Slow Living at Home: Designing a Space That Feels Like a Sanctuary

There is a particular quality of light in Nora Tanaka's London flat that makes you want to stay a while. It is not accidental. Every surface, every object, every negative space has been considered — not in a precious, don't-touch-anything way, but with the quiet confidence of someone who understands that our surroundings shape how we feel. Tanaka is an interior stylist whose work centres on what she calls slow living — a philosophy that is reshaping how people think about their homes.

What Is Slow Living?

"I think people overcomplicate interiors," she says, pouring tea into a handleless ceramic cup. "They think they need a grand vision or a huge budget. But really, it starts with paying attention. What do you reach for first in the morning? What makes you pause when you walk into a room? Start there."

Slow living, as Tanaka practises it, is not about minimalism or deprivation. It is about intentionality — choosing fewer, better things and giving each object the space and attention it deserves. It is a response to the culture of impulse buying and fast furniture that has filled homes with objects that serve no emotional purpose.

"Your home should be the antidote to scrolling," she explains. "We spend our days moving through information at speed — notifications, feeds, alerts. When you walk through your front door, the pace should change. The objects around you should slow you down, not stimulate you further."

This philosophy is gaining traction across the UK as more people seek refuge from the noise of digital life. It is not about rejecting modernity. It is about being selective — surrounding yourself with things that have been made with care, that feel good in the hand, that age well rather than falling apart.

Choosing Furniture That Earns Its Place

Tanaka settles into a Theodore Armchair — one of her favourite pieces, she notes, for the way it manages to be both sculptural and deeply comfortable. "Every object should earn its place. Not because of how it looks in a photograph, but because of how it makes you feel when you hold it, use it, see it every day."

This principle guides how she sources pieces for her clients. Rather than defaulting to the usual showrooms, Tanaka travels to small workshops across Europe and Japan, seeking out makers who share her values. She looks for furniture with what she calls "honest construction" — visible joinery, natural materials, surfaces that show the hand of the maker.

"I tell my clients to sit with a purchase decision for at least a week," she says. "If you still want it after seven days, it is probably right. If you have forgotten about it, you have saved yourself from another object that would have ended up in a spare room or a charity shop."

A Camille Table Lamp sits on the Rattan Woven Nightstand beside her reading chair — both chosen, she says, because they bring warmth to the room without competing for attention. "The best pieces are the ones that support the room rather than demanding to be the centre of it. A lamp that gives beautiful light. A nightstand that holds exactly what you need. These are the objects that actually improve your daily life."

The Beauty of Imperfection

"I'm drawn to imperfection," she says, turning a hand-thrown bowl in her hands. "A slight wobble in the rim. The way linen creases. The grain in a piece of solid wood. These things tell you that something was made with care, by human hands. That matters more than symmetry or polish."

This appreciation for the handmade runs counter to the precision of mass production, where every unit must be identical. Tanaka sees imperfection not as a flaw but as evidence of a process — a maker's signature that connects you to the person who shaped the object.

"In Japan, there is a concept called wabi-sabi — the beauty of things that are imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete. It is not about celebrating damage or wear. It is about accepting that nothing is permanent, and finding beauty in that acceptance. A chipped plate that you love is more valuable than a perfect plate that means nothing to you."

Building a Home Slowly

When asked what single piece of advice she would give to someone looking to create a more considered home, she does not hesitate: "Buy less. Choose better. And don't rush. The best rooms are built slowly, over time, with pieces that mean something to you. A home should tell the story of the person who lives in it — not the story of a catalogue."

She suggests starting with the room you spend the most time in and asking three questions: What do I use every day? What brings me genuine pleasure? What is here simply because I have not got around to removing it? The answers, she says, will tell you everything you need to know.

"A slow living home is not finished," she adds. "It is always evolving, always being refined. You find a better lamp. You let go of a cushion that no longer feels right. You bring in a plant, or a piece of ceramic, or a throw that changes the feeling of a corner. It is an ongoing conversation between you and your space — and that conversation is the whole point."