Mirror Mirror

There’s a particular kind of quiet you find in rooms built for looking.

This one feels like it’s made of reflection: patterned walls that repeat into themselves, a ceiling that holds old ornament and soft light, and mirrors hung like portraits—oval, octagonal, gilded, and plain. Every surface seems to answer back.

On the floor, pairs of shoes sit spaced out like a careful thought. Not messy, not rushed. More like markers—evidence that someone paused here, tried on a version of themselves, then stepped away. The mirrored table multiplies the scene again, turning a simple display into a small maze of angles.

Mirror Mirror is a simple title, but it carries that familiar pull: the wish to be seen clearly, and the suspicion that clarity always comes with distortion. In a room like this, you can’t look in only one direction. You catch your own outline in the side glance, the corner, the frame. You notice how design can feel both bright and a little haunted—like the past of a place doesn’t disappear, it just gets polished.

Maybe that’s the point. Sometimes the most modern spaces still keep their ghosts. They just reflect them back at us, neatly arranged.