Because every woman needs some space of her OWN.

Jamila Rizvi. Queen of the Girl Cave Kingdom (at her place).


I live with two boys, well, men really. But they act like boys.

And while these gentlemen really are the fake snow on the Christmas tree of my life and living with them is an absolute blast… well, they’re men. They fart, they drink too much, they watch endless hours of cricket, there are half-consumed protein shakes all over our kitchen, they leave toilet seats up, they don’t close the bathroom door and sweaty gym gear is always on the floors.

This is why I need: My Girl Cave. The lady equivalent of a Man Cave but free from Xbox game consoles, pool tables, tools hanging from the ceiling and certainly no posters of topless women with AFL team colours painted across their breasts on the walls.

Our two story house is a strange one, built into a hill, so that the top half is considerably larger than the bottom.

And the glorious bottom half is mine. All mine.

My darling housemates know that prior to descending the stairs into my room they have to (a) knock and (b) yell out to check I’m decent. They regularly complain that it ‘smells like girl down there’ but I know they’re jealous. You can tell because when they come home late (and drunk), they always invade, wanting to sit on the bed and debrief the night that was, revealing the secret truth that every boy loves a slumber party.

My girl cave is my haven away from the boys. Its most noticeable feature is the books, which are excessive in number – they cover the multiple bookshelves, every piece of bench space and more recently are being piled up in corners like unstable, unattractive ornaments. Then of course there’s the clothes – which due to a lack of a walk-in-wardrobe – cover every spare piece of floor and cupboard space that hasn’t already been taken up by the books.

It’s clean but not neat. I’m a creative dresser and that means trying on 2-3 (okay 7-8) outfits each morning and then screaming to the boys upstairs that “Everything I own is HIDEOUS! How is it even possible that anyone let me buy ANY of this stuff. I can’t wear IT. I refuse to wear it. I’m going shopping”.

My room is one of my favourite places to be because it’s the only space where I can block the rest of the world out and just have some time to myself. And when I asked around the office? It seems that I’m not alone. All of us have a cave.


My girl cave is my home study. It has a door and a couch and lots of books and a computer no one but me is allowed to use. There is also a full complement of sstationery in the top drawer, but the kids know that NO MATTER HOW DESPERATE THEY ARE FOR STICKY TAPE, mine is not to be touched, ever.


“My girl cave is my walk-in wardrobe. It’s so girly that boys have been known to feel physically ill when within a ten-metre radius of it. It is my happy wonderland of all things shiny and sparkly. It’s also guarded by a two-metre pink and purple stuffed unicorn. True story.”


My girl cave is a little messy at the moment. I’m in the midst of moving house so it’s scattered between my handbag (currently containing my toothrush + contact lense supply), the floor of my car (littered with books and my favourite dresses) and the carry-on suitcase I’m living out of (which is full of shoes.)”


I have a 4 year old and a 10 month old … so my Girl Cave isn’t a place. Well, it *could* be a place but I’d be interrupted every 5 mins with requests to play fairy princess dress up party (where, interestingly, I am always forced to play the princess’s assistant. Just sayin’.)

So at this stage in my life my Girl Cave is more a time of day than a place …  it’s either 6am when the house is quiet or 10pm when everyone is asleep and I have the luxury of pottering around the house doing my own thing.

Where is your girl cave?

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