25 Ways to Romanticise Your Life
If I’m Going to Live This Life, I’m Going to Live It Romantically
When I lived in London, I had a rule. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it properly. Not in a posh way. In a romantic way. Whatever flowers were cheapest at the Co-op downstairs, shoved into a beautiful vase I’d thrifted from somewhere ridiculous, sitting on the windowsill like they cost a fortune. Good food from Ocado, even when the budget said maybe don’t. Red lipstick every single day. I’d put on a proper outfit just to nip out for milk, because I was in London, and that felt like a thing worth dressing for.
None of it was about impressing anyone. Half the time I didn’t see another human all day. It was about me, deciding that the version of my life I was actually living deserved a bit of effort. The flowers weren’t for guests. The lipstick wasn’t for a man. The nice cheese wasn’t for a dinner party. It was all for me, on a Tuesday, alone in my flat, choosing to make the ordinary bits feel a bit more cinematic.
That’s what romanticising your life actually is. It’s not an aesthetic. It’s not a TikTok trend. It’s not about becoming an It Girl or curating yourself into someone else’s Pinterest board. It’s the small, slightly delulu decision that your everyday life is worth showing up for, even when no one is watching. Here are 25 ways I do it now, back in Brisbane, with a demon cat and a different climate but the same general principle. Pick what fits. Ignore what doesn’t. Romanticising is supposed to feel like you, not a homework assignment.
Mornings That Don’t Hate You
Wake Up Without Being Yanked Into Consciousness
The alarm sound matters. The lighting matters. The first thirty seconds of your day set the entire tone, and starting it with a klaxon that sounds like a bomb threat is no way to live. Use something gentle. Let your eyes open before your feet hit the floor. Lie there. Breathe. The day will still happen if you give it a soft start instead of a hostile takeover.
Make Your First Drink Properly
For me it’s matcha, and I’m not making it at home like some sort of zen apothecary. I get it from my favourite café because I like the ritual of going somewhere, ordering, and carrying it back like a small trophy. Whatever your first drink is, treat it like it matters. A proper cup. A nice spot. A moment to actually taste it. Skolling something while opening emails is a war crime against your own morning.
Get Dressed for Yourself
You don’t need anywhere to be. You don’t need a reason. Put on something that feels good against your skin, even if it’s just nice loungewear and your good earrings. The version of you who got dressed will move differently to the version of you who stayed in yesterday’s t-shirt. Trust me on this one. It’s not vanity. It’s posture.
Move Your Body, Even Badly
A two minute stretch. A walk to the corner. A little dance in the kitchen while the kettle boils. You don’t need a full Pilates routine and a coordinated outfit. You just need to remind your body that it exists and is on your team. The day always goes better when you’ve thanked your shoulders for showing up.
Make the Bed
I know. I know. But it works. A made bed at 8am is a love letter to the version of you who crawls into it at 10pm exhausted and grateful. It takes ninety seconds. It changes the entire energy of the room. It’s the cheapest piece of self respect available to you and it’s right there, every single morning.
A Home That Feels Like a Hug
Fill Your Space With Scent
Candles. Incense. A diffuser bubbling away in the corner. Whatever you can use safely around your pets and your lungs, use it. Scent is the fastest way to tell your nervous system it’s safe. Find a smell that makes you exhale, and burn it shamelessly. Bonus points if the scent makes you feel like the main character in a moody French novel.
Lower the Lights at Night
Overhead lighting after 7pm is for hospitals and interrogations. Lamps. Fairy lights. A candle on the dining table. Soft glow puts your body on notice that the day is winding down, and it makes even a packet pasta dinner feel like a vibe. You don’t need a renovation. You need three lamps and a dimmer switch.
Tidy in a Way That Feels Kind
Not deep clean. Not Marie Kondo. Just clear the surfaces you actually look at. The kitchen bench. The bedside table. The little patch of carpet by the door where shoes go to die. Tidy is not a moral test. It’s a gift to the version of you who has to live here later tonight.
Buy Yourself Flowers Anyway
Or, if you live with a Lulu situation, buy yourself something else. A plant in a pretty pot. A bowl of citrus on the bench. Something living, something colourful, something that says I deserve beauty in my eyeline. Waiting for someone else to bring you flowers is a hobby that pays terribly.
Make One Corner Sacred
A reading chair. A windowsill. The end of the sofa where the light hits in the afternoon. Pick one tiny spot in your home and make it lovely. A throw, a candle, a stack of books you keep saying you’ll read. Having one space that feels intentional makes the whole place feel cared for, even if the rest is honestly held together with vibes.
Small Pleasures, Loud Devotion
Take the Long Way
If you don’t drive, like me, this one is even easier. Walk the pretty street. Get off the bus a stop early. Cut through the park instead of along the main road. The destination will still be there. Your nervous system will thank you for the extra eight minutes of trees and sky.
Eat Like You Like Yourself
Plate it properly. Sit at the table. Use the nice glass. Even if it’s leftovers, even if it’s toast, even if it’s a snack plate that’s mostly olives and cheese and one sad cracker. Eating off your lap in front of the TV is fine sometimes. Doing it every night is how you stop noticing your own life.
Curate a Soundtrack
Music shifts a room faster than anything else. A jazzy playlist while you cook. Something cinematic when you’re getting ready. Something gentle in the morning while the world starts up. Silence has its place, but so does a soundtrack that makes you feel like you’re in the opening scene of something good.
Read Something That Isn’t Your Phone
A novel. A magazine. A trashy memoir. Poetry, if you’re feeling fancy. Ten pages a night before bed, and watch how much better you sleep. The phone is a slot machine. A book is a small room you can step into. You’re allowed to leave the slot machine.
Wear Perfume to the Bin
This is a hill I’ll die on. Smelling lovely is not reserved for occasions. It’s not a reward you have to earn. Spray the good stuff on a Tuesday. Wear it to the supermarket. Put a little on your wrists before bed. Scent yourself daily and watch how much more present you feel in your own life.
Connection That Doesn’t Drain You
Send the Voice Note
The friend you’ve been meaning to message. The one whose name pops up and you think oh I’ll reply later. Send the voice note. Two minutes of you laughing about something ridiculous lands better than a text saying we should catch up that neither of you act on for six months. Be the friend you wish you had.
Plan a Slow Meal
Not a quick coffee. Not a let’s grab a drink and then race off. A long lunch. A dinner that goes for three hours. A boozy brunch where you stay until the staff start setting up for dinner service. The best relationships in my life are built on meals that refused to end on time.
Celebrate Tiny Wins Out Loud
You replied to the email you’d been avoiding. You went to the appointment you nearly cancelled. You washed your hair on a weekday. Tell someone. Tell yourself. Acknowledge it. Waiting for the big milestones to feel proud of yourself is how you end up never feeling proud at all.
Have a Signature Hosting Move
Mine is a Middle Eastern platter so generous it could feed a small village, all dips and pickles and warm bread and little bowls of things that take an hour to assemble and four minutes to demolish. Yours might be a playlist, a particular cocktail, a bowl of olives that always appears. Having one little signature makes your home feel like an experience rather than a venue.
Let People In, Slightly Messy
The romanticised version of hosting is not a spotless home and a perfect tablescape. It’s you, in a nice top, with a drink poured and the lamps on, saying come in, don’t look in the spare room. Real connection happens in homes that are lived in, not staged. Stop waiting for the renovation to invite people over.
Endings That Set You Up Gently
Watch the Sun Do Its Thing
Sunrise if you’re that kind of person. Sunset if you’re, well, me. Step outside or stand at a window and watch the light change for five minutes. It’s free. It’s daily. It’s the most reliable beauty available to you and we routinely ignore it because we’re inside refreshing the same three apps.
Have a Wind Down Sequence
Same order, every night, no thinking required. Mine involves dim lamps, a shower, skincare, a green tea, and a book until my eyes get heavy. The sequence matters more than the specifics. Your body learns the rhythm and starts powering down on autopilot, which is a gift to your sleep and your sanity.
Keep a Tiny Gratitude Note
Not a journal. Not three pages of reflection. Three things, scribbled in the notes app or on a scrap of paper. The good coffee. The text from your sister. The way the light hit the kitchen floor at 4pm. The brain finds more of whatever you ask it to look for, so ask it to find lovely things.
Pour a Proper Nightcap
A glass of wine on Friday. A herbal tea on Tuesday. Hot chocolate when it’s cold. Something that signals the day is officially over and you are no longer on call for anyone, including yourself. Drinking it slowly, in your good glass, on the sofa, with no agenda, is one of the great quiet pleasures.
Get Into Bed Like It’s a Treat
Fresh sheets when you can manage it. A spritz of pillow mist. The robe. The slippers. A book within arm’s reach. Climbing into a bed you’ve made nice for yourself is one of those small acts that quietly tells you you matter. Lulu disagrees and would prefer the bed be his, but we compromise.
Your Life Is the Only One You’re Getting
Romanticising your life isn’t a personality. It isn’t a Pinterest board or a five step morning routine you’ll abandon by Wednesday. It’s a decision you keep making in tiny ways, over and over, that the ordinary parts of your day are worth attending to. The cup. The walk home the long way. The wrist of perfume before bed. The voice note. The made bed. The good glass. None of it is a project. All of it is just you, choosing.
None of these things will fix a hard week. None of them will undo a bad day at work or a disappointing text or the general low hum of being a person in 2025. They aren’t a cure. They aren’t a hack. But stacked together, kept up gently over time, they shift the texture of your life. You start moving through your own days like someone who actually lives here, instead of someone just passing through waiting for the real life to start.
You don’t need to do all 25 of these. You don’t even need five. Pick the one that made you smile and start there tomorrow. Wear the perfume. Pour the wine. Buy yourself the cheap flowers and put them in the nice vase. Romanticise the bin run if you have to. Your life is the only one you’re getting, babe. Make it lovely.
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