People spend months choosing a sofa. They measure, they sample fabrics, they agonise over whether it's too big for the room or too small for the family. And then they forget to put anything next to it. A room with a sofa and nothing else to sit in doesn't feel finished. It feels like a waiting room. The thing that changes it — the thing that gives a room a second purpose, a reading corner, a place to sit that isn't in front of the TV — is an occasional chair. I've had the Astoria in both colourways for long enough now to have an opinion. The Chocolate is deeper and warmer — it reads well in a room with timber floors and natural linen. It's the version that disappears slightly into the room, which is what you want if the chair is doing the job of a reading corner rather than a focal point. The Dusk is lighter, cooler, more visible. It announces itself more, which makes it a better pick for a room that needs something to anchor one side — next to a window, beside a bookshelf, in a corner that currently has nothing. Both swivel. This matters more than it sounds. A swivel chair lets you face the room, face the window, or turn toward a conversation without committing to one direction. Fixed chairs force a choice. Swivel chairs let the room decide. The frame is solid timber and the upholstery has the kind of irregular weave you only get from a fabric that wasn't engineered for the camera. It will soften in the seat first, then the arms. The chair earns its corner the longer it's in the room. Where to put it: next to a window is almost always right. Natural light plus a chair is a reading corner. Add a floor lamp or a table lamp on a small side table and you've given someone a reason to sit there. You don't need much — the chair, the light, and maybe a throw over the arm. That's a room within a room. The other spot people underestimate is the bedroom. A chair in the corner of a bedroom — with a linen throw draped over it and a pair of shoes underneath — does more for the lived-in feel of the space than any amount of cushion arranging on the bed. It's the piece that says someone actually uses this room, not just sleeps in it. → Shop the Astoria Chair The instinct with occasional chairs is to go safe — beige, grey, something that "goes with everything." But a room full of safe choices is a room with no personality. Pick the colour that makes you pause. That's usually the right one. A room with the sofa you measured for and an occasional chair you chose because you paused on it. Less staged. More lived-in. → Browse all seating

Most people buy a console and then stand in front of it wondering what goes on top. I've done it. You put too much on, it looks cluttered. Not enough, it looks like you forgot to finish the room. And the wall above it is either empty or has something hanging there that you chose in a hurry and haven't thought about since. A console is one of the hardest pieces to get right because it's doing three jobs at once — it's holding things, it's grounding a wall, and it's setting the tone for whatever room or hallway it lives in. Get it right and it anchors the whole space. Get it wrong and it just looks like a shelf with things on it. Here's how I think about it. The console itself does most of the work. If the material has presence — visible grain, reclaimed timber, hand-finished edges — you don't need to dress it up. The Marlow Console is a good example of this. It's reclaimed pine, hand-finished, and the surface has enough character on its own that you could put a single object on it and walk away. The piece earns the wall without needing to be propped up by everything around it. If your console is cleaner or lighter —  plain timber, pale oak, something with a smoother finish — it needs more help from the objects on top. That's not a criticism. It's just how different materials work. A quiet console benefits from bolder objects. A bold console benefits from restraint. On top: odd numbers, varied heights, and no more than five objects. A tall piece on one side — a vase, a lamp, a candlestand. Something low in the middle — a bowl, a tray, a small stack of books. And one smaller object on the other end to balance without mirroring. Three to five things total. If you're reaching for a sixth, you've gone past the point. The materials on the console should talk to each other without matching. Ceramic next to timber next to forged iron. A hand forged candlestand in black iron next to a stoneware vase next to a linen-bound book. Three textures, no repeats. That's what makes a console look collected — like the objects arrived over time, not in a single delivery. → Shop console tables Above: the mirror question. Nine times out of ten, a mirror is the right call above a console. It bounces light, it fills the wall without adding visual weight, and it gives you a reference point when you walk past. A rattan or Malawi mirror is a natural partner for timber consoles because the weave adds texture without competing with the grain below. If the console sits in an entry, go round. It softens the corridor. If it's in a living room or dining room, you can go bigger or more rectangular depending on the wall. The one thing to avoid is hanging the mirror too high. The centre of the mirror should sit roughly at eye level — which for most people is somewhere around 150–160cm from the floor. Too high and it reflects the ceiling. Too low and it reflects the console. Neither is the point. → Shop mirrors Underneath: this is the space most people forget. A basket on the floor under a console gives the arrangement weight and grounds it to the room. It also hides whatever you'd otherwise shove in a drawer you don't have. Shoes, keys, the mail you haven't dealt with. A console done well looks like it's been that way for years — not styled, just used. That's the whole idea. Less coordinated. More collected. → Browse decor

There's a version of the coastal bedroom that turns up on every mood board — all white, perfectly smooth, a single object on the nightstand. It photographs well. It also looks like nobody's slept there in months. The beds that actually feel good are the ones with layers. A bit undone. Textures you want to reach out and touch. The throw is half-folded because someone used it last night. That's not messy — that's the look. And it's not hard to get there. Your quilt cover sets the tone. For a coastal bedroom, go natural fibre — linen or a linen-cotton blend — in a colour that doesn't demand attention. Warm white, oatmeal, soft grey, sage. Nothing sharp. French linen is the obvious pick because it gets better over time. A new linen quilt cover looks crisp. Six months of washes later, it looks like it's always been on the bed. That softening is the whole point. You're not trying to keep it neat. You're letting it become part of the room. Shop quilt covers Underneath, a French linen fitted sheet in a slightly different tone adds depth without you having to do anything clever. If your quilt cover is warm white, try the sheet in natural or flax. Just enough contrast to create a shadow line where the quilt hits the bed frame. Small detail, but it stops the whole thing looking flat. Then the throw. This is where it comes together. A linen throw draped over the bottom third of the bed — not folded into a neat rectangle, not screwed up in a ball, just laid across — that's what gives a coastal bed its character. The thing people get wrong with throws is weight. A lightweight muslin slides off the end of the bed within an hour. You need something with enough body to drape and stay — a heavier linen, a waffle weave, something with structure. It also helps if it's a throw you'd actually pull over your legs on a cool night, because that's what it's there for. If your quilt is light, take the throw slightly darker — flax, taupe, soft charcoal. If your quilt is already tonal, a textured white throw in a different weave gives you dimension without adding another colour to think about. Shop linen throws Cushions — and I say this knowing how tempting it is to pile them on — two to four. That's it. A pair of European squares behind your sleeping pillows, then one or two smaller ones in front. Mix the materials — linen, something with a slub or a fringe, maybe a subtle pattern. But don't build a fortress. A coastal bed should look like you could climb into it right now, not like you'd need to relocate twelve cushions first. Shop cushions Linen quilt cover. Tonal sheets. Textured throw. A few cushions. Walk away. The whole idea is that it looks relaxed because it is.

  A mirror does two things — reflects light and finishes a wall. That's it. Get the frame right and you don't have to think about it again. Rattan and Malawi mirrors are some of the most reliable pieces in a coastal home because the material carries the whole thing. The frame is the texture. The weave is the detail. You don't need to build a gallery wall around them or add anything else. They hold the wall on their own. Most mirrors come in metal or timber frames, and both are fine. But a rattan or cane frame brings a warmth that metal and timber don't — particularly against a painted wall. The weave catches light differently through the day. Morning sun picks up the blonde tones in the cane.  Afternoon light deepens the shadows between the strands.  It's one of those pieces that shifts with the room instead of just sitting there. Malawi mirrors — named for the cane-weaving tradition — tend to have a thicker frame with visible binding.  They read bolder than a fine rattan weave, which is why they work well on larger walls or in rooms that need something to anchor them. Where you hang one matters more than which one you choose. In an entry  A round rattan mirror above a console or bench is probably the easiest way to make a hallway feel finished. It gives you a last check on the way out and bounces light from the front door deeper into the house. If the entry is narrow, go round. It softens the corridor. Above a timber console This is the pairing that keeps working because the materials talk to each other without matching. A Malawi mirror above a reclaimed elm console, with a ceramic vase and a couple of hand-forged iron candlestands underneath. Three materials, one conversation. In a bedroom If you can find one large enough, lean it against the wall. A leaning mirror has a different energy to a wall-mounted one — less formal, more lived-in. If you're mounting it, position it opposite or next to a window so it pulls natural light across the room. In a living room It's less about checking your reflection (you're not doing that from the couch) and more about light and proportion. A large mirror on a living room wall opens up a smaller space and makes the room feel deeper than it is. Whatever you put underneath or around a rattan mirror, keep it natural and keep the shapes organic. A rattan frame next to a sharp black-framed print will make both pieces look like they're in the wrong room. Better: ceramic vessels, linen lampshades, dried native stems, timber with visible grain. If you're grouping objects on the console below, odd numbers and varied heights. A tall vase, a low bowl, a candle holder. Gives the eye somewhere to move. Shop mirrors

I've walked into a lot of homes where everything works — the furniture, the palette, the textiles — and then the lighting lets the whole thing down. Wrong material, wrong scale, hung at the wrong height. It's the thing people leave until last and it's usually the thing that needed the most thought. Coastal lighting has nothing to do with shells or rope or anything that looks like it was bought from a gift shop on the Esplanade. It's natural materials, light that feels soft without being dim, and shapes that don't try too hard. The easiest way in is through the material. Pick the material first and let the form sort itself out. Rattan gives you warm, filtered light — a woven pendant over a dining table does more for the feel of a room than any dimmer switch ever will. But if you want something with more presence, look at what the material itself is doing. Our Her Hands Coffee Collection pendants are made from recycled coffee grounds and waste magazine pulp. Each one is hand-formed by a single artisan in Southern Africa and takes up to seven days to shape. The surface is soft and matte — it reads closer to ceramic than paper. In warm light, they glow. In daylight, they sit quiet. The tone shifts depending on when you look at it — somewhere between sand and clay, never quite the same twice. That's why they work so well next to timber and linen. They don't fight the room. They just settle into it. Shop the Coffee Collection Then there are the woven pendants — and these are something else entirely. We carry three ranges each made by hand in different parts of Africa, and each with a completely different character. The BaTonga pendants from Zimbabwe are woven from natural grasses by the BaTonga People using vegetable dyes — or no dyes at all, relying on the natural contrast in the grasses themselves. Every shade is a one-off in shape, size and pattern, with an intricate design woven into the inside of the basket that you only see when the light hits it from below. They come in medium through to extra large, starting at around 50cm wide. The Ilala palm pendants — also from Zimbabwe — are taller, more sculptural. These are woven from ilala palm into striking organic shapes, each one unique in form and character. At 110cm tall they're statement pieces. Hang one alone over a dining table or cluster two or three at different heights for something more dramatic. The light filters through the weave and throws patterns across the ceiling that shift as the day moves. And the Madagascan fish trap pendants have the best origin story of anything on the site. They're constructed by village fishermen in Madagascar — originally used as actual fish traps in local waterways. The basket form is deceptively simple but built to be durable and strong. As pendant shades, they give off a warm, diffused glow through the woven grass. They're the kind of piece that makes people ask where you found it. All three are shade-only — no electrical fittings included — so you pair them with your own pendant cord and hardware. And every single one has the small variations that come from being made entirely by hand. That's not a disclaimer. That's the reason you buy them. On hanging height — this is where people consistently get it wrong. Too high and the pendant disappears into the ceiling. Too low and you're ducking under it or it blocks the person sitting across from you. Over a dining table, the bottom of the shade should sit about 70–80cm above the surface. Kitchen island, slightly higher — 80–90cm — because you're standing and moving under it. Single oversized pendant for a round table or an entry. Two or three smaller ones in a row for a long table or island. That's it. Don't overcomplicate it. And then there's the second layer — table lamps. Pendants handle the main light. A lamp on a console or bedside table handles the mood. Look for bases in raw materials — turned timber, unglazed ceramic, stone — paired with a linen shade in something neutral. The lamp shouldn't be the thing you notice. The light it throws should be. A well-lit coastal room feels like late afternoon. Warm, easy, nothing forced. If it feels like a lighting showroom, you've overdone it. Browse all lighting

We don't carry a piece because it has a good story. We carry it because the material stopped us, the making is honest, and it sits well alongside everything else on the site. If it also has a good story — and it usually does — that's a bonus, not the reason. Most of what we stock comes from small makers, craft enterprises and family workshops. People whose work traces back to a specific set of hands, a material source, and a reason for making it the way they do. Her Hands Her Hands is a Melbourne-based lighting brand founded by Sarré Guille. The pendants we carry are from the Coffee Collection — made in small batches by women artisans in Southern Africa using recycled coffee grounds and waste magazine pulp. Each shade is hand-formed by one artisan. It takes up to seven days. The coffee grounds get worked into the pulp during production, and what you end up with is a surface that's soft and matte — closer to ceramic than paper. A light eco-friendly varnish seals it, so they're fine in kitchens and bathrooms. The women who make these have permanent contracts, fair trade employment, and earn well above the minimum wage in their country. That's not something we've dressed up for marketing — it's the operating model. We carry four pieces from the Coffee Collection — cone and ripple silhouettes, from bedside scale through to full dining-room statement. Shop the Coffee Collection We carry another collection where the makers are all women and have been supported since 2009.  Everything is handmade using traditional techniques — hand-forged iron, hammered glass, natural materials shaped by hand rather than fed through a machine.  The pieces we carry are the functional ones: iron candlestands in brass and black finishes with visible hammer marks, and hammered glassware in smoke and blush. Each one has the small imperfections that tell you a person made it. That's the point — not a flaw, a feature. These are our cart builders. The $48 to $160 pieces that someone adds to an order because the texture caught their eye and the price doesn't need a conversation with anyone else. Shop decor What connects them The makers we work with don't share a single aesthetic. What they share is an approach — small-batch production, fair employment, traditional techniques used to make things for contemporary homes, materials that are natural or recycled or both. We're drawn to businesses where the craft is the enterprise. Where making the thing is what provides the employment, preserves the skill, and produces something you'd actually want in your house. Not because it comes with a feel-good label, but because the object itself holds up. If it didn't, the story wouldn't save it. Not everything on the site comes from a maker's workshop. Some of our suppliers are established Australian wholesalers with warehouses and printed catalogues, and we choose those pieces on merit too. But the maker-led pieces are where Coastalis started, and they're the ones we keep building around. Browse all collections