I learned from an interview with Johanna Hogg that Julie’s London apartment was reconstructed entirely from Hogg’s memory to match her own student flat. (Lawrence, Elle Decor, 2019).

The space and objects within it follow the storyline as it evolves with Julie’s character arc. The apartment becomes an environmental narrative, displaying personal items that give us backstory and let us into her life — even showcasing furniture from Hogg’s original flat. (Lawrence, Elle Decor, 2019).

For example, the gold Louis XVI-style bed, the Leonardo trestle table designed in 1940 by Achille Castiglione, and the desk were all key pieces she said helped her access her memories and emotions from that time. Hogg even encouraged Honor Swinton Byrne to bring some of her own personal objects and books so that she would feel “at home” on set. (Lawrence, Elle Decor, 2019).

Some of my favorite elements of the flat are the mirror-tiled walls, the silver foil bedroom walls, and the fact that the décor is essentially Julie’s toolkit for her studies: the typewriter, the cameras, the editing equipment.

The way she displays them in the bookcase strikes a balance between minimalism and personality — something that is often missing in typical minimalist interiors.

I also loved the flexibility of the small common room. By swapping out folding chairs and table, the room could transform from private dinners with parents to late-night parties with friends.

This reminded me of many of the spaces I lived in during college, which were usually far more static — either because I was fixated on one “look” or because I didn’t have the social life to justify a space that could flex.

Designing something based on memory is tricky. I’ve noticed that the spaces where I spent less time living are harder to recall — they turn into stripped-down versions in my mind, just basic forms and layouts. But my childhood home is etched in full color: I can still remember the bedding, the wallpaper, even the sounds, smells, and views from different rooms.

It makes me wonder, why do some spaces stay with us so vividly? Is it the scale, the light, the unique elements — a loft, a view, a skylight, a fixture? Or is it the period of life itself, when certain events hold more weight and the memories become sharper?

This makes me think of a home in my neighborhood that burned in a fire. The owners are attempting to rebuild it exactly as it was. At first I wondered why — but then I thought, why not? A home is a vessel that holds memories.

This reminds me of the book Moonwalking with Einstein by Josh Foer, which discusses ways to improve memory. Certain people memorize speeches by “storing” parts of their speech in the rooms of their home, so that walking mentally through the house helps them recall each section. For example, you might store your opening in the entryway, then assign each room to a different key point, walking through the house in your mind as you give the speech.

Maybe this family is doing something similar by recreating their home to preserve memories rather than trying to make new ones, or to make sure they never forget.

Either way, it feels like a subconscious pull to revive what was lost - and maybe that’s the kind of thing that makes for a future film or novel.

So, what story does your space tell? What narrative are you trying to communicate? Do your possessions subtly convey your history, personality, and motivations, even your financial status? Which symbolic objects hold weight for you, and how are they placed to reveal themselves?

Maybe the memories we keep are the only souvenirs of who we are.

Sources:
Lawrence, Vanessa. “This London Flat Is the Site of a Director’s First Cinematic Love.” Elle Decor, 20 May 2019. https://www.elledecor.com/life-culture/a27483528/the-souvenir-film-joanna-hogg-interview/