I was seven months pregnant, balanced precariously on a stepladder while Amara napped, trying to hang wallpaper in our downstairs loo when everything went spectacularly wrong. The paper was bubbling, I was sweating, and I’m pretty sure I called that William Morris print some names that would make my mum wash my mouth out with soap. My neighbour Susan knocked just as I was contemplating whether throwing the whole roll in the bin would solve my problems.
“What’s all the banging about?” she asked, peering past me at what looked like a botanical crime scene. I had paste in my hair, wallpaper stuck to my bump, and the overwhelming urge to cry. That’s when I realised I’d been treating our half bathroom like an afterthought when it’s actually the room every single person who visits our house uses. Bit embarrassing really.
The thing is, nobody talks about downstairs loos, do they? You spend ages agonising over your living room layout and kitchen tiles, but that tiny space under the stairs? Gets whatever’s left in the budget and a quick slap of magnolia. But I started noticing that guests always remembered whether our loo felt cramped and depressing or actually quite nice. Weird how such a small space can make such a big impression.
After the wallpaper disaster (which I definitely abandoned for paint – lesson learned), I became properly obsessed with getting our 18-square-foot powder room sorted. Not perfect Instagram mum sorted – I mean actually functional while being genuinely impressive. Plus with baby number two coming, I knew I’d have even less time for home projects, so this needed to be right first time.
The breakthrough moment came when I finally bit the bullet and ripped out that horrible builder-grade vanity. Everyone bangs on about floating vanities making small spaces look bigger, but I thought it was just trendy nonsense until I actually tried it. Honestly, the difference was immediate and dramatic. Suddenly you could see the floor underneath, which somehow tricks your brain into thinking the whole room is bigger than it actually is.
I went with a 24-inch walnut floating unit from West Elm – £420, which felt absolutely massive when we’re counting every penny, but it was still cheaper than getting something custom made. Liam thought I’d lost my mind spending that much on a sink unit, but it genuinely transformed the space. Made it look intentional rather than just functional.
Here’s what nobody warns you about with floating vanities though – all your plumbing becomes part of the décor whether you want it to or not. Those copper pipes behind the toilet that were previously hidden? Now they’re on full display. I spent an entire weekend when Amara was at my mum’s spray-painting them matte black, which sounds completely ridiculous but actually looks quite smart. Industrial-chic, if I’m being generous. Our plumber Dave thought I’d completely lost the plot, but guests always comment on that detail now.
The mirror situation nearly sent me over the edge. First attempt was this basic rectangular thing from B&Q that made the space feel like a doctor’s surgery waiting room. Grim. Second try was one of those round mirrors everyone’s obsessed with on Instagram – too small, left awkward gaps on either side, just looked wrong. Third time lucky though – found this gorgeous arched mirror at a vintage shop in St Albans for £85. The curved top draws your eye upward, making the ceiling feel higher, and the antique brass frame adds warmth without being fussy.
Lighting was the thing that nearly broke me completely. I’d installed these sleek LED strips on either side of the mirror, thinking I was being all modern and sophisticated. Completely wrong. The light was harsh and unflattering – made everyone look like they hadn’t slept in weeks. Plus cleaning fingerprints off chrome fixtures every few days got old really quickly.
Switched to a single pendant light instead – this beautiful brass and milk glass piece that hangs slightly off-centre from the mirror. Sounds wrong in theory, doesn’t it? But it works brilliantly. The soft, diffused light is much more flattering, the asymmetry feels intentional rather than cramped, and cleaning one fixture instead of two saves me time I don’t have.
Choosing the paint colour gave me actual analysis paralysis. I must have painted and repainted sample squares about fifteen times. Liam started leaving passive-aggressive sticky notes suggesting I “just pick something already” because I was driving him mental. But colour in a tiny space is so important – get it wrong and you’re stuck looking at it every single day until you find the energy to start again.
Ended up with Farrow & Ball’s “Green Smoke” – this moody, sophisticated green that looks almost grey depending on the light. Much darker than you’d normally choose for a small space, but that’s exactly why it works. Instead of trying to fake spaciousness with boring white walls, the dark colour creates this lovely cosy feeling that’s actually quite luxurious. With crisp white trim and that brass mirror, it feels like a tiny jewel box rather than a poky afterthought.
The toilet was staying put from a budget perspective – it worked fine, we had bigger priorities. But I did upgrade the seat to one of those soft-close ones. Small detail, massive impact. No more midnight slamming sounds when Liam’s doing shift work, and it just feels more expensive every time someone uses it. Cost me £35 from Wickes and took literally thirty seconds to install – probably the best return on investment in the whole project.
Storage in a powder room is properly tricky because you need just enough for essentials without making the space feel cluttered. I installed one narrow floating shelf above the toilet – just wide enough for a small plant and maybe a candle, nothing more. The key is serious restraint. Nobody needs loads of decorative bits in an 18-square-foot room, especially when you’ve got a toddler who’ll try to climb anything within reach.
The floor situation nearly finished me off entirely. I wanted something that could handle water, looked interesting enough for such a small space, and wouldn’t show every single mark from Amara’s muddy shoes. After researching grout maintenance (it’s endless, don’t do it to yourself) and ruling out natural stone (too much faff), I went with these hexagonal ceramic tiles in soft grey. Classic enough not to date quickly but interesting enough to feel special.
Installing them was an absolute nightmare though. Turns out cutting hexagonal tiles around a toilet base requires geometry skills I definitely don’t possess. I ended up getting Dave back to do the trickiest bits, which added £200 to the project but saved my sanity and probably prevented a massive row with Liam about my questionable DIY abilities.
The final touches were the hardware – toilet paper holder and towel ring. Sounds boring, I know, but cheap hardware makes even nice fixtures look rubbish. I splurged on unlacquered brass pieces that’ll develop character over time. They’re already starting to patina a bit, and I love how they tie in with the mirror frame.
Total damage for the whole refresh came to just under £1,200, spread over about six months of weekend projects when I could actually get in there without Amara “helping.” The room went from completely forgettable builder-grade to something guests genuinely comment on. Not bad for 18 square feet and a lot of swearing under my breath.
Looking back, the biggest lesson was that tiny spaces need proper personality, not bright colours or busy patterns trying to fake being bigger. Embrace the cosy. Make it feel intentional rather than apologetic. And honestly, get the lighting sorted first – everything else builds from there. I wish I’d learned that before the LED strip disaster, but you live and learn, don’t you?
