On A Rig-Picking Expedition — RV Customizing Complications

I have yet to ever meet an RVer who found a perfect-straight-off-the-assembly-line-absolutely-zero-changes-needed-to-make-it-a-home rig.

EVER.

Sorry to burst the old bubble — but whatever you buy, you’re looking at spending some combination of time, money, and/or energy on customization.

(Even those multi-million-dollar-built-to-your-exact-specs behemoths on Extreme RVs. They only come out so amazing ‘cuz somebody put a whole-lotta-up-front into creating the perfect just-for-you design.)

Lemme give you a few examples, based on my own experience with Stella:

• overall motif (I’m sorry, but most factory-floor RV interior décor is ass-ugly — whoever’s in charge of fabrics, colors, and surfacing at these companies should be shot on general principle — there’s also a big flipping difference between “visually-appealing retro” and “someone-vomited-all-over-the-walls/upholstery/carpet vintage” — even worse? ornamentation updated by a Martha-Stewart-wanna-be who attended one of those “how to make your rig look like an HGTV fail” workshops)
• incidental accents (I hope you’re lucky enough to find a wheeled domicile with all sorts of upgrades that make it feel super-homey from the beginning, the way I did — decorative touches like black faux-leather wall accents, a beaten tin kitchen backsplash, bright-enough-to-actually-see-what-I’m-reading light fixtures, hip 50’s style wall clock and brushed-chrome lamp, even a flipping stained-glass window — little details, but they add up fast when you don’t have to pay for them yourself!)
• window treatments (unfortunately, you can’t hang just any old BB&B drapery in a recreational vehicle — raggedy, stained, or behind-the-times replacements must be special-sewn, but there ain’t a huge number of folks out there who do this — and while I’ve never understood hiding from the world behind blackout curtains as you see the world, I get not wanting that guy fitty-foot-away next door watching you eat breakfast or drag your boobs into a bra — one sunshine-plus-privacy option almost no one considers is a second row of sheers — what a cozy difference such a small addition makes)
• painting (a coat-or-ten of your fave color can change the look of any cabinetry or furnishing — and while on a quest to cover some truly hideous Duran-Duran-Nagel-era-mauve-gray flocking, I also discovered that “gripper primer” keeps them layers of latex from peeling off walls, even in the shower — some of my less-tactful family members describe my red-and-black-sponged bathroom as a yuppie bordello minus the whores, but I think it’s pretty sharp if I do say so myself — however, may I suggest that you not faux-paint something the size of a closet without adequate protection, unless you’re prepared to have dried goop in your hair and on odd unseen body parts for several weeks)
• flooring (what ya got to walk on can significantly impact one’s wanderlusting enjoyment — rubber may be non-skid-and-easy-to-wash, but I don’t recommend it unless you like the feel of living in a van down by the river — that crappy high-traffic stuff’s plenty durable, but it looks and feels god-freaking-awful — throw rugs slip around and comfier carpet gets nasty fast, with all the itinerant dirt you and your kids and dogs and visitors will inadvertently track in — hardwood’s expensive, tile adds unnecessary weight — bamboo, vinyl, linoleum, and laminates are really the most practical way to go)
• furnishings and fixtures (just because it’s built-in, doesn’t mean it has to stay — keep an eye out for places where the current layout doesn’t quite meet your functional needs or aesthetic tastes — you may decide to trade that uncomfortable-as-hell folding gaucho for an L-or-U-shaped couch — swap a banquette for two lounge chairs or a desk — rip out those twin beds and create either a queen platform or a series of stack-the-grandkids-like-cordwood bunks — trash that junky plastic commode in favor of a sturdier ceramic style — upgrade your faucets and countertops — or even take the whole damned inefficient-propane-wasting furnace unit out and reclaim that space for storage, like I did!)
• room separation (there are times when you just need to be left the fuck alone — and especially in an ultra-tiny space, you don’t want to be all up in your housemates’ faces every minute of every day — fortunately, most RVs are perfectly suited for dealing with this issue, essentially broken into two “rooms” as they are, with kitchen/living areas up front and bath/bed in the back — if the loo door doesn’t open all the way and latch to the other side of the hall, or you hate that accordion-fold-piece-of-crap-forever-getting-stuck-on-its-track, whatcha gonna do? hang a curtain? place a removable screen? try to install a bi-fold-or-pocket contraption? what will your space realistically allow?)
• outdoors (of course, you have another “room” just as important as your insides, and we call it “the patio” — pull out that retractable awning, place a rug and table and chairs, suddenly you have twice as much living area — oh wait, you don’t own a sunshade? add another item to your to-do list)

No rig will have everything, so pick your battles.

Decide what’s a deal-breaker, what you can bling-up yourself, and with what you’ll need professional help.

My only other advice? Don’t start a renovation mid-July-99-degree-heat-200%-humidity-with-no-air-conditioning like I did — unless you literally want blood, sweat, and tears as a part of your rolling home.

Author Bio

Ramona Creel is a woman of mystery and power, whose power is exceeded only by her mystery. A 20-year veteran Professional Organizer, Accountability Guru, and Golden Circle Member of NAPO, Ramona runs a one-babe cottage industry composed of 27% eyeliner, 13% tattoo ink, 18% dark chocolate, and 44% raw determination. (Believe me, she needs that extra 2%!) As a former Social Worker, Ramona describes her role as ‘resource-finder-and-problem-solver-extraordinaire.’ She plans eventually to take over the world using nothing more than unicorn glitter, cat fur, and movie quotes -- and her proudest credentials are ‘decreaser of world suckage’ and ‘queen of friggin’ everything.’ Ramona has worked with hundreds of clients, and has delivered scores of presentations on getting organized, being a better business person, achieving financial freedom, tin-can traveling, and embracing voluntary simplicity. She leads by example (having radically downsized herself) — traveling the country as a full-time RVer, living and working in less than 200 square feet. Ramona spreads the gospel of simplicity with everyone she meets — teaching others how to have more time and space for the truly important things in life (and be happy letting go of the rest). A modern-day Renaissance woman, Ramona has found a way to bring her many passions together into one satisfying career — as an organizer, coach, writer, artist, and speaker. Feel free to check out her latest triumphs and stupidities (kudos if you can figure out which are which) at www.RamonaCreel.com.