The height of Soviet apartment chic. The more furniture, the better. And preferably it all must be covered with a rug (and the walls, to muffle the noise from the neighbors). And ideally all rugs must be of different patterns (never mind they cost three salaries each). And there should be lace and tulle and doilies on every surface (painstakingly made by hand). And plush toys. Plush toys are a must. Then there should be a glass cabinet filled with china you never use, and crystal (see it reflected in the mirror?). That was to show status. And the chandelier of course. Crystal, if you could afford it. And a piano. For a potential prodigy child.
It's funny and sad at the same time. There was no such thing as interior style. You got what you could, and made of it what you could, and everyone had the same shit. I grew up in it, and I hate it with a passion. My dream is to live in a white house (white inside and out, no color, thank you) with nearly nothing in it, and big windows where I see nothing but trees.