Last week, after an early dinner in Soho, my partner and I jokingly rounded-off date night with a trip to the new IKEA on Oxford Street. It was partly driven by curiosity, partly by a need for more POKAL glasses, but mostly by irony. Turns out, though, we weren’t the only couple with this idea. And for most, it appeared to be no joke.
The place was swarming with hand-holding lovebirds, analysing the longevity of various cutlery sets and cooing over cute hedgehog toys as though gazing into an idyllic future full of picture-perfect offspring. In sharp contrast to every other IKEA I’ve ever visited, the vibe was stress-free. Not a matrimonial meltdown in sight. Nor for that matter, any screaming toddlers. It was adults-only and all the better for it.
