While I take a moment between worrying about HMRC and the general collapse of civilization, my thoughts, as ever, drift to Tat. A familiar affliction. Tat has attached itself to me like an extraneous limb—sometimes useful, occasionally elegant, mostly an inconvenience I’d rather swaddle under a kaftan. We’ve been locked in this peculiar pas de deux for nearly ten years. Yes, I too thought we’d be much bigger and better run by now, but hey ho. Here we are, bumps, crooks, divots and all. Most days, I see potential; occasionally, it resembles a swirling pit of money, ideas, and misplaced optimism. What an inspiration I must be to anyone thinking of starting a business.

But to the point—how I see Tat fitting into your life, into mine. Where I want it to fit, how I’d like it to be seen. No highfalutin ad campaign here. No grandiose claims. Just this: Tat is a place for a little enjoyment. So much of what we publish is about small things that bring happiness and distraction—the best kind of distraction. Sometimes we miss the mark, but mostly, I find joy in seeing the Tat blog and I hope that passes on to you.

With the new membership scheme, I’m attempting—however haphazardly—to create a space for those who may not have vast sums to spend but have an abundance of heart. A home for people who appreciate things done well. If you’ve read anything I’ve written lately, you’ll know I’m fixated on the idea of luxury. Not the ludicrous, logo-laden nonsense, but the real thing. To me, luxury is anything made with care and intention. A hand-whittled spoon for £10, a chandelier for thousands—so long as everyone in the chain of its making has been treated with respect. That, to me, is true luxury. And while some of the pieces may not always be within reach, beauty doesn’t always need to be owned—sometimes, the mere appreciation of it is enough.

As for style—Tat has one foot firmly planted in nostalgia, no doubt. But that doesn’t mean we should spend our lives sifting through the past like sentimental archaeologists. There are makers and disruptors creating things of real beauty today, and they deserve our attention. If we only ever champion replicas, we’ll be living in a very dreary sort of world. Antiques will always be part of the equation—that much is certain. They are the lifeblood of Tat. But it’s the mix of high and low, old and new, that makes things interesting. That’s the balance we like to strike.

This year, we will be releasing a few products. They may not be to everyone’s taste, but they are to mine, and, ultimately, that’s the main thing. They’ve been made in Sheffield, by people who actually know what they’re doing—part machine, part hand, full craftsmanship. British manufacturing still exists, still thrives in pockets, and though this is a small step, I’m absurdly proud that Tat’s first pieces are being made in England. It’s something I’ll continue to strive for—not in some po-faced Reform way, but in the kind of luxury I keep going on about. There’s something rather wonderful about having objects made by people who’ve been doing it for decades, just a train ride away. It is, without question, one of Tat’s proudest moments.

And with that, if there’s anything you’d like to see appear on the pages of Tat, I’m all ears. I now have a brilliant band of writers who deliver fun and profound pieces, but if you have ideas, send them my way. And if you want to write them yourself, even better! I do pay—though not handsomely. More of a knowing nod and a small handful of coins.