Black Vase – West Elm.


art direction & photography SHINI PARK in collaboration with YOUR MUM

What I’m doing in this flat is quite possibly in violation of some renters’ law: the comprehensive yet unspoken/unwritten set of rules that is policed by no one but adhered to by everyone who is under a tenancy agreement of sorts. You homeowners can go outside and play, this post does not apply to you… superior humans.
Picture frames all aligned at the same base-line (the floor), make-shift storage space under the stairs/behind the IKEA EKBY, free-standing clothes-hangers that buckle under sale purchases… yeah, you know exactly what I’m talking about. We do not invest in big furniture, and when we do it’s made of cardboard (or breadcrumbs?), comes flat-packed and you probably transported it home in a bus yourself. Built-in storage is literally my wet dream. Maybe not literally.

Also, what is a drill, pray tell?

If it helps to further understand, these laws are accompanied by an Amazon recommended-product list full of sticker-back wall hooks and cheap draught prevention kits BECAUSE YOUR LANDLADY DOESN’T BELIEVE IN CURTAINS, so you spend the balls-cold weekend sealing off the windows with a combination of bargain-store fabric and clear plastic, and hope for the best. Doesn’t hide the fact that now your overpriced London flat looks like a blanket fort that Troy & Abed would approve of.

the bedroom

Ladder-shelf – Dwell. Blowfish – Boulesse. Coral decorative object - West Elm.


Perfume – Dolce & Gabbana ‘The One’. Watch – Larsson & Jennings. Bracelets – CARAT* London



Glass vase – Muji. Hourglass – Bitossi via The Conran Shop. Candle holder – Trouva


So me taking a measuring tape to the walls, is in clear violation of the above. A MEASURING TAPE, you guys. Then proceeding to ordering furniture that perfectly slide into the little indent in the wall next to the fireplace. We’ve even bought a drill, and have plans of making fist-sized holes into the walls come weekend; you know, for fun. My logic is this: Live a little. Why pay such a ridiculous amount to live in a relatively attractive, albeit ill-heated space and then further offend it by not making it a home? Because stupid, that’s what. Rant over. Here are some corners I’ve been refreshing in the last couple of weeks between the bliss that was my horizontal-and-TV adventures.

Marble vase – Dwell. ‘Hello’ sign – West Elm.
the office


Aroma diffuser – Muji


Chair – Eames. Desk – IKEA


Rose-gold sunnies – RayBan



If you too, growing up, lived under a hand-painted sign that read Work Hard, Play Hard (possibly pinned near a stack of extra-curricular maths problems and a ragged vocabulary pad, contents of which has magically wiped out over the ensuing years after high school graduation and replaced by ‘bae’ or ‘fleek’) then come in for a hug. I feel you. To be fair, for my mother it was more of an ‘advice’, a friendly guidance, what have you, to self-assess whether I have earned the right for that evening at the bowling club at age 15 and accidentally letting eleven missed calls from the house phone happen. That’s when you shit your pants a little and accept the fact that you will forever suck at doing your own taxes, even as an adult. Because the truth is, that equation doesn’t actually cancel out, not to a tiger mum, to whom Play should be with purpose, like a Sims activity that has a blue progress bar on top of your head, like chess (+1 Logic Skill!).

I had started this blog as an escape from my university work load, working hard on my assignments (albeit all last minute), and playing hard on this blog. For years I’d kept it separate, used an alias that helped distinguish ‘real life’ business with ‘blog’ business, and piped on about having no ads. Then from a certain point it became apparent that more and more emails were being addressed to ‘Shini’, and I was being compensated for my efforts. There was undeniably a blue progress bar above my head, and it was filling up. My point is, when you apply enough ‘Hard’ to the equation, Work becomes Play, and vice versa – all you have to remember is to breathe in the middle, because sometimes it does get tricky.

Someday, perhaps I too can become Mayor of Pleasantview and go to work in a helicopter if I continued to play hard.

Created for
Minions, and I dunno, Aladdin.
Brogues – Chanel. Journal & Journal coverShinola. Necklace – JetSet Candy. Lip Balm – Creme de la Mer.


I like assorting DESK ESSENTIALS (like this Shinola journal cover) where I can see and access them easily. Sometimes I look up and realise I’m working within a setup that resembles an Instagram flat-lay and chortle at the ridiculousness of this to-the-core blogger lifestyle. I then proceed to organizing the pens and pencils in order of height and colour, and realise it’s perhaps a bigger problem.




As much as I pipe on about pizza and burritos, there’s nothing better to soothe a congested mind than to immerse into PHYSICAL ACTIVITY, or simply taking the time to listen to your own BREATHING. Again, I recommend the 30-day yoga challenge for those chickenshits like me, who can’t commit to a whole year of gym membership.

iPad holder – Shinola. Dermaclear clay mask - Dr Jart. Bracelets – X Jewellery.


I say ‘Play’ because most of this ends up down the front of my shirt and I end up smearing paint all over my chesticulars and smearing them on a sketchbook and/or canvas. There may also mysteriously be some Jessica Simpson playing in the background and soap bubbles floating around. PLAYTIME.
Animal Egg cup – Liberty. Leather Pouch & Sketchbook – Shinola. Bracelet – X Jewellery. Watch – Shinola.



Dolce & Gabbana, 70% off

Matthew Williamson at ~£250

Prada perspex sandals; Bally boots

Burberry classics (around ~£200 mark)

Church’s brogues; Aquascutum red trenchcoat

Not my bags…

ASUS Transformer tablet with Kindle App

Mulberry envelope receipt holder for £35

Sweater – Gmarket, Shirt – Uniqlo, Jeans – Radcliffe Jeans, Shoes – Pierre Hardy for GAP, Watch – ASOS, Bag – Vehla Tote Bag NIV-E
, Sunglasses -Jeepers Peepers

This was such a gorgeous day, with one of those exotic weathers that London is yet to call back… I took a day off for a trip up to Bicester Village (designer outlet village just outside Oxford) with Kit, my usual honeymoon partner, with the invitation of lovely Laura of Chic Outlet. Rosy feelings aside, I must confess that while I was putting this post together I couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment in myself…

This blog has been steadily growing in my life to a point that it now amounts to a considerable portion of my polyjuice potion (me in a bottle) Truthfully, I don’t remember when was the last time I had a pep-talk with dear old self and looked back for self improvement. I can’t help but notice that this lack of reflective thinking and letting diem be Carpe‘d while I enjoy the scenery on autopilot have somehow led me to a rather unfamiliar territory. To this day I have never considered packing a bag and arranging travel to a destination with the sole purpose of shopping, possibly for the same reason there’s very little body revealing in this blog. I don’t mean to disdain – I too like shopping – but this time I feel like I’ve gone too far and tickled the Materialism beast. I know I had plenty fun that day, but on hindsight I don’t know what road this blog is taking me and to be honest I’m rather nervous.

To Bicester Village’s defence, the pricetags are digestible and the landscape is immaculate, and if your kidney needs a Dolce & Gabbana bejewelled boots then you know where to go. Alas, the beauty of this blog is that now it has a mind of its own and despite what I write here, if a visitor is inclined to skip the reading, then my reflection on virtue & yadda yadd will simply be dissolved into bytes, but ah, c’est la pee pee.