Sunday reflection: The 10 stages of IKEA

This past weekend I bought a computer desk. I got it at IKEA. Yet again, I've gone through the ten stages of IKEA.

The first stage is to deny that you're going back to IKEA. Yes, you say, I sit at an IKEA kitchen table on IKEA chairs. My television rests on an IKEA stand. My bathroom toiletries hang on an IKEA shelf and my hallway plant rests on an IKEA side table. My wall clock, entry carpet, microwave stand, CD holders, floor lamp, desk lamp, flower vase, juice pitcher, cutting board, spatula, soup spoons, soap dispenser, cat bed, tea candle holders and tea candles are all from IKEA. But you're tired of it. It's too common, too post-graduate. You want something different. You're going to other stores and you're not going back to IKEA.

The second stage of IKEA is acceptance when you realize that indeed you are going back to IKEA. A big reason: compared to Caban or Restoration Hardware, IKEA is all you can afford. And it's not so bad, you say, because you like the clever presentation and cheap prices. IKEA is Zellers for people who want to be hip to design but can't afford to live in Yaletown. The second big reason you're going back: you have a secret desire to play in the ball room.

The third stage of IKEA is wonder when you walk through the showroom, which is a work of retail merchandising genius. Room by room, section by section, IKEA's walk of the good but affordable life lays out a vision of comfort, orderliness and economy untainted with ostentation or crassness. Bedrooms, offices, kitchens and whole apartment suites dressed from floor to ceiling in IKEA ware are portrayed as reflections of the perfect platonic form of ideal domestic living. Sofas neatly turn into beds, kitchen tables fold harmoniously into walls and magazines are tucked nicely into the side pockets of desks. The lines are clean and the scale never out of hand. It's Swedish social democracy in consumable form. You begin to think that if everyone got their fair ration of Zvepa water jugs and Fantastik paper napkins, and had their own Gallant office collection and Karlanda loveseats, a collectivist economy and social order might just work. And they have that nice blue colour in their flag.

The fourth stage of IKEA is back to denial. Having wandered through the showroom's temptations and filled up your shopping cart with closet organizers, kitchen place mats and bathroom toilet roll holders-- none of which you had any intention to buy before you walked through the store's doors, you decide to go for broke and buy a computer desk, which packs down to a five by seven foot cardboard flat box weighing about 50 pounds. You tell yourself it will fit into your car without a problem.

It does not.

The fifth stage of IKEA, after a miracle of the gods when you somehow got your desk into your car, hauled it up four flights of stairs in a building that doesn't have an elevator to your home, is when you feel a sense of adventure. Your purchase is now on your living room floor, unpacked and with all the parts, none of which are missing, laid out before you. The wordless instruction manual uses clear illustrations. The parts come with a nifty Allen key (which will go well with your growing collection of Allen keys from past purchases). Assembling this desk is going to be as smooth as glass.

The sixth stage of IKEA is surprise when assembling the desk is not as smooth as glass. Half way through, with the legs and desk frame put together, but many parts still on the floor, you realize that two parts do not fit together as portrayed in the manual.

The seventh stage is mounting frustration. These parts are supposed to fit together. It's in the manual.

The eighth stage is insane anger when the parts still do not fit, despite your every inventive try. The one hour you estimated to put the desk together has grown to three. You have a vision of yourself needing to pack up the desk and its parts into 50 pounds of junk and hauling it all the way back to Richmond. You vow to get satisfaction, if not revenge, for your pain. You will picket the Swedish consulate, send hate mail to Stockholm, kick the first blond person you see in the knee.

Then, by the same divine providence that allowed you to load the desk into your car, the parts suddenly fit with a tidy, cheery snap. You don't know or why, but you rejoice. Stages six through eight are immediately forgotten, leading to ...

... stage nine, which is denial again. The assembly went great, you say, just look at the results. The desk is a cool Nordic blend of function, form and ergonomic harmony. You take a digital pic of it once it's assembled and send it to family and friends. Then you write about it on your blog. You love IKEA.

But a few hours later, sitting at your new desk and typing away on your computer, the elation of earlier in the day fades and a new realization comes upon you. You're tired of going back to IKEA all the time. Too common, too post-graduate. You want something different. And you make a resolution.

You reach stage ten: You'll never shop there again.

Comments

[colleen]

Barry - this was AWESOME. Not only did i luahg out loud enough times for the other people in my office to wonder what the hell I'm going on about here by myself, I identify with every stage.

that rocked. :D

[Bernard]

Ah yes IKEA - we Coupland generation Lower Mainlanders are the first North Americans to grow up with IKEA (the Richmond store was the first venture outside of Eruope 1975) I suspect many people did not get the comment about semi disposable swedish furniture in Generation X.

One of my first dates with Cath was buying matching stylish but crappy quality loveseats at the IKEA in Victoria in early August 1988. We both thought, "well this is will work out well if we end up together"

I admit that I hate IKEA for the ability to market to me so well - even though I know there is nothing I can buy there that will last. But I also have a weakness for all the Swedish food - lingonberry and cloudberry jams, choetbullar etc... That Swedish ethnic background. And yes I have a weakness for the combo of the blue and yellow from the Swedish flag that they use.

I really HATE knowing they are so deliberately marketing at me and they succeed against all rational thought. How they can push my buttons so well scares and annoys me.

[Bernard]

what happens if I leave a comment here in the German translation. Wird es alles auf Deutsch ueberzetsen?

[Alison]

I hate IKEA. But I love IKEA. Love the stuff - hate the system. Clonking great impossible crawling-up-the-wall system.

You live miles from your nearest store - you can't just pop back to pick up the bits you need that weren't in stock when you took the trouble to visit, or to pick up the bits you didn't realise you needed as it wasn't displayed that you needed them (you can't use that fantastic new lamp as there aren't any bulbs with it and you can't get them from a local store as they have a different fitting.......or wattage......). (And when you finally end up having to make yet another trip back to the store to buy the damn bulbs that you didn't realise you needed - they aren't in stock.........!*"!!**@!!)

And lo, there isn't an assistant to be found within 3 miles of the department you're wandering around in and when you do by some miracle happen to alight on one - they don't work in this department so they can't really help you. Or if there is one there, they are trying to tell you that you can't fit the Domsjo sink on to a 600mm wide kitchen unit as it is too wide. And you are telling them that actually it's not the double, but the single sink you want which is also confusingly called Domsjo (surely they ought to have known that - they work there)!

And when your order has been taken - whilst you are still having to stand up at the counter after having been walking around for four hours and your feet are killing you - the (by now) third assistant to take over your order does not bother to check your order with you so that after you've paid and gone all the way home, you discover that they've omitted to include the damn Domsjo sink in your order, and as they are unable (well, in the UK, anyway) to take card transactions over the phone, or the internet, you cannot ask for the Domsjo sink to be added to your order for which you are already paying £50 ($95) to be delivered.

By now you are frustration personified. When the paramedics turn up to take you away (you've been wandering around dazed and confused, and found finally collapsed over the FARTFULL children's desk), your hair has turned grey, you haven't washed for three weeks and there aren't any soles left on your shoes!!!

If there's anyone out there who can do what IKEA does, but just far more professional and customer orientated please get on with it - they need some competition to make them get their finger out............

[Scott]

Another frustrated customer in Burbank, CA! That was the last straw for me. I now hate iKea and will never step another foot in the store again. I was a bit forgiving at first but when they kept 35% of my refunded money that I wanted to exchange. I even had a receipt. I really blew some steam.

Almost everytime I went, there will be a costumer screaming and I couldn’t believe I became a victim.
Yeah - you get what you pay for. I was looking to save money but not lose it.
I bought various furnitures and I just remodel 2 bathrooms (everything in it is iKea product except the tub and tile.)
I spent well over $1000 within a month.
I can fix everthing in a household that needs repaired. I’m very quite handy. Putting together the products with their pictured assembly manuals should be idiot-proof.

THE MANUAL:
There are somethings that will get you stumped when there is an error in the picture (like screwing in the wrong hole(s) and find out later that didn’t work) Backtracking and comparing to the manual, the manual is is bit tricky. The manuals are made for many varieties that yours may not look exactly like the picture. I would find a work-around and wondered what other people would do when coming across this.

MISSING PARTS:
I was missing a dowel once. Did I want to go back just to up a tiny wooden dowel? Not I just used glue.
One bathroom cabinet was missing a white plastic spacer to mount flush against the wall. I was unable to install it without getting the part first. My wife went and they gave her a hard time about needing a receipt. She eventually got it and came home upset. (and that’s not the end of it)

WASTED TIME: BRING A BOOK!

WAIT #1
Their return line is like many places. They have numbers being called out. If you didn’t see the little ticket machine feeding tickets, you’ve been cut.

WAIT #2
You’ll have to wait to speak with employees. I feel bad for them because they are surrounded by costumers waiting to get assistance. Not everything can get bought off the shelf, they need to print out an order form for you. This doesn’t process the order for you at all you need to pay for it first.

WAIT#3
Paying for it is not a big deal. Plan on carrying all your little items or buy your plastic bags. You can’t take a cart off their sidewalks. They’ll take you order forms and ring you up. This doesn’t process your pick up items. Yes - there’s another line for that. All is paid for and your now exactly leaving anytime soon!

WAIT #4
Check in for pick ups. Go to the other side of the store to process you items for pick up. Skip the ice cream for now. You have plenty time for that.
Sometimes I see people waiting for the pick up items to arrive and haven’t checked in. Don’t assume your items are coming just because you paid for it. You should see the anger from the people who just discover this. Of course the casheirs will tell you. Now you can get your ice cream or get your car. You need to drive your car into the loading zone where the parking only allows 15 minutes. Plan your time accordingly since the wait maybe an hour or more. Read a book. (I went yesterday on a Wednesday evening and bought 3 small cabinet doors. The wait was 20 minutes of the total 2 hours being there.) Learning from a bad experience, I opened the boxes to see if I have everything and nothing is damaged. All is well. I do need to come back because they were out on a matching piece. (That will be my last trip, hopefully)
If you go on a weekend, plan to spend more than a half a day. Why do you think they have a restaurant and a child play center?
After all that ordeal, the product should be worthwhile. MAYBE but not for me.

CUSTOMER SERVICE (MY LAST STRAW):
After one entire Saturday of shopping in iKea, I started on my 2nd bathroom. Again, I was missing a white plastic spacer. There goes another trip back to iKea!! I assembled the three cabinets and was ready to put all the 6 doors on. Opened one box and snapped on the hinges (not screwed, snapped). Raised up the door and found that the finish of the door is ruined by the packing of the cardboard. There were ridges from rubbing in the box. I couldn’t wipe or clean it off. It was permanent. I opened another matching cabinet door and sure enough, it had it too. I didn’t want to open the rest. Knowingly that it easily gets damaged, I wanted to exchange it for a different kind of finish.
I popped off the hinges and put it back in the packages like how I bought it. I return to iKea for a plastic washer and to exchange the cabinet door. I wasn’t going to send my wife this time.
The manager looked at the opened box and examined where the hinges go. He can tell the hinges were popped on. He said that they’ll refund the money back on my card minus the 35% restocking fee. 35%!!!! On their damaged door that they want to restock? I said all of these cabinets are like this. I challenged the manager to open one of the box I’m returning and he refused. He said I can buff it out. I told him I tried and I just want to swap it for a different door. He said it was iKea’s policy. I argued with him a bit and realized I’m causing a scene like all the other customers I’ve walked by. I gave in and decided to take the loss and talk with someone else (which I haven’t done yet).
I showed him the unopened bag where I had only one spacer in it. He asked if I had the receipt. I said, “It’s on the same receipt I gave you. It show’s I spent hundreds of dollars. Think I’m trying to scam you for a five cent spacer?”
He says, “Which cabinet is this from?”
“Who cares? They all need two.”
He wanted me to point out which cabinet it came off where I couldn’t read the the stupid thing with the Vuckin’ names it was on there. I told him to figure it out. I finally pulls up one on the computer and looks into the PDF file for the parts. “Yep, sure enough. There are supposed to be two of them.
I proceed to tell him that this was the second time this has happened. My wife came in last time and they gave her a hard time just to get the spacer.
He apologized and he said…. ready for this….
“Sorry, I can’t believe it. They should just go back there and easily give her the part that she needs with no hassels.”
Finally, I asked for the other cabinet doors. He said for me to go back upstairs to reorder it. I'm back to WAIT #2.

I’m amazed how this company is growing. They’re doing something right by screwing us. I’m just another lost customer who’s spreading the word.

[stanley]

I wrote this several years back...along the same lines...

The four stages of IKEA:

1. Excited: about the beautiful new thing you purchased.
2. Depressed: looking at the assembly instructions.
3. Elated: that the assembly is almost complete.
4. Screwed: ...all the bolts too tight to fit the last piece in.

[Meg]

Can identify with this post way too much. Now when I wander IKEA, adding to the ever-growing collection that is slowly taking possesion of my house, I can't help but hum this under my breath: http://www.jonathancoulton.com/songdetails/Ikea