Blimey, that’s a cracking question, isn’t it? You know, I was just thinking about this the other day while sipping a frankly overpriced flat white in Shoreditch. My mate Sarah—you remember her, the one who redid her Victorian terrace in Hackney—well, she went on this whole journey last autumn. Wanted that “premium” feel, you know, the kind that whispers “I’ve got my life together” without screaming it. But she also stumbled upon a raymour and flanigan dining set at a sample sale. Solid oak, classic lines. And she panicked! Thought it’d look, I dunno, too… chain-store? Too safe? Oh, bless her.
Here’s the thing, though. It’s not about the label, is it? It’s about the story you weave around it. I mean, think about it. A dining set is just… furniture. It’s the soul you pour into the room that makes it premium. I learned that the hard way, back when I bought this terrifyingly glossy, “designer” table that showed every single fingerprint and wine ring. Nightmare. Felt like I was dining in a showroom, not a home.
So, with something like a raymour and flanigan piece—which, let’s be honest, are often well-built and sensible, a great foundation—you’ve got to layer on the personality. Start with texture. That’s the secret handshake of premium style. That oak table? Don’t just pair it with matching chairs, for heaven’s sake! That’s where it starts feeling like a catalogue. Last spring, I saw this stunning setup in a flat in Edinburgh. They’d paired a simple, dark wood extendable table from—yep, you guessed it—with these gorgeous, mismatched vintage velvet armchairs in a deep emerald green. The contrast was everything. The cool, smooth wood against the plush, nubbly fabric… it just sang. Threw a massive, ancient-looking Persian rug underneath, all faded reds and blues. Instant warmth. Instant history.
Lighting’s another game-changer. Overhead lights? Kill them. Metaphorically, of course. Get a statement pendant low over the table—something in blown glass or blackened iron. Then add layers. A pair of wonky, beautiful candlesticks you found at a car boot sale in Brighton. A small, modern sculpture as a centrepiece instead of flowers. It’s the mix of old and new, high and low, that creates that curated, premium vibe. Makes it look like you collected things over a lifetime, not in one stressful Saturday afternoon.
And colour! Don’t be afraid. A “premium” palette isn’t just beige and grey, despite what some magazines say. It’s confidence. Paint the walls a moody, inky blue. Let that neutral dining set pop against it. Or go the other way—keep the walls a soft white and let your art, your ceramics, your linens shout in glorious colour. I’m a sucker for a good table runner, me. This burnt orange linen one I got from a tiny shop in Lisbon… it transforms my entire kitchen-diner when I put it out.
At the end of the day, coordinating premium style is about ignoring the rules a bit. That raymour and flanigan set is your reliable, lovely friend. Now introduce it to your more eclectic, interesting mates. Scuff the perfection up a bit. Leave a book spine cracked open on the table. Use it, love it, spill a little red wine on it (then panic and clean it up quickly!). That’s what makes a home feel premium—it feels lived-in, loved, and deeply, personally yours. Not like a showroom. Never like a showroom.
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