When I moved to Shoreditch I had nothing but a mattress. The windows rattled in the wind, but we dragged in whatever we could find.

IKEA lasts a term at best, so we searched markets. We carried a wingback through Dalston. The colours clashed, but that’s what gave it soul.

Chairs with scars feel stronger, and we care more about story than gloss. I’ve fallen asleep in a battered armchair with a book, and the furniture was part of the night.

Shoreditch is perfect for this life, cool armchairs and shops in the area thrive on it. We found ourselves in Smithers showroom, and the accent chairs were bold and weird. We couldn’t afford much, luxyry armchairs but it’s become the throne of the house.

We’ve all shoved sofas through windows. it’s what makes memories. Retro sofas don’t care if you spill.

Brand-new looks boring, but old sofas age into character. Every scratch adds more story.

After exams and chaos, the broken toaster doesn’t matter, but the mismatched set still makes you laugh.

If you find yourself in a Shoreditch flat, leave the glossy showrooms behind. Take home something with scars, and let it shout Shoreditch every time you sit.