Opening a design candy box at Full Room

The weekly micro-decorating newsletter * Issue 10 of 13, SS25 *
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There might be a secret league of design aficionados who find ways to connect in person. Now that e-commerce is the norm and high rents are killing retails strips, there are still hidden ways to meet likeminded geeks who can't get enough of mid-century marvels. One of these ways is what I call a "stealth store" – a shop that's invisible from street level or appointment-only, and often both at once. While in Montreal this summer, I'm determined to get to some – and Full Room topped the list.

Of course the initial contact was digital, an Instagram follow, a website scroll, eventually some back and forth emails to plan the visit. I knew from the pristine photography on the site that there were treasures to be found. A trek to a warehouse building in the north end of Montreal, a shaky journey on an appropriately vintage elevator, and at last I was greeted by Mathieu Leclerc, the founder and proprietor of Full Room, who welcomed me into his space:

My jaw dropped at the sheer quantity of chairs and tables and lamps – designed in the Sixties, Seventies and Eighties – all neatly arranged on sturdy industrial shelving. Mathieu explained that he only shows a small selection online, so I was already grateful I'd made the effort to visit. The packed right-hand wall leads you to an intimate vignette, hinting at how these objects could be mixed together to create something personal and unique:

The core of the space is set up as a photo studio, and what's surprising for something called Full Room is how much available room there is in the middle. It gives you the freedom to step back and admire all the shelved objects – but it might also be a prompt to get you thinking about creative ways to define space with thoughtful arrangements:

Over on the left, there's a procession of lamps:

I was especially drawn to the interplay of floor lamps pointing up and ceiling lamps pointing down:

My favourite corner of all was this nook with table lamps that rely on shape rather than colour to make a statement. After the chromatic fireworks elsewhere, it offered a calming moment:

The microdecorator in me admired Mathieu's knack for using the space beneath chairs and tables as a stage for smaller things:

An industrial designer by training, he has a deep appreciation of mass-produced objects and is fascinated by how you can continue finding multiples of the same thing, unlike some other forms of craftsmanship. I could already sense that in the photos on the website, where identical chairs form playful groupings:

Some of the photos feel like film stills from a "Chairs Gone Wild" documentary:

I was pleased to encounter a pair of cherry-red Casalino chairs, whose misbehaving attitude I've written about before:

Despite a first impression of massive scope, there's a tight focus to this collection. Mathieu's interest is in Italian design, Canadian design, and vintage Ikea – and this trio includes Canadian design influenced by the Italians. It makes for a museum-like experience, particularly moving since the period he collects is not well-documented in Canada. Mathieu has detective stories about the lengths he goes to in tracking down a venerable designer or nabbing a significant object.

It probably helps that he has library of vintage Décormags, which celebrated the au courant interiors of the Seventies and Eighties. There's a selection on a coffee table...

... and stacks more in a back room, gated with doors of hanging bubble wrap. This room also houses objects that Mathieu is planning to refurbish. Glimpses of these more battered items gave evidence of the perilous journeys they make to reach us in the present.

Two hours of chatting with Mathieu and admiring his wares left me exhilarated at the way we design people can still trade enthusiasms in person, despite all the modern factors that work against it. There was one thing he told me that stood out amid the rest.

As a kid, he remembers collecting candies – not to eat, but to organize in a drawer for his friends to come over and admire. I can see how he's moved on to more elaborate candies and a much larger drawer, but that impulse to collect and share is still the same. As someone whose collecting impulse also began early, with two game board pieces, I know just what he means.

So, look up Mathieu's venture on Instagram and on the web – and if you have the opportunity, book an in-person visit. You may find the precise thing your collection is missing. And even if not, you'll refresh your sense of design's possibilities and the creative forces behind it.

Thank you for reading.