Twenty years of curating: what we learned

Twenty years ago this year, Bliss Living started as a single newsletter to a few thousand readers. Two decades, a few thousand product recommendations, and a few hundred thousand reader notes later, here's what curating has taught us about what's worth owning — and what isn't.

What we've changed our minds about

The biggest shift in two decades is that we've gradually stopped recommending more things. Year one, we covered hundreds of products a year. This year, it's a fraction of that — and the readers seem happier for it. The pattern is consistent across every category we've tracked: fewer recommendations, more confidence in each one, longer lives for each piece.

We've changed our minds about specific categories too:

• We were too excited about gadgets. The kitchen gadgets, the bedroom tech, the wearables. Most don't survive a year of daily use.
• We were too cautious about price. The $30 throw and the $250 throw both occupy the same square footage of couch. The cost-per-use math eventually favored the better one.
• We were too generous with new brands. A startup with great marketing and a six-month history could earn a recommendation; we now wait for at least a three-year track record before featuring anything.
• We were too narrow about what counts as wellness. Cooking at home, having people over, a real walk outside — these turned out to matter more than the wellness products that filled the early newsletters.

What's stayed true

A short list of things that have remained good recommendations for the entire twenty years:

1. Linen sheets. Recommended in our first year. Still recommended now. The same makers we featured in 2008 still produce the same quality.

2. Real candles, hand-poured. Twenty years of recommending small candle-makers and they still beat the mass-market versions on burn time, scent throw, and aging.

3. A heavy ceramic mug. The kind that takes both hands. Recommended in some form every year of the publication. Still gets letters.

4. A wool throw. Pendleton, Faribault, Hudson Bay. The category we recommended in year one and the same makers are still standing.

5. A leather notebook with refillable inserts. Sometimes Midori, sometimes a small leather maker, sometimes an Italian classic. The category outlasted every digital alternative.

6. A solid cast-iron pan. Lodge or a smaller foundry. Lasts a lifetime. Outperforms most non-stick. Gets better with use.

7. A simple wooden cutting board. Walnut, maple, cherry. End-grain if possible. Recommended in every kitchen guide for two decades.

The pattern in what aged well isn't subtle: physical objects, natural materials, small or medium price points, makers who've been around longer than a decade themselves.

The principles we use now

The framework we use today, after two decades of trying others and discarding them:

Fewer, better, longer. Three of something for a decade beats ten of something for a year. The math works financially. The math works aesthetically. The math works environmentally.

Materials over features. A linen throw will work for any decor. A "smart" throw will not. Natural materials adapt. Engineered materials become obsolete.

Used daily beats used occasionally. The mug you reach for every morning is worth more attention than the once-a-year piece in the cabinet. We've shifted toward objects in daily use.

Repair over replace. The object that can be repaired — re-soled, re-stitched, re-glazed, re-finished — has a different relationship with the owner than the object that gets discarded. We now favor categories where repair is possible.

Patience. Most categories don't need another product right now. Waiting for the right piece beats buying the available piece. Most of the regret in our reader feedback is in the "I should have waited" column, not in the "I wish I'd bought sooner" column.

The mistakes we keep helping readers avoid

Two decades of feedback surface the same regrets:

1. The compromise piece. Buying the version that's almost what you want, because it's available now, in your budget, in stock. The compromise piece almost always gets replaced within two years — at higher total cost than buying the right piece originally would have been.

2. The trend purchase. The piece that's having a moment. Velvet emerald couches in 2018. Boucle in 2020. Brutalist concrete in 2022. Every trend produces regret within five years for everyone except the small minority who genuinely wanted that thing before it was a trend.

3. The marketing belief. The "revolutionary" mattress. The "patented" pillow. The "scientifically proven" supplement. Twenty years of marketing claims and very few of them held up. We've learned to read past the claim to the materials and the maker.

4. The seasonal purchase made out of seasonal mood. The pumpkin-spice candle bought because of October. The plush throw bought because of January. The light cotton dress bought because of June. Seasonal purchases driven by seasonal mood tend to languish in the off-season.

What two decades of reader notes have in common

The notes we've kept — the ones that come back to us years later — describe specific objects, used daily, that mark the giver or the moment. The mug from the trip. The robe from the post-baby gift. The lamp inherited from a parent. The notebook started on a hard year and finished on a better one.

None of these were trendy when given. Few were expensive. All of them got used until they wore out, and the wearing-out was part of the value.

The pattern is unambiguous: the things worth owning are the things that earn their place over years, not the things that win their place in a moment.

The simplest summary we have

Twenty years and we keep landing in the same place. Buy less. Buy better. Use it longer. Notice when something's earning its place — and when it's not. Pass along what you've outgrown. Hold onto what's still working.

The list of things worth owning is short. The list of things worth using daily is shorter still. The closer the two lists become to each other, the more your home feels like yours.

Thank you

To the readers who've been with us for some or all of these twenty years — thank you for the notes, the corrections, the recommendations that came back to us, and the long-form letters about what's still working from gifts we suggested a decade ago. The publication exists because of the conversation with you, not because of the recommendations we make.

Here's to the next twenty.