The IKEA Effect: Why You Love Things You’ve Built (Even When They’re Wobbly)

Somewhere between Allen keys and mild regret lies one of psychology’s most fascinating discoveries: the IKEA Effect.

It’s the idea that we value things more when we’ve put effort into making them ourselves — even if the result is slightly crooked, missing a screw, or still has one mystery piece left over.

We don’t just assemble furniture; we assemble attachment.

The concept was coined by behavioural scientists in 2011, after noticing that people were oddly proud of self-built things. A lopsided origami crane, a half-finished Lego castle, a suspiciously squeaky chair — it didn’t matter. Once we’d made it, we loved it.

And that, oddly enough, explains a lot about our homes.

We don’t just assemble furniture; we assemble attachment.

Pride in the Process

Building something — or even customising it — creates ownership far deeper than simply purchasing it. The hours, the decisions, the swearing at missing bolts — they all become part of the story.

That’s why people still keep the first table they ever painted, or the chair they reupholstered badly but with enthusiasm. Effort translates into meaning.

Effort translates into meaning.

We don’t just remember the finished piece; we remember ourselves in the act of making it.

Design psychologists have found that the brain assigns extra value to things we’ve invested time and energy in, because it confuses labour with love. In other words, your attachment to that slightly uneven shelf is entirely rational — it’s part pride, part personal history.

The Beauty of Imperfection

In a world obsessed with polished perfection, the IKEA Effect is a refreshing reminder that flaws can be endearing. The wobble, the chip, the slightly mismatched stain — they’re not mistakes, they’re fingerprints.

Perfection feels distant. Imperfection feels human. The things we build ourselves, even badly, carry a kind of warmth that store-bought pieces rarely match. They remind us that making is messy, and that’s where memory lives.

The Japanese call it wabi-sabi — the beauty of imperfection. IKEA calls it “assembly required.” Either way, the message is the same: imperfection creates intimacy.

Why It Matters for Design

Designers often talk about personalisation as a trend, but it’s really an instinct. We want to see ourselves reflected in the spaces we inhabit — not just through what we buy, but through what we’ve built, altered, or stubbornly kept alive with duct tape.

That’s why DIY projects rarely stay purely practical. A shelf becomes an achievement. A painted cabinet becomes proof of taste and patience. And a wobbly flat-pack wardrobe becomes a metaphor for adulthood — standing, just about, and mostly functional.

Homes filled with these small acts of creation feel alive. They’re not curated galleries; they’re ongoing collaborations between us and our furniture.

Beyond the Allen Key

The IKEA Effect isn’t really about furniture at all. It’s about connection. The quiet pride in the imperfect, the satisfaction of completion, the sense that we contributed something tangible to our own comfort.

So the next time a flat-pack defeats you, or that chair leg won’t quite align, take heart. You’re not failing at assembly — you’re succeeding at attachment.

And yes, you could buy something better made. But it wouldn’t be yours in quite the same way.