Built-In Wardrobes

Every wardrobe starts with the room it is going into. We measure the walls and the ceiling height, then design storage that follows the actual shape of the space, including the parts a freestanding piece would have to work around: a beam, a sloping section, a wall that is not quite square, the swing of the bedroom door. Finishes are chosen at the same time, whether that is timber, matt lacquer or a metal handle detail, so the cabinetry sits into the architecture rather than standing in front of it.

The gap above a freestanding wardrobe holds nothing except dust, and in a room with a high ceiling it can be a third of the available volume. Running the cabinetry to the ceiling recovers that as a top tier for suitcases, bedding and anything seasonal, and it removes the line that makes a bedroom feel lower than it is. The top section is usually given its own doors so the proportions stay right, and because the ceiling is rarely level, the run is scribed to it rather than cut to a single height.

A sealed wardrobe in this climate is a problem waiting to happen. Still air and high humidity are what clothes, leather and bags need in order to go musty, and it usually starts at the back where nothing moves. The answer is airflow rather than sealing harder: ventilation openings in the back or the plinth, a gap behind the carcase instead of a tight fit against the wall, and internal layouts that do not pack everything solid. Where a room is air conditioned intermittently, this matters more rather than less.

A wardrobe built tight against an external wall in an air-conditioned bedroom sits on the coldest surface in the room, and where cool dry air meets warm humid air, moisture collects. It is the back panel and the wall behind it that suffer first, long before anything is visible from the front. Leaving an air gap, avoiding a fully sealed back on an external wall, and checking the wall itself during the survey are what prevent it. On an internal wall none of this applies, which is why the survey decides the construction rather than the drawing.

The inside is where a fitted wardrobe earns its cost, and it is planned around what you own rather than around a standard configuration. Most wardrobes are given too much long hanging space and not enough short, because full-length coats are rare here and shirts, trousers and dresses are not. Two tiers of short hanging hold twice as much in the same width. Drawers work better than shelves for anything folded, since a stack on a shelf becomes unusable below the top item. Listing roughly what has to fit is the fastest way to get the proportions right.

Sliding doors are the answer where a hinged door would open into the bed or block the route past the wardrobe, and in a tight bedroom that is often the deciding factor. What they cost is depth, since the track and the overlapping panels take space from the inside, and access, because you only ever see half the wardrobe at once. Hinged doors give the full opening and the full depth, and need roughly the door width as clear floor in front. The room usually decides this rather than preference.

The outside of a wardrobe is chosen for the bedroom and the inside for the clothes, and they do not have to be the same. Externally, timber and matt lacquer both suit a large run, and a lighter finish keeps a full wall of cabinetry from closing the room in. Internally, a pale finish makes the contents visible in what is otherwise a dark box, and smooth surfaces are easier to keep clean than textured ones. Edges and the underside of shelves are where wear shows first, so they are worth specifying properly.

Where a bedroom has one wall long enough for the bed and not much else, the cabinetry can be built around it: tall units either side and a bridging section above, turning what would be a wall of doors into a composition with the bed at its centre. The units beside the bed absorb the bedside tables, and the bridge above takes what is used least. It needs enough ceiling height to avoid feeling low over the bed, and lighting built into the bridge so the recess does not read as a shadow.

A wardrobe deep enough to walk into or long enough to sit at becomes a dressing area, and at that point lighting stops being optional. A wardrobe interior is a dark box, and a light on the ceiling of the room does not reach into it. Strips inside the run, switched by the door or by a sensor, make the contents visible without the light staying on. A mirror wants to be lit from the sides rather than overhead, and a drawer unit at seated height turns a run of hanging space into somewhere you actually get ready.

A wardrobe takes more of the bedroom than its depth suggests, because it also needs the space in front of it. A hinged door swings roughly its own width into the room, and that space has to stay clear of the bed. Where it cannot, the options are sliding doors, a shallower run, or moving the wardrobe to a different wall. A reduced depth works for folded storage and for short hanging but not for hangers turned the usual way, so it is a decision about what goes in rather than a simple saving of centimetres.