Oh, blimey, you’re asking about polyurethane chandeliers? Right, let’s have a proper chat about that. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve actually lived with one—most of my clients steer clear, and I’ll tell you why in a bit. But I’ve seen ‘em, touched ‘em, even installed a couple back in the day when faux finishes had a real moment. It’s one of those things you notice once you’ve been knee-deep in lighting for years.
So picture this: I’m in a showroom in Chelsea, must’ve been 2018 or so, and there’s this huge, ornate thing hanging near the entrance. Looks like old plasterwork, all curls and leaves—very Versailles wannabe. I reached out and tapped it. *Knock knock*. Sounds hollow, feels… light. Not light as in elegant, light as in “is this gonna hold up?” That’s polyurethane for you. It’s moulded, see? They pour this liquid stuff into detailed moulds, let it set, and out comes these elaborate shapes without the weight of plaster or the cost of carved wood. Bloody clever in theory.
But here’s the rub—it feels a bit like fancy packaging foam to the touch. Not cold like metal, not grainy like wood. Sort of… warmish and slightly too smooth? And the finish—they paint them, usually with a faux metallic or antique glaze. I remember one in a client’s dining room in Kensington—looked decent from the sofa, but up close? The gold leaf detailing was just printed on, mate. No texture, no depth. After a year, near the window, the sun had faded one side so it looked patchy. Tragic.
Durability? Well, don’t go swinging from it. It’s not brittle like plaster can be, but it dents. I saw one get a nick from a ladder during a bulb change—left a little crush mark that wouldn’t bounce back. And dust—good grief, it clings to all those curlicues like nobody’s business. A nightmare to clean without a soft brush and a lot of patience.
Now, I won’t lie—there’s a time and place. Maybe a rental flat where you want drama without drilling into a proper ceiling beam, or a budget ballroom look for an event. But for a forever home? I’d rather save up for a second-hand brass piece or a simple, honest glass drop chandelier. Something with a heartbeat, you know?
At the end of the day, it’s all about what you’re after. If you want ornate on a budget and you’re not fussed about heirloom quality, sure, it does the job. But me? I’d always spend my pennies on materials that age with stories, not just… sit there looking a bit sorry for themselves.
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