I remember the first time I entered the Norrgavel shop in Stockholm. The smell of wood, the sophisticated simplicity of the design, the genuine materials, the rich muted colour palette. I was twenty years old, and I explored every inch of the store as obsessively as if it was a dream I needed to remember in the morning. I mimicked the look in my next apartment with dirty-pastel walls and wooden furniture with white transparent glaze. I'm not the wealthy ascetic they market to, but their products still make me obsess. Especially their cabinets. I can't take my eyes off them.