Alright, so you’re asking about squeezing storage into a tiny loo with one of those Kohler medicine cabinets, yeah? Been there, mate. Honestly, my first flat in Clapham back in… 2018, was it? The bathroom was so small you could practically wash your hands, brush your teeth, and have a shower all at the same time—not that I’d recommend it. And I’d just splurged on this sleek Kohler cabinet, thinking it’d solve all my problems. Spoiler: it didn’t. Not on its own, anyway.
See, the trick isn’t just the cabinet. It’s everything around it. That Kohler piece—lovely bit of kit, solid hinge, mirror doesn’t steam up too badly—becomes your anchor. But you’ve got to think vertically. I learned that the hard way after stubbing my toe on a wobbly wicker basket for the umpteenth time. Nasty.
So, what did I do? I stopped treating the wall as just a wall. Above the cabinet? Dead space, usually. I put up a shallow, white-painted timber shelf—only about 10cm deep—right up near the ceiling. Doesn’t crowd you at all. That’s where the fancy guest towels live now, and my stash of, erm, “premium” toilet rolls. The ones you hide from the flatmates.
Then, flanking the cabinet itself. This is golden. If you’ve got even a sliver of wall on either side, get some of those ultra-slim, open shelving units. I’m talking the kind that are barely deeper than a mug. I found these matte black metal ones in a little hardware shop in Shoreditch last spring—perfect for holding skincare potions, a spare toothbrush, a little succulent (RIP, Bruce, I overwatered you). It keeps the clutter off the sink but still within arm’s reach while you’re peering into the Kohler mirror at 7 AM, wondering who that tired-looking bloke is.
Oh, and inside the cabinet—don’t just chuck things in! I use clear acrylic organisers. The sort with little compartments. One for dental stuff, one for razor blades and trimmers, another for plasters and paracetamol. Makes it feel like a proper chemist’s shop in there. And it means when you swing that door open, you’re not greeted by a avalanche of cotton buds.
The other big lightbulb moment? The side of the cabinet. If it’s a surface-mount model, the side profile is often just… blank. I stuck a few small, adhesive hooks on the side facing the shower. Nothing heavy-duty, mind you. Just enough to hang a loofah, or one of those silicone face scrubber thingies. Dries quick, doesn’t get mildewy. Genius, if I do say so myself.
And look, sometimes you’ve just got to embrace the “over-the-toilet” zone. I was dead against it for ages—thought it looked a bit studenty. But then I found this tall, narrow ladder shelf in a reclaimed pine. It’s open, so it doesn’t make the space feel boxed in. The bottom holds spare loo roll packs (a man must be prepared), the middle has rolled hand towels in a nice wire basket, and the top has… well, let's call it “bathroom decor.” A cool stone, a scented candle that smells of rain—helps mask other, less pleasant smells, you know?
The key is, your Kohler cabinet shouldn’t be working alone. It’s the star player, sure, but it needs a good supporting team. You’re building an ecosystem, not just plonking down furniture. And for heaven’s sake, use light colours! My brief flirtation with a dark grey feature wall behind the cabinet in 2020… what a disaster. Made the whole room feel like a cave. Switched it for a glossy white, and it was like someone had opened a window.
So yeah, start with the cabinet. Love it, organise it. Then look up, look sideways, look at the nooks and crannies. It’s a puzzle, but when it clicks? Blimey, it’s satisfying. Even in a bathroom where you can touch both walls without stretching.
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