My Fall Decor Confessions | I’m Done Impressing No One

Once upon a time, fall decor felt magical—pumpkins on the porch, mums in bloom, wreaths on the door. Now? It feels more like a full-time job with no paycheck. Every September, I drag out bins of fall decor, arrange it all with Pinterest-worthy precision, and spend enough money on gourds and mums to feed a small family of five. And for what?

For no one. Literally no one. Nobody stops by to admire my carefully arranged pumpkins or notice that my wreath coordinates with my throw pillows. My husband could care less. My kids are unimpressed by everything these days. My only audience is the UPS guy, who is too busy tripping over Amazon boxes to care about my cornstalks.

The truth? I’m over it. I’m over decorating for every holiday and every season. Except Christmas. Christmas gets a pass—it’s magical, and it smells like cookies. But the rest? Exhausting. Expensive. Unnecessary. And if my fall decor could talk, it would be just as passive-aggressive as I am about the whole ordeal.

The Mums That Betray Me

Ah, mums. The cheerleaders of fall. They bloom in brilliant shades of gold, burgundy, and orange, promising to last the season. Spoiler alert: they don’t. Mine usually look fabulous for three days before dramatically collapsing like they’ve been poisoned.

If my mums could talk, they’d sneer: “Really? You thought you could keep us alive while working full-time and chauffeuring kids to practice? Bless your heart.”

And here’s the kicker: mums aren’t even cheap. I’m paying $20 a pot for flowers that die faster than milk left out on the counter. And yet every year, like a sucker, I buy them again—because otherwise the porch looks naked.

Overachieving Porch Displays

You know the porches I’m talking about. The ones on Instagram that feature hay bales, corn stalks, thirty pumpkins, a gingham throw blanket, fairy lights, and a strategically placed ladder (why is there always a ladder?).

Those porches say: “If you don’t spend your entire paycheck at Michaels, are you even celebrating fall?”

Meanwhile, my porch has two dying mums, a pumpkin that looks like it’s given up on life, and a doormat that says “Hey there, pumpkin” but mostly looks like “Hey there, mildew.”

And I’m supposed to keep up with this? Why? For my neighbors? For strangers scrolling Instagram? For my own fragile sense of seasonal identity? Honestly, no. Not anymore.

Farmhouse Chic and the Hobby Lobby Trap

Then there’s farmhouse chic—the look that refuses to die. Apparently, no fall decor is complete without a distressed wooden sign that says “Gather” in swirly font or a galvanized metal bucket filled with fake apples.

If my farmhouse chic pieces could talk, they’d whisper: “Oh, you bought us in 2017 when Joanna Gaines had you in a chokehold? Cute. We’ve been collecting dust in your basement ever since.”

And the worst part? I don’t even like half the stuff I’ve bought. I bought it because it was on clearance. Because everyone else had it. Because maybe this will be the piece that finally makes my living room look like the front of a Kirkland’s catalog. Spoiler: it wasn’t.

Pumpkins: The Most Expensive Rot You’ll Ever Buy

Pumpkins are the biggest scam of all. I line them up neatly on my porch, congratulate myself on my subtle-yet-charming color palette, and within two weeks they’re collapsing into goo. Then I get to clean up pumpkin guts and fruit flies in the middle of October like it’s some kind of haunted house prank.

If my pumpkins could talk, they’d laugh: “You spent $60 on us just so we could rot quietly on your doorstep. Iconic.”

The Candle Pressure

Don’t even get me started on candles. I buy them in every fall scent—pumpkin spice, apple cider, autumn woods—because the internet told me it’s not fall until your house smells like a Bath & Body Works exploded.

But then the candles shame me too.

If they could talk, they’d sneer: “Oh, so you thought lighting us would turn your chaotic house into a cozy retreat? Adorable. Maybe blow us out before the dog knocks us over, though.”

The Truth | I’m Decorating for No One

And here’s the thing—why am I even doing this? Why am I spending hours dragging out bins, fluffing wreaths, arranging pumpkins, and watering mums that are going to die anyway? Nobody is coming over. Nobody cares. My kids don’t care. My husband doesn’t care. My friends aren’t stopping by for coffee.

I’m decorating for an audience of exactly zero. The only ones who see my porch are delivery drivers and the occasional squirrel. And you know what? Neither of them are impressed.

So why am I breaking my back and my bank account trying to make every season a Hallmark card?

Christmas Gets a Pass

Now, don’t get me wrong. Christmas is sacred. I’m not a total monster. I’ll still drag out the tree, the twinkle lights, the garlands, and the 27 boxes of ornaments I’ve collected since I was a kid. Because Christmas feels worth it. Christmas feels magical.

But fall? Valentine’s Day? St. Patrick’s Day? The random “spring refresh” that Target tries to sell me every April? Nope. I’m out.

A Final Word from My Fall Decor

If my fall decor could deliver its ultimate passive-aggressive sendoff, it would be this: “You’re exhausted, broke, and decorating for people who don’t exist. Donate us. Light one candle. Buy one pumpkin. Call it good.”

And honestly? For once, my fall decor and I agree.

Because the truth is, cozy doesn’t come from a perfectly staged porch. It comes from a blanket, a warm drink, and the people you love—not from overpriced mums that die in three days.