Tidy Apartment, Tidy Mind

My Sanctuary

On paper, my beautiful apartment is flawless. I adore the decor, the high ceilings and generous windows, the calm luxury of the building, and the almost decadent convenience of having London’s best shops a short walk away. Still, even the most perfect home can start to feel slightly stale if nothing ever changes. Every so often, I crave a subtle shift in energy—a new perspective, a gentle reordering of my surroundings.

Sometimes that’s as straightforward as swivelling the sofa to face another wall, which somehow changes the way the whole room feels, or introducing a new piece of artwork that arrests the eye and gives the space a focal point. These small adjustments often come after a client has taken me on yet another museum or gallery excursion. There’s something intoxicating about wandering through those curated rooms, observing how each piece of art has space to breathe. It always prompts me to come home and look at my own possessions with a more critical eye.

When I do a proper clearout—moving furniture, discarding what’s no longer loved, and rearranging the pieces that remain—it feels like a deep reset. The apartment seems lighter, and so do I. A tidy apartment and clean, uncluttered lines are, I’ve learned, a reliable way forward when life feels too noisy.

A Personal Makeover

Although I’ve stayed loyal to my dark hair, I still enjoy experimenting with other aspects of my appearance. A new lipstick shade, a bolder eyeliner, or clothes that fall slightly outside my usual choices can be enough to make me feel like I’ve undergone a quiet “me” overhaul. I’m attuned to what my clients appreciate and what they don’t, but there’s real pleasure in choosing something purely because it delights me.

Even small changes can shift how I move through the world: swapping stilettos for elegant flats with my jeans, or reaching for skirts that skim my knees and flare when I walk. These little adjustments add up to a subtle sense of change, and I welcome that. Every so often, I stand in front of my wardrobe and really look at it—not just as a collection of garments, but as a visual history of my decisions.

Curating My Wardrobe

I pull out pieces that belong to passing trends: the dress that looked incredible for one particular season, the jacket whose exaggerated shoulders now feel more costume than clothing. Some items I realise, with an affectionate wince, will never make their way back into fashion. Those are folded neatly and put into a bag bound for the vintage charity shop in Chelsea. There, they might become someone else’s thrilling find instead of languishing in my closet. In this way, a tidy wardrobe and a tidy mind benefit more people than just me. I may not be a philanthropist on a grand scale, but there’s something comfortingly altruistic about sending my once-loved pieces back into the world.

Friends in Reinvention

Beyond my London escort circle, I have friends who are just as committed to the art of reinvention. One of my closest friends treats change almost like a seasonal obligation. She makes sure to change her hairstyle three times a year—never the same cut twice in a row—and insists on redecorating at least one room in her home each year. For her, it’s a way to mark time and refuse stagnation.

When we flip through our old photo albums together, we dissolve into laughter at her past experiments: the gravity-defying spiral perms, the sharp gamine crops that turned her into a mischievous pixie, and an astonishing range of hair colours, from vivid red to brilliant violet. Just as amusing are the backgrounds in those photos: cluttered student rooms, sagging sofas, posters Blu-Tacked to walls, and the tell-tale details of specific eras.

The 90s, in particular, were not kind to anyone’s aesthetic, least of all two broke students crammed into a flat. There we are in baggy jumpers, odd-fitting jeans and dubious footwear, framed by yellowed magnolia walls and furniture that had already lived several lives before it reached us. And yet, the awkwardness of those images only adds to their charm. They capture a time when we were still figuring ourselves out, trying on different versions of ourselves just as we tried different hairstyles.

Gaps and New Possibilities

As lunchtime approaches, I glance around my current flat with a more deliberate eye. Where there used to be clusters of ornaments and sentimental knick-knacks, there are now clean surfaces and deliberate spaces. The small trays on my coffee table hold only what I genuinely use or love; the shelves display a curated selection of books and objects rather than being stuffed to the point of collapse.

The clear spaces reveal some gaps too—literal holes in the decor where I’ve removed things that no longer felt right. I find myself wondering whether those spaces should stay open, as a kind of visual breathing room, or whether they’re quiet invitations to seek out something new that truly resonates.

After discarding so many “unnecessary” trinkets, the apartment feels calmer, almost like a fresh page. My mind mirrors that clarity. A tidy apartment and a clear mind, I decide, are more than just satisfying in themselves; they’re also perfect justification for a more intentional kind of shopping. This time, I’ll look for pieces that have longevity and meaning, items that will still make sense in my life when I look back at the photos years from now.