literal pit in their living room?

Yet somehow, design blogs featuring modern conversation pits get scrolled through with concerning intensity. "We'd need to renovate," comes the reasonable reminder. "And permits."

Nostalgia researcher Krystine Batcho explains that these memories help us process our purpose in life and maintain continuity with who we were. That conversation pit represents more than just seating. It's connection, intimacy, and those long conversations that shaped us.

5. Rattan and wicker furniture

Every piece of furniture on the screened porch was rattan. Scratchy. Left marks on your legs in summer. Creaked ominously when anyone sat down.

The design aesthetic as a young adult? Glass. Chrome. Anything modern and decidedly not reminiscent of that porch furniture.

Then rattan's comeback happened. "It's sustainable," goes the rationalization while eyeing a chair. "Eco-friendly. Very now."

Never mind that it looks exactly like the furniture complained about for years. According to design experts, rattan brings texture and a laid-back aesthetic that our stressed adult selves crave. Turns out that scratchy porch furniture was onto something.

6. Velvet upholstery

The velvet sectional in deep chocolate brown was a focal point of the living room. It showed every mark, attracted every piece of lint, and felt weirdly formal for a family of four.

War was declared on velvet. Furniture would be practical. Washable. Modern fabrics that didn't require constant maintenance.

And yet somehow a velvet accent chair now sits in the corner. "It adds richness," gets explained to visitors, echoing the exact phrase once used to defend that sectional.

The texture, the depth of color, the way it catches light: these sensory experiences create lasting neural pathways that influence our adult choices more than we realize. Our childhood homes literally shape our brains' reward responses.

7. Hanging plants (and lots of them)

Spider plants and pothos trailed down from every window. The dining room featured a massive hanging fern that dripped water on unsuspecting dinner guests.

It seemed cluttered. Messy. Future homes would have clean lines and minimal maintenance.

Fast forward to today, and passing a garden center without adding to the collection becomes impossible. Three different sizes of ceramic planters. Plant Instagram accounts on follow. The transformation into that person is complete.

Studies show that bringing natural elements indoors was part of the 70s environmental awareness movement. Those plants represented a connection to nature that we still instinctively seek, especially in urban environments.

Studies show that bringing natural elements indoors was part of the 70s environmental awareness movement. Those plants represented a connection to nature that we still instinctively seek, especially in urban environments.

Final thoughts

Looking around homes today, echoes of those 70s houses appear everywhere. Not exact replicas, but spiritual successors. Modern interpretations of the same comfort-seeking impulses.

The psychology behind this is fascinating. Nostalgia isn't just sentimentality. It's our brain's way of maintaining identity continuity and finding comfort during transitions. Those childhood environments shaped our understanding of what "home" feels like.

Maybe our parents weren't completely off-base with those design choices. Or maybe we're all just destined to recreate some version of the homes that raised us, whether we admit it or not.

Either way, the macramé plant hanger stays. It's grown on us.