It was about half six on a Tuesday morning, and I was standing in my bathroom brushing my teeth when it finally hit me – the room looked proper unfinished. Not messy or anything, just… incomplete. I mean, I’d painted the walls this lovely soft grey, found a brilliant secondhand white oak vanity (still chuffed about that bargain, honestly), but something was definitely off. You know when you put together a decent outfit but forget your watch or something? That was exactly this bathroom.
The problem was trim. Or more specifically, the complete absence of decent trim anywhere.
I’d been living with absolute builder-grade rubbish for three years without really thinking about it. The skirting boards looked like someone had just grabbed whatever offcuts were lying around – plain, thin, completely forgettable. No coving whatsoever. The window casings were so pathetic they might as well not have existed. The door frame was just there, doing its job but contributing absolutely nothing to the room’s character.
Here’s what took me far too long to work out about trim – it’s basically like the frame around a picture. When it’s done well, you don’t really notice it, but when it’s wrong or missing entirely, the whole thing looks cheap and unfinished. Good trim makes even basic stuff look intentional and expensive. Bad trim… well, bad trim makes everything look like a rental property that nobody cares about.
My transformation started small because let’s be honest, I couldn’t afford to gut the whole bathroom. But I could definitely sort out those tragic skirting boards. Spent ages wandering around B&Q, Wickes, and some local timber merchant, taking photos of different profiles on my phone like some sort of trim obsessive. Eventually settled on something simple but substantial – about five inches tall with a gentle curve at the top. Nothing too fancy, but it had proper presence, you know?
Installing it myself was quite the learning experience. My first mitre cut looked like I’d attacked the trim with a cheese grater. The second attempt wasn’t much better. Think I was on attempt number seven before I managed joints that didn’t need half a tube of wood filler and a lot of optimism. Seriously, buy way more trim than you think you need. You will mess up. Multiple times.
But the difference it made was mental. Suddenly the floor looked like it belonged in the room instead of just happening to be there. The walls seemed taller somehow. The whole space felt finished, like someone with actual taste had been involved in its creation. For about sixty quid worth of timber and a weekend of occasionally shouting at my mitre saw, I’d made the bathroom look significantly more expensive than it was.
Crown moulding was next, though I’ll admit I was properly intimidated by it. Those internal corners where everything meets at the ceiling – they seem designed specifically to humble people like me who think they’re handy with tools. But I’d learned something important from the skirting board project: good trim doesn’t need to be complicated. Sometimes the simplest profiles work best, especially when you’re dealing with a compact space.
Went for basic coving – maybe three inches wide – with just enough detail to create some nice shadow lines without overwhelming the room. The thing about proportion I discovered is it’s absolutely crucial. In my tiny bathroom, anything too chunky would’ve looked ridiculous, like wearing a massive coat in summer. But too thin and it just disappears completely, which defeats the point.
The installation went much smoother this time. Partly because I’d actually learned how to use a mitre saw properly, partly because I’d invested in a decent mitre block instead of trying to guess angles with a hand saw (honestly, what was I thinking?). Each piece went up, and I could see the room transforming into something that belonged in one of those design magazines I’d been browsing for research.
The window casings though – that’s what really made the difference. My bathroom window had been sitting there like an afterthought, just a plain opening with the most basic, thin trim you’ve ever seen. When I replaced it with wider, more substantial casing that matched the new skirting boards, the window suddenly became a proper feature instead of just a hole someone had cut in the wall.
Getting the proportions right here was key. Made the window casing slightly wider than what I was planning for the door, but kept the profiles similar so everything looked coordinated without being too matchy-matchy. The extra width gives the window more visual weight in the room, which makes sense since it’s where all the natural light comes from.
Door casings got the same treatment because I’ve always reckoned that doors should look like they actually belong in their frames, not like they’ve been shoved through an opening and held in place with whatever trim was cheapest. Wider casings make the whole doorway look more substantial, more architectural. They properly frame the opening and tie in visually with everything else in the room.
Now, paint – this is where I see loads of people completely mess things up. Your lovely new trim deserves better than whatever leftover emulsion you’ve got knocking about. Found this out the hard way when I initially painted everything the same colour as the walls, which made all my careful trim work completely disappear. Might as well not have bothered.
White trim is classic for good reason. Creates clean lines, makes spaces feel brighter, works with basically any wall colour you can think of. But the type of white actually matters quite a bit. I use something slightly warm rather than that harsh builder’s white you see everywhere. Feels more sophisticated, less like a hospital corridor.
Semi-gloss is definitely the way to go for bathroom trim. Handles the moisture better than matt paint, easy to wipe down when it gets grubby, and has just enough sheen to make the trim stand out against your wall finish. Yes, it shows every brush mark if you’re not careful, but that’s what foam rollers and proper preparation are for.
The mad thing is how the trim upgrade made everything else in the bathroom look better. My mirror suddenly looked more expensive. The light fittings seemed more carefully chosen. Even the towels looked more intentional hanging on their hooks instead of just dumped there.
Caulking is absolutely crucial here, and I mean perfect caulking. Every gap between trim and walls, trim and ceiling, trim and floor needs to be properly sealed. It’s proper tedious work, standing there with your caulk gun getting every joint smooth and consistent, but it’s what separates professional-looking jobs from obvious DIY disasters. A neat, smooth bead along every joint makes the trim look built-in rather than obviously added afterwards.
The whole project cost less than two hundred quid and took about three weekends. Not because it was particularly difficult work, but because I’m quite slow and methodical, and because I kept stopping to admire what I’d done so far. Which I’d definitely recommend, by the way – take time to appreciate your progress.
Looking at the bathroom now, I genuinely can’t believe I lived with that basic contractor trim for so long. The space feels polished, intentional, expensive. Mates who come round comment on how professional the renovation looks, asking who did the work. I just smile and remember those weekend mornings with the mitre saw, swearing at stubborn angles and celebrating when joints actually fitted together properly. Good trim doesn’t just finish a room – it makes everything around it look like it was meant to be there.
