The Winnie Gets a Makeover

I woke up inside the Winnebago over the summer to an unpleasant epiphany: the interior was just ––just –– just fugly.

Shiny gold drawer-pulls, fake oak, awful dingy tan upholstery.  It's clean, heaven knows, but the overall effect ––! 

Granted, the Winnie is all about the destination.

About being able to haul all the gear and a boat and brew my own coffee in the morning.

About making an egg-salad sandwich or taking a whiz while bopping down the highway. 

But once the scales fell from my home-decor eyes, I could barely stand it.

​140 square feet of multi-layered hideousness.

As happens, I turned to Pinterest. That fantastic internet time-eater that indexes the world's collective creativity for endless browsing-and-daydreaming pleasure.

​I have a soft spot for turquoise-and-red 1950's-style Shasta travel trailers. I think Vardo carts are also captivating. Who needs more space than that?  

Realistically however, the Winnie is a utilitarian vessel.

​She could be tarted up or stuffed full of whimsy, but at the end of the sailing day, she's still where we drop our salty sailing clothes and hang our salty sailing hats.

Still, something had to be done. A fan of direction and themes, I set myself a design goal: cozy and fresh and comfortable. Not fussy. Not mortifyingly dated or dingy. Machine-washable.

Luckily, paint is cheap. Gripper primer and Cabinet Rescue paint will cover a multitude of decorative sins, including (gulp) textured vinyl wallpaper and laminate. How had I never noticed the breadth of its ugliness?  

I mean, for reals: what in the world did the windows do to deserve those treatments ––!?

The mechanics of the Winnie's makeover aren't very interesting: some light demolition, sixteen miles of masking tape, bolts of attractive fabric, elbow grease, more hours down the rabbit hole of Pinterest, and the like.

The settee cushions went to local upholsterer, as I knew I'd make hash of the long zippers.  I did the rest of the sewing, with some help from my favorite sailmaker. 

​The Winnie must keep her aluminum-foil thermal window shades, because, you know –– the solar-oven effect.

I like to think it's a nod to that brave little toaster, the Cassini spacecraft.  In truth, passers-by are probably more liable to draw the connection with the blacked-out RV in Near Dark instead.

Ah well.

Velcro makes the shades more flexible and useful, if not one whit less tacky. 

How long did it take? Probably longer than I think: taping the whole cabin was a full afternoon, but each coat of paint was a matter of an hour.  Four coats of paint including primer, five when I went the wrong way with my choice of color. 

I was hesitant about drilling holes in the walls until it occurred to me: this is a 2006 truck. What could I possibly do to make the interior design worse? 

Here's how it turned out so far. Still some things left, but that's home life. 

I splashed out on a trompe l'oeile window treatment for the back escape hatch. I had UPS print up a large vinyl copy of a photo, which I then glued to a thin fitted wooden hatch.

​It blocks the sun and –– framed by plain cotton curtains –– it gives the Winnie just a smidgen of whimsy.