It probably goes without saying that I am just a wee bit into white interiors. White walls, white floors, white ceilings, white counters, white furniture, white accessories. I sometimes think I could eat, sleep, breathe white. But it is the New Yorker in me – and I use that term with generous trepidation given that according to real New Yorkers you cannot call yourself one until you’ve lived there for minimum 10 years. But still – the two years I have lived in the big bad city have afforded me a bit of a love of black. It really isn’t an exaggeration when films show a sea of black wool coats, black boots, black hats, black bags and black umbrellas floating down Manhattan streets. Apart from the prints and colours that the blistering summer heat prompts, anyone living in New York will inevitably find their closet overflowing with black black and more black. Sometimes, come the dark winter months, I actually feel uncomfortable when I am not in black or at least a deep charcoal.

So undoubtedly the comeback of black into the home isn’t entirely opposed by this faux New Yorker. For me there isn’t anything more beautiful than the contrast of sharp black against those said white walls, white floors, white ceilings etc.

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