Every now and then, the fantasy returns: to be a “man in a van,” roaming through Europe with nothing but time, curiosity, and a quiet hunger for beautiful things. The image is irresistible, pulling off the road to wander into a village brocante, stumbling upon a dusty Gio Ponti chair or a forgotten Pierre Chapo table beneath piles of trinkets. No spreadsheets. No courier quotes. Just instinct and a good set of brakes.
In a world increasingly shaped by algorithms and logistics, there’s a quiet rebellion in the physicality of the search. The effort of lifting, looking, and negotiating, of placing value not just in the object itself, but in the journey to find it. Minimalism, after all, isn’t just about the clean line or quiet palette, it’s about intention. And what could be more intentional than driving hundreds of kilometres to find the piece that speaks?
There’s freedom, too, in the immediacy. When you have the van, you don’t need to wait three weeks for freight or worry about handling instructions. You find it, fall for it, and take it home — all in the same breath.
Perhaps that’s why, even in the digital age, sourcing by hand still holds magic. It’s a reminder that good design isn’t always found in the feed, sometimes, it’s waiting in someone’s attic, or leaning against a stone wall on a quiet French roadside. You just need a little patience. And maybe a van.