Teacups vs. Plate Tectonics

All of us two weeks ago, on the Buluowan Suspension Bridge, which probably no longer exists

Like just about everyone in Taiwan last week, my Wednesday morning started with a massive shake-up. I sat on the couch drinking my morning coffee with a hefty dollop of doomscrolling and thinking about an upcoming workday which, at 7:57am, was about one minute away from not being a workday at all. 

When the alert hit my phone, my half-caffeinated brain took about two seconds to register that it was not only telling me in English to a coming quake and the need to take cover, but also in Mandarin that it was "significant", with "strong" shaking. I don't know how common it is for alerts to state so clearly the expectation of a major seismic event, but it did give me about three seconds to dive under my dining table and hold on. 

I don't have a particularly interesting story to tell: in fact, the most notable thing about my big earthquake experience is how little I was affected. My clients asked to postpone that day as we were all pretty stunned, and a few cracks appeared in my walls. That's about it. I continued with my plans to go camping the next day, after the organizers of the group confirmed the safety of the site and the tricky road to get there.

Even my teacups survived, and they were adhered to their curio shelf with nothing more than tiny globs of Blue-Tack. This was a particular surprise: one of my thoughts as I crouched under that table afraid for my life had been oh man, those teacups are goners!

Not everyone was so lucky; though no one I know was injured, many others were, and for the rest of the day I watched pictures of my friends' trashed apartments roll across my feed.

And yet, I spent the rest of the day -- now suddenly free to let my mind wander -- in low-grade freakout mode. 

Of course I was worried for Hualien, but this went beyond concern for the welfare of a nearby city. It was something personal; it came from the core. 

These teacups survived the 2024 earthquake

While I crouched under the dining table, my husband (wisely) stayed right where he was in bed, seeing as the frame is too low for either of us to fit underneath it. It was indeed scary to be in two different rooms, able to communicate but not see or help one another. Both of our cats bolted to their favorite inaccessible hiding places; in a truly life-threatening emergency, I would not have been able to grab them. 

Was this the source of my slow-rolling panic attack? Was I spooked that I'd be separated from my core family in Taiwan if the roof literally or figuratively caved in?

That surely played a part, but my gut knew that wasn't the whole of it. 

In Taipei the quake felt like it could have been a real emergency, but in the end it wasn't one. Countless articles have already been written on the surprising resilience of Taiwan, when other countries hit by seismic disasters of similar magnitudes have been devastated. Turkey comes to mind: the Antakya earthquake killed many more. (This strikes a nerve with me as my ancestry weaves through Antakya. I'd been hoping to return).

Or perhaps it's not so surprising: Taiwan also impressed the world with its COVID response, and has built a successful, developed nation despite the world's lack of recognition and the unceasing threat from China.

A death toll that stands at 13 -- though I think it's likely to go up in coming days -- is indeed impressive: like Taiwan's COVID response, it shows that when the country goes through a humanitarian disaster, whether the 1999 earthquake or 2003 SARS epidemic, it learns from it and does better next time. 

Knowing this doesn't seem to have improved my mental state, however.

Perhaps my inability to calm down and face the day stemmed from a trip we'd taken two weeks previously. We took visiting family on a 環島, or 'round the island' journey by train and car -- starting in Hualien. 14 days before the earthquake, almost to the hour, we were in Taroko National Park, navigating the cliff overhangs on the Shakadang Trail. You know, the one where some hikers were killed. We walked on the suspension bridge that appears to no longer exist. We drove over the bit of Suhua Highway that collapsed. Our driver for the day dropped us off at Dongdaemun Night Market to kill time between our day at Taroko Gorge and our dinner reservations; she waited for us across the street from the Uranus Building. 

Was it that? Having been in the exact location of all of these calamities so recently that I hadn't even shared pictures with my in-laws yet? Realizing that I saw Taroko Gorge just two weeks prior to its indefinite closure?

That certainly had something to do with it. It is unnerving to look at a bit of landslid trail or collapsed infrastructure and realize you were just there. But no, that was an insufficient explanation and deep down, I knew it. After all, those who were actually there when the quake happened either didn't survive, or had it immeasurably worse.

Unable to comprehend my own reaction, I sat on my couch, drank tea and stared at my teacups. Almost all of them were Taiwan-made, either by local artisans or a Taiwanese company. Two have a floral pattern commonly associated with Hakka culture (although I'm not sure how accurate the connection is). A few are Japanese and one came from an import store in New York. They're all very delicate, but they've survived up there for longer than anyone could reasonably expect them to. Any number of earthquakes should have brought them crashing to the floor by now. 

I stared at them and dreamed up an alternative reality, or a possible future, where I sit on that same couch drinking that same kind of tea, hearing an alert pop up on my phone as air raid sirens start a horrifying crescendo. I conjured fictitious (for now) Chinese missiles landing nearby. They create more cracks in my walls. My husband is somewhere else; I can't reach him. The cats flee to their secret spots. The cement crumbles, the furniture shakes, and the first teacup is forced free from the sticky tack holding it in place. Then another, and another. 

In this other world, they all eventually tumble and shatter. There is nothing I can do about it. 

It's not quite the same as an earthquake. The missiles are man-made; they're not the result of a natural process. They're not entirely random, and they're not inevitable. Tectonic plates move because that's just what they do. For them to behave differently, Earth would have to be a fundamentally different planet. These missiles I imagined were decided by someone. Earth didn't decide to kill 13 people this past week; it moved because it moves, and 13 people died. But missiles don't just fall on a city; someone fires them. A leader orders them. They are part of a chain of events in which some people choose to kill others.

And yet it is sort of the same as an earthquake, too. In Taiwan, a Chinese attack, like an earthquake, is an ever-present danger. There is little I will be able to do if it happens except dive under my table and hang on. If my husband isn't with me there will be no way to change that.

There's also nothing I can do to stop it from happening in the first place. Sure, someone decides to make bombs fall, but in that moment, what will matter to my life is that, like the earth shaking, bombs are falling.

There's not much Taiwan can do about it either. Diplomacy doesn't work when the other side doesn't keep promises and won't even come to the table unless their counterpart renounces their sovereignty, as China is insisting Taiwan do. Dialogue doesn't work when China isn't interested in hearing Taiwan's utter lack of interest in unification. Assurances don't work when the only assurance China wants -- that unification is possible -- isn't one that Taiwan can sincerely or reasonably offer. 

China will attack Taiwan when it thinks it can win, and no amount of playing nice will change their calculus. Only making the odds of winning less favorable will stop it, and there's only so much Taiwan can do in that regard. 

Like an earthquake, you can prepare, and analyze, and improve the nation's resiliency. A Chinese invasion is not inevitable simply because China could choose not to invade, but sitting here in Taipei, does it matter? It doesn't feel like Taiwan can truly stop China, just as it can't stop an earthquake. If China is determined to start a war because Taiwan can't give it the only thing it wants, there isn't much Taiwan can do to avert it. As with earthquakes, it can only make itself and its public institutions much harder to topple. 

I didn't do anything wrong on Wednesday morning: I dropped, covered and held on when it seemed like it really mattered. Sure, I repeatedly shouted "fucksnacks!" through the whole thing, but that's an understandable reaction. When the shaking stopped, I forced myself to get up, check on my husband, locate my cats' hiding places, survey the apartment to make sure there was no obvious major damage, and start messaging people that we were okay. 

The fear and anxiety didn't subside, though, and I wasn't particularly proud of the fact that all I really wanted was to cower under that table for awhile longer. I didn't want to get up, dust off, check for damage and start communications; I wanted to curl up and hide. That desire amplified the anxiety. Then I started to feel anxious specifically about the anxiety, which made the original anxiety worse. That deterioration led to more anxiety, which accelerated the spiral, and so on.

That's really what drove it: I experienced an almost-emergency over which I had no control. This was as close a taste as I'm likely to get of what it would feel like if China attacked Taiwan without warning. And I did everything right, but I still had a panic attack, and then I had a panic attack about my initial panic attack.

My insistence that I'm going to stay and fight suddenly felt like a hollow gasconade. That I did everything right didn't feel like proof that I have steel nerves, because it was necessary to force myself to accomplish any of it. What if I'm a liability rather than a help because I can't get it together?

That helplessness is utterly terrifying, and it does not matter whether it's a severe earthquake in progress or bombs from some brutal genocidal regime that might kill you.

Like most people who live in Taiwan, I'm always aware of the threats faced by the country I call home. I don't usually let them get to me; a life lived in fear is not really a life. At some point you have to get up, dust off, and go to work. Pay your bills, see your friends, do your chores, do your job, drink your drinks, cook your food, take your trips, read your books, call your parents, feed your cats. 

The Commentariat sometimes fires up this weird narrative that Taiwanese people don't care enough about the threat from China, that they're complacent or ignorant, and thus unprepared. While Taiwan could probably be spending more time and effort on this, the notion that its citizens are blissfully unaware of the looming threat isn't just nonsense, it's a funhouse-mirror distortion of reality. 

People living in Taiwan are aware of the threat pretty much all the time, as they are for earthquakes. But it's not healthy to live in a constant state of heightened anxiety -- that leads to real mental health problems, and I would know. It's also not possible to maintain, and not helpful. 

Living with it for just a day affected my mental state all weekend. Imagine living it every day in a war zone. Some people are living it now, and someone, somewhere, has lived it every single day any one of us has been alive.

Now imagine that, but you're not even in a war zone. You're at the supermarket, or in a cubicle, or in class, hyper aware at all moments that your big bully neighbor could start raining death on everything you love. 

It's no way to live. 

Nobody expects people in an earthquake zone to live in constant fear; they know it pickles the brain. Yet they express surprise that Taiwanese people don't do so as a response to the threat from China. Why?

Taiwan has survived for longer than many thought it would, showing the world the benefits of learning from mistakes and having a plan, as well as taking practical steps so that when disaster strikes and the plan must be executed, it actually works -- Democratic norms, public institutions and civil society must all be robust and well-maintained. Budgets approved, regulations promulgated and double-checked.

These norms and institutions so often seem like abstractions, and the realpolitik crowd would like you to believe they are fragile, easily broken, no real defense against the inevitability of a subjugationist strongman. Yet at least in Taiwan, they appear to be both fragile and surprisingly resilient, at the same time. Teacups can survive an earthquake, if they're well-anchored. Porcelain can stand up to plate tectonics, and win.

I don't know if it's enough, but I suppose it has to be -- for everyone living here including myself.

Taiwancore is the new Japandi

A touch of vintage wood, some plants, some funky ceramics and a concrete wall all add up to a tiny Taiwancore moment

Here's something you didn't know about me but might have been able to guess: I have many hobbies, but when I really need to de-stress by hiding in my home curled up on the couch, I binge-watch interior design Youtube. 

Sometimes it's fantastic -- it's given me DIY and space arrangement ideas I would have never thought of on my own. I've learned that the "pop of red" is a bona fide Thing in design right now, and how it can look good.

Taiwancore includes plants and natural materials but can incorporate mid-century modern design (or imitations of it), smooth hard materials such as terrazzo and even faux leather

It's not all worthwhile, however. Even the more engaging creators pore over the same advice about, say, lighting plans, rug size and curtain length. A lot of it boils down to "elevating your space" by simply spending more money. Do you want furniture and floors that look good and will last? Spend more money on floors and furniture! 

The oeuvre does one thing right, however: I've absorbed quite a bit about different design styles and how to approach them. Take "Japandi" for example. It's a made-up word but accurately describes a warm, minimalist, organic style that finds a connection between the clean lines and pared-down aesthetic that is popular in both traditional Japanese and Scandinavian (Scandi) styles. Both rely on neutral colors and an edited look -- that is, having less stuff -- but can be cozy or incorporate a bit of funkiness, whether that's an unexpected color or, say, twisted tree branches or a big weird vase. 

You know Scandi, you know Japandi, but do you know Taiwancore?

The term describes fairly well the style that many upwardly mobile Taiwanese aspire to: perhaps recently free of the clutter of their parents' homes, which may be stuffed glass-fronted wall units full of things nobody uses, boxes in the corner and plastic where plastic simply shouldn't be, so many people I know in Taiwan want light woods, warm neutrals and fewer possessions. 

Take this popular sofa from the Taiwanese maker AJ2, which I happen to be lusting over. When I talk interior design with students and friends, this commercial seems to capture their dreams. I get AJ2 ads that offer "city living, beige vibes". I'm the least beige decorator I know -- my home office is electric purple and fire engine red -- and yet I want their damn sofa. Which means that their ads are good, and capitalism is inescapable.

AJ2 seems to take a lot of style cues from Muji, which is quintessentially minimalist Japanese and also popular in Taiwan. I don't want to talk much about Muji, however, due to allegations of forced labor in their supply chain. 

Or consider this tour of celebrity Chen Zijian/Retina's (視網膜)'s home. It doesn't just scream Japandi -- it's straight-up Japan. Not everyone wants such a literal interpretation, but incorporating overtly Japanese elements into design is very popular in Taiwan, for both historical and contemporary reasons. 

Taiwancore is fundamentally Japanese, but can include a touch of the weird or out-of-context

Japanese design also suits the Taiwanese environment, not only because there are still many old Japanese-era houses to take as reference points, but because high-quality durable natural materials do well in this climate, whereas thick rugs and particle board don't. There's a reason why maintained or restored Japanese buildings, despite being decades older, can remain lovely and even inhabitable, whereas the junk built by the newly-arrived KMT is falling apart and looks like crap no matter how much work you put into it. 

Taiwancore does not require Chinese design elements, but vintage Japanese and early 20th century elements are major reference points

There's another style in Taiwan, though, that is popular across commercial spaces, from boutique hotels to twee cafes. I would like nothing more than to see it creep into residential design, and perhaps it already is. 

Taken from the recent popularity of interior design buzzwords like cluttercore, Barbiecore and carnivalcore -- as well as their antecedents, such as normcore and cottagecore -- I would like to officially dub this particular style Taiwancore.

But what is Taiwancore? When I posted about it on social media, not everyone shared my vision of what is and is not part of this style. It's not the same as "your grandma's house", because while I can't speak for Gen Z, the Millenians and Gen X Taiwanese I know aren't at all interested in their homes looking like Sunday at Auntie Chen's in Yunlin. 

It's something a bit more than that. More modern, more pared-down, more relaxing and aesthetically pleasing.

What I'm about to say is of course just my opinion about the design elements behind Taiwancore, which is a term I made up, not a real thing in any official sense. I'm not a designer, and I don't speak for all of Taiwan (or any of it, really). I speak for me. 

Perfect Taiwancore: terrazzo, wood-frame furniture, milk and textured glass, big windows, white walls, vintage lamps, plants and a shoe rack. From Sunnyday House homestay in Hualien.

Taiwancore may draw its base inspiration from Japanese design, but it doesn't stop there. I'd argue it's just a bit more cluttered, more reliant on the use of plants, and quite a bit more colorful. 

I would say Tainan is both the spiritual and literal home of Taiwancore, and has the biggest concentration of it. All those creatives who decided Taipei was too dour, expensive, and full of old people with crappy opinions who moved to Tainan to do their thing have really contributed to this. That said, you can find examples of it across Taiwan. For instance, here are several fun cafes and restaurants in Miaoli -- yes, Miaoli -- that embrace the style. (The post is pre-pandemic so I can't guarantee they're all still open).

Taiwancore is more than just a way of decorating that happens to have originated in Taiwan, which can be used to describe the interiors of many popular cafes and restaurants. I'd call it a design style for two reasons: first, it's recognizable and cohesive. There are principles, and you can design according to them. 

Wood, woven materials, concrete, terrazzo, vintage amber glass and a dog: classic Taiwancore, and each has its cultural place.

Secondly, it's tied to Taiwanese culture and identity. After successive waves of colonization over the centuries, from the Dutch to the Qing to Japan to the ROC, and decades of the KMT telling Taiwanese they are merely a subset of some Great Chinese Nation and do not have their own culture, a Taiwan that has discovered itself, taken note of its distinct culture evolved from multiple roots -- which include but are not limited to Chinese cultural heritage -- design elements that may not seem meaningful at first glance actually do carry some weight. 

Tile and polished concrete are such common building materials that of course they'd have an impact on the style. The climate helps the whole plant-based element. That bright cyan color can be traced to its heavy use in the 1950s. Design icons, from blue and white sandals to blue, green and red shopping bags to mullet roe and milkfish, have turned into totems or even shibboleths (in that they are also items in past and current use) distinguishing Taiwan as a cultural entity. 

And, of course, when one looks back on Taiwanese colonial history, and Japan -- as horrible as the Japanese empire was -- seems to have been a better deal than what the KMT pushed on Taiwan -- of course the reasons for the heavy Japanese influence become apparent. Or perhaps Japan left behind so much infrastructure that it's made its way into contemporary design style just as concrete and tile have.

At Daddy & Mommy in Houlong, Miaoli, you ring a temple demon bell to get the boss's attention -- a more intentional connection between design and culture.

Yes, this is culture. Culture is so often too narrowly defined by just a few of its aspects, such as literature, traditional dress, cuisine and music. Those things matter, but culture is better defined as how a group of people make sense of the world in identifiably similar (though perhaps not exactly the same) ways. That includes things like how climate impacts your daily life, how you relate to your living space and objects that immediately convey a sense of 'home' or 'daily life' to those who recognize and use them. It includes how history impacts lives today.

Interior design is an outgrowth of culture -- which you can see in all sorts of styles, from Scandinavian to Japanese to Early American (which in its worst form might be called Coloniawful) to Mediterranean to, yes, British design. How houses are built is part of culture. That American houses tend to use wood frames but Asia has gone all in on concrete is part of culture. That Mediterranean style leans on blue and white but India prefers a rainbow of Dayglo colors is culture. What we put in our homes and why is culture. Intentionally repurposing and restoring old spaces after decades of tearing them down is culture. Taiwancore is culture.

The restored aesthetic at Sun Hong Ho in Tainan, complete with colored glass eight-sided window.

 

Polished concrete walls, textured glass, a pop of blue-green, plants and even a Taiwan map: not your mother's house, but excellent contemporary Taiwancore at Reinstatement in Houlong, Miaoli

It is very vintage-inspired and relies on heavy use of bamboo, wood and woven materials, which in a sense gives it elements of boho style (or, as that word has been called offensive as it comes from "bohemian" meaning Romani-inspired, "global eclectic"). 

This is perhaps a bit too literal (and literally old) for Taiwancore, but the reference points are there

This doesn't mean grandma's deeply uncomfortable cherrywood sofa with the thin, scratchy cushions; nothing can make that look good. But it does mean wood-framed and rattan furniture, old bookcases and curated antique items. Nothing screams Taiwancore more than a vintage or vintage-inspired chair on a terrazzo floor, next to a big window looking out on a slightly wild green garden. On a side table or the windowsill, perhaps there are a few interesting books and a textured ceramic vase.

Pops of color (although colored walls are unusual), terrazzo, wood and a touch of clutter: excellent Taiwancore from Bar Home in Tainan

Other popular materials include terrazzo, preferably authentic or original to the space and polished concrete. The old-style textured glass with bougainvillea or star patterns is prized rather than thrown out (and as a result the cost of secondhand windows has gone from "almost nothing" to "surprisingly expensive").

Polished concrete, even on walls, lends an industrial element to some Taiwancore.

There are other vintage elements that are either key to the style, or could be. Older iron window grilles are very much a part of this style, but I haven't seen those old-style terracotta tiles coming back, but I think they should. The same goes for vintage Majolica tiles, although they sell well in the collectors' Facebook groups I'm in. Majolica-inlaid stools and side tables would work perfectly with this style. Less expensive patterned tiles, however, have seen a resurgence -- commercial spaces, at least, seem at least somewhat more interested in preserving them than tearing them out.

Old style tiles and a Taiwan Independence flag at Chan Shifan, a popular Taipei eatery

Neutrals are a big part of the style, especially considering the use of wood, bamboo, rattan and polished concrete. Linens and undyed canvas are right at home in this style, and can even be paired with, say, faux leather.

That said, Taiwancore can and does include more color than you'd expect. Taiwancore is very good at the "pop of red" and incorporation of blue and white, given the Chinese influence. Green comes in through the profusion of plants, if not in the house, then just outside it. The bright aqua or cyan color I once wrote about is a part of the style, especially when paired with red, but actually seems to be on its way out a little bit: a few years ago, every new cafe seemed to have a false wall made of reclaimed wood or windowpanes, and parts of it inevitably included the cyan color one sees everywhere, especially on old window casements. They're less popular now, but I'd love to see cyan come back in other ways -- paired with red for a more traditional look and eye-catching contrast, or in a more unexpected place, such as textiles. 

Textured glass, pops of color such as red and cyan and window grilles are key elements of Taiwancore

Wood, textured glass, window grille, natural materials in the blinds, and a pop of red: Taiwancore at its finest

In fact, textiles are already a popular way to add color, from vintage '70s knits that use hot pink, green, yellow, orange and brown to contemporary patterns by Taiwan-based companies like inBlooom and Gimgoanheng. While inBlooom tends to feature traditionally Taiwanese designs with a more muted or pastel palate, Gimgoanheng dives straight into color, including a blue/green/red shopping-bag inspired pattern that I absolutely love. Those shopping bags are making a comeback, and I especially like seeing the color palate in new contexts.

The only place where color doesn't often make an appearance is on walls: whitewashed, polished cement or wood paneled walls can all be found in Taiwancore, but not so much walls painted a color. While I'd like to see that change (remember, I'm a "let's paint it electric purple" type of person), I suppose this allows brighter colors in textiles and tiles to be more of a focal point.

Plants are indispensable to Taiwancore, even if they're outside

One could say that Taiwancore is a confluence of traditional Japanese and Chinese design, and in a way it is. I'd argue, however, that you can take the Chinese influence out of Taiwancore -- lean less on, say, the reds, golds and the plants in mismatched blue and white ceramic pots -- but removing the Japanese influence is simply not possible. That Japaneseness can be paired with other things, like furniture that leans more mid-century (in fact, Mid-Century Modern chairs and tables work very well), or accessories that reference Art Deco and the Jazz Age, or a more organic-hippie look (think baskets and creamy canvas reusable shopping bags). It cannot, however, be ignored. '

Taiwancore can include elements of Chinese design, but the vintage elements and emphasis on plants are more central.

Taiwancore embraces vintage dishware, deep jewel hues and unusual or curved shapes -- it's not all Japanese neutrals and light woods

Speaking of the 1920s, I've actually seen more Art Deco elements enter the style in recent years, which might be due to the Japanese influence present in Taiwan in that era, or because Art Deco is regaining popularity now. Some of my favorite restaurants and cafes in Tainan have been leaning hard into brass curves and jewel tones, perhaps through an unexpected pop of peacock blue, or inspired by the green glaze of traditional ventilation tiles.  

A pop of blue, a funky shape, ceramic -- all elements of Taiwancore even in the smallest accessories, like this soap dish.

If you want to break up the neutrals, grass, lime, bottle green or green glaze are all good choices for Taiwancore colors. Any green or blue will do, though.

Again, notice that this isn't exactly the same as simply old-school Taiwanese interiors that you might see at someone's parents' house. You know what I mean: the cherrywood, overstuffed faux leather sofas, scratchy white lace antimacassars, "bunch of stuff" on the coffee table, including some candy and a box of tissues. The heavy beige curtains with floral patterns and perhaps edged with fringe or little puffballs. The tile floors and perhaps even tile walls, even in the living room. I suppose the tiles are easier to clean, especially when the refrigerator is also in the living room.

That is perhaps another, older version of Taiwancore, and elements can be taken from it. Artfully placed blue and white plastic sandals on your (non-tile) floor. A touch of faux leather, but not quite so worn out and overstuffed, and certainly not blue. Perhaps your parents' slightly ugly side table, but without the Bunch of Stuff. Just a touch of clutter: we're not going for perfect minimalism here. Shoe rack by the door -- after all, that's functional. But the decor pieces are more likely to come from grandparents' farm than your parents' place that they decorated in 1982 and never changed.

This advertisement featuring a pun referencing buckwheat milk and boobs is both funky and fundamentally Taiwancore -- not for the pun, but for the art style

Organic shapes are also an under-appreciated element of Taiwancore. Plant shapes are present in the style, from the patterns in bougainvillea glass to the leaves and waves popular in Japanese design. Curves matter too, whether from mid-century style chairs or, for those who lean hard into old-school furniture, tree trunk tea tables, tea trays and wooden baskets.

If you're lucky enough to have a round or otherwise interestingly-shaped window, all the better. If not, embracing geometry also works: a vintage hexagon or octagon window is a nice touch, if you can get it. Stuck with squares and rectangles? I've been seeing hexagon and octagon coasters and trays, too. The hexagon is probably a global trend -- Millenials loved it. Octagons are perhaps more of a nod to eight-sided bagua (八卦) from Chinese culture.

Rattan lends itself well to this; nothing brings in curves quite like a vintage bentwood rocking chair. One of my favorite Tainan hotels has a room that features such a chair. I covet it.

All this to say, Taiwancore is unique, and its underlying design principles -- organic and plant-based elements, vintage furniture, Japanese roots and less fear of color than some design styles -- are identifiable and worth consideration. And while the decor elements one more immediately associates with Taiwanese homes, such as uncomfortable wooden furniture, plastic-topped tables, white tile floors and heavy beige curtains. 

Taiwancore is your grandparents' vintage, not your parents

Unlike those outdated living spaces, Taiwancore embraces color, wood, cool and smooth materials, funky shapes and patterns, connections to the outdoors thanks to big windows and lots of plants, and a reference point that dates from long before heavy beige curtains became a thing.

A colorful antimacassar, faux leather sofa, bamboo blinds and plants at Tainan's Chung Fu Inn (also note the false wall made of white abacuses, because Taiwancore embraces funky elements)

Not modern Taiwancore, but the tiles, plants and Mt. Fuji window grille are all popular elements

A reclaimed wood built-in at Good Food Good Times in downtown Miaoli

Unadorned white walls and neutral woods allow the patterned vintage tiles to stand out, and note the plants visible from the windows at Cafe Kokoni in Tainan

Lime green, old brick and concrete, bentwood chairs, hanging vintage-inspired lamps at Cheng Kang Noodle Bar in Hualien

Don't forget the heaps of plants and the pops of color -- at La Belle Maison in Anping, Tainan

A bit literal for contemporary Taiwancore, but the brich, tile and funky shapes -- from the peaches to the wood elements -- are all part of the style.

Big windows, plants, terrazzo and wood at Daddy&Mommy in Houlong, Miaoli

Brick, plants, wood, ceramic and pops of color in blue, green and red

Red tiles -- I'm telling you, that pop of red -- plants, concrete and an eight-sided door at Reinstatement in Houlong, Miaoli

A big window, plants, vintage chairs and a touch of industrial chic at Follow Green in Tainan

Vintage chairs, wood, old glass, a big door, pops of red and green with a little clutter and a touch of Chinese decor at Cafe Bar in Tainan