When Your Home Is Your Hobby

The bliss of puttering, secret cupboards, + collectible milieu. Plus, 10 cozy + chic things that could give your home a tiny upgrade this fall.

The other night I couldn’t sleep, and even though I know it’s absolutely THE DEVIL to open your phone as a late-night insomnia panacea…you know, there we were. I clicked on an email from one of my favorite havens of mini, Never Too Small, and before I knew it, I was giddily absorbed in one of their signature small space tours—this particular one, a roughly 500 square-foot condo in Melbourne, Australia, owned by architect Daniel Dorall.

The sole bedroom, above, complete with a tiny office nook, which naturally gives me goosebumps. Photo courtesy of Never Too Small.

I immediately fell hard, not necessarily for the design of the space—which was modern and a bit austere—but for something else I wasn’t quite expecting. About 2.5 minutes into the video, the host enters through the front door and reveals a clever doorstop hack—when they couldn’t find one they truly loved, Dorall created his own using a chrome IKEA folding coat hook positioned behind the door as a secret latch.

Ohhhh, I thought. Smitten.

There were other wonderful, personal details about the apartment that the owner revealed as they moved from one corner to another—the kitchen countertop edit, in particular, paring all the cutting knives down to just the three that were used the most, (which I need to copy, stat, since I use the same three knives all the time anyway). There was also an intriguing strategy for sculpturally grouping plant pots together, an endless search for the right coffee table, and—Lordy! The things small space dreams are made of 😭—discovering a surprise 20 square-feet of ceiling height after investigating a leak in the upstairs apartment, which the owner inventively transformed into a teeny/airy artist’s studio, accessed by a hidden pull-down ladder.

I love looking at another person’s home, especially when it’s clear how much they love it….and know it. Anticipating all the intimate details and quirks—the picture that always needs to be straightened, the vintage arm chair in the corner that nobody loves but me, the drawer in the hall console that always manages to creep open during the night. No one knows its special sounds, smells, where one beam of the floor bounces a tiny bit more than the others or what time during the late afternoon when the sun turns a dark gray wall into a moody teal. That relationship and connection with our living/breathing spaces is so precious to me, tending to it over the days/months/years like we might a cherished plant or a crazy puzzle we can come back to again and again. There’s a sacredness in this routine…this practice, no matter how primitive or elaborate, and even if it’s not my own I have so much reverence for it.

I mean, I love lavish decorator-designed home tours as much as the next person. But they just aren’t the same for me. Knowing that someone who doesn’t actually live here conceived the reasoning or recipe for how things work, what a small collection of objects on the fireplace mantle might mean, or where a stash of extra blankets are hidden for guests. Allowing someone else to make those decisions without us feels slightly akin to, I don’t know,…borrowing my toothbrush?

When I was single, I loved to putter around my tiny apartment by myself. I’d grown up in a crowded 2-bedroom/1-bathroom house with my grandparents who lived in the even tinier 1-bedroom apartment upstairs. I was never not waiting in line for the bathroom or attempting to tape out an invisible closet/secret chamber where I could hide with my animals, books, and tape recorder. I think it’s why as a child I loved the 1970s GNOMES book so much, because it was this instant escape into these intricate mythical layouts and orderly moments—a tiny home brimming with personal utility and LOVE…like the smallest thumb prints of its inhabitants.

The sleeping alcove (L) and mouse beds (Q) were always my favorite.

Years later, it was roommates in college, then even more roommates crammed into an Upper East Side apartment, and then another, and another. Eventually, when I finally moved into my own place in my ‘30s, I learned over eight years suspended above the traffic hum of First Avenue what it was to make a home…a real home, that was mine. A place no one could really love the way that I did. In the absence of outside opinions or a surplus of cash, I made that tiny apartment my passion, my hobby, as well as my love life and my outlet for any/every little creative experiment, like pooling hot-pink organza drapes or a luxe leopard salon rug salvaged from a stylist’s wall-to-wall scraps. It was my place, and if my solitary Heart Of One yearned for it, it was mine.

Watching that NTS video made me think about our own Brooklyn apartment where I live now with my family (and if you’re new here, the muse + beating heart of this newsletter), and all the nooks/crannies that make it feel like mine and a tiny corner of the world that knows me better than anything/anyone. When we first renovated, my husband who was overseeing the redesign integrated a handful of these little post-it style design “love notes.” One was a recessed cabinet in the kitchen most people don’t even realize is there. It took advantage of some leftover bump-out space, so Kevin used it to create a small pantry cabinet, which I dutifully use for supplements, tonics, and medicine...have a peek:)

Swapping out the patterned fabric remnants that conceal our living-room screen makes me happy, too (the one below is a remnant from Maharam’s Concorde Stripe from a stool I had made). Mostly because it’s not fancy at all, and the sheer basic-ness of this solve was a great reminder that the very smallest tweaks in our homes can also offer the biggest dividends in DELIGHT.

When we ripped the grimy old air conditioner out of our bedroom wall and patched it up, I was practically giddy at the chance to create a miniature workspace using the plywood cover (upside-down) that at one time was used to conceal our living-room A/C. It’s not a practical spot for working long hours at a laptop, but for a quiet phone call or Zoom meeting, it absolutely fits the bill. While also yielding so much delicious satisfaction by merely turning a dead wall into a mini destination.

My stool is a 15-year-old Tom Dixon design, but this pair of vintage Diablo stools from the 1970s (for $150!) are just wonderful…and versatile for small spaces or ANY spaces.

Like us, our homes are never done. No matter how many times we repaint, add or subtract a wall, swap out the carpeting…there will always be a new project or tweak to learn more about what we love and also what we’ve outgrown. It’s strange, but our homes can be like these divine sages in our lives, or oracles, with the uncanny ability to grow and change with us and also for us. Which is why square footage and numerous bathrooms really don’t matter that much. It’s not what you’ve got…it’s what you DO with what you’ve got that matters the most.

I think that’s why I love that quote by Rumi so much…

“Wherever you stand, be the soul of that place.”

That is my little apartment…never not extending opportunities to be present, creative, forgiving…reminding me to pay attention. The place that reflects all of my own magic while keeping all my secrets, too. It’s the place where I sleep better than anywhere else in the world. That is unless I can’t sleep, which is when tours of other people’s cool tiny apartments always seem to come in handy ❤️…xxCb

A little extra ✨: 10 very cozy/efficient things to make your place a tiny bit homier/happier in the cooler weeks ahead...