Our front door opens directly into the living room. There is no hallway, no mudroom, not even a little alcove. There's a rectangle of floor between the door and the edge of the rug that is roughly two square feet, and in March, when every boot comes in carrying gray slush, that rectangle does a lot of work.
When we moved in, the "entryway" was wherever we dropped things. Shoes piled against the wall. Keys went on the kitchen counter, or in a coat pocket, or into the void. Sam's work bag lived on the couch. Within a month I'd tripped over his sneakers enough times that we sat down and treated those two square feet like a real room. Here's what's there now, and why it works.
The rules we gave ourselves
Before buying anything, we wrote three rules. They sound fussy, but they kept us from filling the space with clutter organizers that were themselves clutter.
- No drilling. Our lease allows small nail holes but nothing bigger, and I want the full deposit back someday.
- Nothing that sticks out past the door swing. If the door hits it, it doesn't belong there.
- Each person gets the same amount of space. Otherwise one of us slowly takes over, and it's not me. (It's me.)
What's actually in the two square feet
A narrow boot tray
A plastic boot tray, about 30 inches long and 15 deep, sits against the wall next to the door. It holds four pairs of shoes: one everyday pair each and one weather pair each. That's the limit. Everything else lives in the bedroom closet. In winter the tray catches salty water so it doesn't eat the wood floor. In summer it holds sandals and a pair of flip-flops for running down to the basement laundry.
Four hooks, no holes
Above the tray, we hung a slim wooden rail with four hooks on it, using two small finishing nails, which the lease allows. It holds one coat each, Sam's work bag and my tote. Adhesive hooks were our first attempt, and they held for about two weeks before a wet winter coat brought one down at 2 a.m. and scared the cat off the bed. The rail spreads the weight and leaves two tiny holes that a dab of spackle will hide.
A tray for keys, on a shelf that was already there
Our building has old radiator-style covers in some units. Ours has a narrow wooden shelf by the door that covers a baseboard heater section. We put a small ceramic dish on it for keys, earbuds and the mailbox key, and a slim letter holder for mail that needs action. That shelf used to be a junk pile. Giving it a specific job made it stay clear.
One note: we keep a few inches of clearance around the heater itself. Nothing hangs over it or leans on it, for obvious reasons.
An over-the-door rack for the in-between stuff
The back of the front door holds a hanging organizer with clear pockets: winter hats and gloves, sunglasses, reusable shopping bags, dog-walking-style bags we use for Olive's litter, and a lint roller. The rack hooks over the top of the door, so no holes, and it doesn't stop the door from closing.
What we tried that failed
A small bench. It was charming in the store. At home it stuck out past the door swing, became a pile of coats within days, and Olive used it as a launchpad to the top of the bookshelf. It moved to the foot of the bed in the bedroom and now holds folded laundry, which, fine.
A mirror on the wall by the door. I love the idea. But the only spot was right where the door handle swings, and an adhesive-mounted mirror felt like a bad bet. I check my teeth in the bathroom like a normal person now.
A "shoes off" sign. We didn't need one. We just don't own enough shoe space for guests to bring theirs in, so people take them off and leave them on the mat in the hall outside our door, which is how most people in our building seem to do it anyway.
The habit matters more than the stuff
None of these things work unless we use them the same way every time. The rule in our apartment is that coming home has an order: shoes on the tray, coat on the hook, keys in the dish, mail sorted standing up before it touches the counter. Junk mail goes straight into the recycling bin, which lives under the kitchen sink about four steps away.
Sam was skeptical about sorting mail standing up. He's now the most militant about it, because he's the one who used to lose envelopes.
What it cost
| Item | Approx. cost |
|---|---|
| Boot tray | $12 |
| Wooden hook rail + two finishing nails | $24 |
| Ceramic key dish (thrift store) | $3 |
| Letter holder | $8 |
| Over-the-door pocket organizer | $15 |
| Total | about $62 |
Today the slush is mostly gone and the tray is drying out. The first spring jacket is on the hook next to my winter coat, which feels optimistic. Olive is sitting on the doormat, as she does every evening at 5:45, waiting for the sound of Sam on the stairs. Two square feet, and it's her favorite spot in the apartment.
