How we found the “perfect” ethical leather sofa
There we were, in front of our dream sofa when it hit me...
We can't buy this thing.
...Which big-time sucked, because we'd been saving up for months and my mind couldn't picture anything but this leather sofa in our living room.
Let me back up.
This is what the living room looked like when we moved into our cottage:
(You’ll see an after shot at the end of this blog. 👍)
I made grand plans for a dramatic paint job to transform the room. And there was one key item I knew we needed to complete the space:
A brown leather sofa.
I started collecting screenshots from Crate & Barrel and Restoration Hardware to use as inspiration images. I wanted something perfectly cozy — a medium brown that looked inviting and lived-in without being scruffy.
The kind of sofa you'd find in a ski lodge...but like a ritzy one, where all the guests smelled good and wore crispy, starched Ralph Lauren plaid button-downs, sipping handmade ceramic mugs of hot cocoa next to the fire.
Know what I mean?
Now imagine after months of searching and saving up, that dream sofa was finally in front of you...and it’s even more perfect than you imagined. 🙌🏻
It was a custom-made piece so Joe and I flipped through the fabric options. We both agreed (which almost never happens, our opinions are so different) on the creamiest, softest leather in a beautiful chestnut shade.
A lover of words, I flipped over the swatch to see what the leather was named, expecting to see something rich and sensory like Aged Mahogany or Toasted Pecan.
Instead, I saw two words that shattered my swanky ski lodge dreams:
Calf leather.
Wait.
As in...baby cows?
As in...we were about to buy a sofa covered in the skin of tiny, sweet, adorable calves? 🥺
It sounds daft, but I honestly never considered where leather came from until that moment. I only thought about what the material meant to me — warm and cozy without being too feminine — and not what it meant to the world.
As I try to live softer on the planet, I've become more mindful about the things I buy. For the first time, I thought through the full story of what it would take to bring this sofa into our living room.
And once the reality of that hit, I didn’t feel right about it. I know this isn't how it works but it felt like placing that order would have signed the decree to send a dozen calves to the slaughterhouse.
(I’m not anti-leather, it’s probably important to say here! I own leather boots and handbags so no judgment if you love it. ✌️ But something about this sofa — perhaps how much material was used? — made me consider it in a new way and I wanted to honor that discomfort.)
Joe agreed (which, again, almost never happens) that he felt funny about placing the order.
While we were disappointed that our sofa search continued, we both knew it was the right call not to order this one.
The problem was, I couldn't imagine anything else in our living room.
It HAD to be a brown leather sofa.
It also couldn't be a brown leather sofa, for aforementioned slaughterhouse-decree-signing reasons.
So where did that leave us, exactly? 😕
It hit me on the drive home from the sofa store.
We could still have a brown leather sofa…
...If we found it secondhand.
Secondhand goods have already left the retail chain so there's no fresh cost to the earth.
And giving new life to an old sofa felt like we were honoring the leather, in the weird way my mind works. 😂
It meant we’d need to live without the sofa a while longer and keep bringing kitchen chairs into the living room when we entertained. But part of shopping secondhand is waiting until you find the right fit, so we were willing to do it.
I started browsing online marketplaces and secondhand stores. And eventually, we stumbled upon a dark brown leather sofa in the back of a charity shop.
It wasn't perfect, I'll admit.
It was smaller and darker than I wanted.
It had a few scuffs and scratches.
And I had some serious doubts that it was even real leather. 🧐
Buuuuuut it was a solid piece of furniture, close to what I'd been envisioning — like, maybe a second cousin to my Ralph-Lauren dream sofa.
And OH, HELLO — it was 95 pounds!
For that price, we reasoned that it'd make a great placeholder so we could really take our time finding the dream sofa. Five minutes later, we bought that bad boy.
But you know what’s funny?
Nearly a year later...we have no plans to replace it.
After living with it, I realized that our living room doesn’t need the perfect sofa. This "placeholder" does all we need it to.
We put all this pressure around buying the perfect items for our homes, don’t we? But at the end of the day, we don't need perfection. Our possessions just need to solve a basic need.
It felt so nice to realize that "good enough" really was good enough. 😌
It was also a good reminder that, as my friend Susie likes to say: every problem has three solutions.
When we got creative to solve our leather-sofa problem, we ended up with a great piece of furniture we feel good about for a steal. Win/win/wuh-hin.
What selling secondhand taught me about buying
A few years ago, we sold most of our things when we moved to England. I’m a novice at shopping secondhand but I learned SO much about selling secondhand through that process.
And there was one trend that stood out:
People equate high prices with high value.
I tried different strategies to sell different items. And every time, when I priced something high, it sold quicker.
A few months ago, a friend was selling an old loveseat. He had it listed for £50 for weeks, with no bidders. I suggested he re-list it and raise the price to £200.
He did...and it sold within a few days.
In my copywriting business, I see the effects of pricing psychology all the time. Selling something for too low a price makes people suspicious, like something must be wrong with it if it’s priced so cheaply.
But here’s the thing…
Most secondhand sellers (especially if you're using something like Facebook Marketplace over an antiques boutique) aren't pricing psychology masters. They likely just want to make a few bucks from an item they don’t use anymore. So it’s probable they’ve priced it wrong.
Point being: don’t assume a low price means poor quality. Just being aware of how pricing psychology works will help you not get duped by it.
Our couch is worth a heck of a lot more than the £95 we paid for it. But if we let the price tag trick us into thinking it was crap, we would’ve missed out on a fantastic item.
A low price might mean poor quality...or it might mean the seller’s undervalued it and you’re about to get a STEAL. Stay open-minded and let your judgment, not your preconceptions, decide for you.
