Up, up and off the floor: A Bedroom Makeover

The Before

We’re big into street treats (I’ll be doing a series of blogs on my favorites soon), and bureau’s a great example. A few weeks after our wardrobes had grown out of the closet Elfa drawers, we knew we’d eventually have to get some kind of dresser; one day, RocketMan came home to find the bureau right in front of our building. Despite the irritatingly sticky drawers, it was the right size, and as a bonus, came with the kind of age-old distressing that costs top dollar at the Pottery Barn. (Thank goodness our building has an elevator.)

The bookshelf housing RM’s pants is one that he’s had since I’ve known him. On the wall to the right are our closet doors hanging from the molding—example #1 of RM’s “fewer doors” motto. If you can keep your clothes neat, and don’t mind looking at them, removing a 32-inch-wide door can free up about seven square feet of floor space (taking into account the swinging door, standing back, no storage space, etc.). We’d long since removed one door, and last year, we removed the other, creating a solid wall space for hanging robes, etc. Problem was, it got cluttered quickly, even for me—especially since it’s the first thing you see when entering the room. And look at all the wasted wall space! (This photo was taken after we took down a giant nautical map of the Bay, which was super cool, but not exactly useful.)

The upside of our former system: it cost us almost nothing. The downside: well, you tell me.

The (Mostly) After

Step one: we removed the second closet door and tucked it behind our couch in the living room (they’re exactly the same height; how’s that for kismet?).

Step two: Move the dresser into the sunroom. We don’t want to get rid of it yet—it’s the perfect height and width for a changing table—but it had to go. The dust bunnies multiplying under it were an excellent example of why “off the floor” is a good motto.

Step three: See above note about RocketMan hauling all these goodies up from The Container Store. It’s a full Elfa system, with all the brackets and spines and drawers and shelves an organization nut can faint over.

(Question for the Elfa photographers: I get staging and all, but really—who has enough space to keep an even four inches between pairs of shoes?)

• Drawers: Obviously, we were losing a dresser, so we needed to add some drawers. These 22-inch-wide puppies are much roomier than they may look; even so, I came away with quite a pile of giveaways once I actually went through the bureau. (Go into the Salvation Army on Mission Street on any given day and you’re likely to find one of my castoffs.) The top drawer is RocketMan’s, so we even had room to spare.
• Shelves: We’ve already established our love for open shelving, and the bedroom is no exception. My first concern was that putting RM’s pants on a high shelf would make our bedroom look like a Banana Republic outlet, but I think it works reasonably well—mostly because he’s actually capable of folding his clothes and keeping them neatly stacked.
• Shoes: We have a lot of shoes. Twenty feet of shoes, in fact. We don’t have pictures here, but before the Elfa unit, our shoes were hanging behind the door in a canvas shoe bag; stacked on a shelf near the door; and stored in the hall closet. We moved the shoe bag to the wall nearest the window, so as to hide it a bit, and put our most-used shoes on the open shelving here. Add a plant, and all is right with the world.

All in all, the unit cost about $350, with five trips to The Container Store. Installing an Elfa unit is definitely an in-for-a-dime, in-for-a-dollar undertaking: the individual parts don’t cost much, but as you add, take away, return, add some more, it all piles on. Here’s a price guide to what you see here (bought during an Elfa sale):

It’s the biggest investment we’ve made in our apartment, but the beauty of it? It’s brighter, lighter, customized, and we can dismantle it and take it with us when/if we move. Modular! Modular! Modular!