While a lot of this is rooted in my own obsessional
neuroses, it's hardly surprising or remarkable. A place to call your own, or even just a place you don't actively hate, is hard to find for our generation. Prohibitive rents
and ridiculous housing arrangements have made curating a space that feels a bit like home much harder. This is paired with (or perhaps in reaction to) a rise in aspirational home content
all over Instagram, and the growth of fast homeware companies
implying that you can – and should! – fill your flat with imitation mid-century modern furniture (even though your last three house shares haven't had a living room
). When we do finally find them, the spaces we have feel hard-won and precious.