Self Maid

I’ve been renting a small condo in downtown Toronto for just over a year now, and I still can’t decide if it’s a home or a holding cell. You know the Toronto condo type: the white cube designed for transience. Every new building in this city seems to be full of them: floor-to-ceiling windows, glossy white walls, exposed concrete (ok I do like that…) and the promise of “modern living.” In practice, it feels more like being trapped inside a commercial art gallery I toured when in art school… except they forgot to install the art.

During the day, the living room turns into a literal fishbowl. The sun hits the south-facing glass like a magnifying lens, flooding the space with glare so intense that I can’t work, cook, or even sit on my own sofa without squinting. Blinds help, but only in that “I live in a concrete cave now” sort of way.

At night, it’s worse. The whiteness of the walls doesn’t disappear; it amplifies. The walls reflect every bit of artificial light until the place feels like a refrigerated display case: sleek, sterile, and lonely. I want warmth. I want a home that feels like a hug, not a temporary box I could be asked to vacate at any moment.

1. Softening the Surfaces

The first thing I learned: hard materials make for hard living. The glass, the drywall, the concrete ceilings, they all bounce light and sound in the most unsettling way. I started layering textures like my sanity depended on it: a wool rug here, a wool throw there. Suddenly, the echo calmed down. The light softened. The space started to feel slightly less like a temporary space.

2. Introducing Real Colour (and Real Objects)

White walls are supposed to feel expansive. Mine just felt loudly bare. So, added the missing art gally art! I was on a budget so I used pieces I already had and found sneaky ways to have the art I wanted for cheap. I also opted for larger pieces to highlight the high ceilings.

Although I was allergic to clutter at first (and still am), I’ve been carefully adding in certain relics of my past to create a sense of “me” in the space. Suddenly, the space feels a little more lived in. Less Airbnb, more mine.

3. Fighting the Fishbowl

Those giant windows that developers love? They’re psychological warfare for me. The glare during the day made my condo borderline unusable. Am I alone in this? I feel like everyone always gushes over lots of light coming into their condo. I can’t stand it. The fix: sheer curtains layered with blackout panels.

The sheers diffuse the light like a soft box, still bright, but not retina-searing. If I really want to concentrate on work, I pull the heavier panels across, and the place finally feels enclosed. Private. Contained. Like I’m no longer on display in a downtown terrarium.

4. Reclaiming the Lighting

Nothing says “temporary” like cold LED downlights. The kind that make everything — your dinner, your skin tone, your soul — look slightly worse. I added multiple other sources of light around my place but I’m still struggling with lighting. Nothing seems to light up my bedroom enough. Any tips for a glowy, cozy vibe?

5. Drowning out the Silence

The laminate floors, thin white walls, and concrete ceilings do strange things to sound. Even the hum of the fridge can feel oppressive. I added a few upholstered pieces and area rugs to absorb the echo. It’s a small, barely noticeable thing, but now my space sounds more like a home and less like a morgue.

The Ongoing Experiment

I’m not done. This place still feels cold sometimes but it’s improving. The more I touch it, personalize it, edit, and push back against the white-cube aesthetic, the more it begins to feel like a space that’s mine, even if I don’t technically own it.