I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a home that looked untouched.
You know those spaces where everything matches perfectly, nothing is out of place, and you almost feel scared to put a coffee cup down? Beautiful, yes. But I’ve realised they never really feel like home to me.
I’ve always been drawn to spaces with a bit more story behind them.
A slightly worn wooden table. Glassware collected over time. Paintings found secondhand that don’t necessarily “go” but somehow still work together anyway.
The kinds of things that make a home feel lived in rather than staged.
Homes should feel collected, not copied.
That’s probably why I fell so hard into vintage decor.
At first, it was practical. Vintage pieces were often cheaper, better made, and far more interesting than anything I could find on the high street. But over time, it became something deeper than that.
Collecting slowly changed the way I think about home entirely.
Instead of trying to finish a room overnight, I started enjoying the process of letting spaces evolve naturally. Finding one piece at a time. Rearranging corners constantly. Living with things before deciding whether they belonged there.
“The best homes aren’t finished overnight. They’re collected slowly over time.” - Jessie Frahm
And honestly, I think slower homes end up feeling more personal because of it.
There’s also something comforting about things that already carry history with them. A slightly faded floral painting. A ceramic bowl with tiny imperfections. Brass that’s developed a patina over decades instead of six months.
None of it needs to be flawless to feel beautiful.
A home should tell the truth about the people living in it.
I think modern interiors can sometimes make us feel like we need to get everything “right” immediately. The right sofa. The right colour palette. The right aesthetic. But the homes I love most rarely feel overly planned.
They feel collected.
That doesn’t mean cluttered or chaotic. Just thoughtful. Personal. A little unexpected.
And maybe that’s why slow living and vintage decor feel so connected to me. Both ask you to pay attention. To take your time. To care more about how a space feels than how quickly it can be finished.
Recently, I’ve realised I’m less interested in creating a perfect home and more interested in creating one I genuinely enjoy living in.
One with books stacked unevenly. Flowers that are slightly past their best. Candles burned too low. A kitchen full of mismatched ceramics. Rooms that evolve over time alongside the people living in them.
Because the best homes, at least to me, are the ones that tell the truth about the lives being lived inside them.
