Inside architect Rene Tan’s Singapore home this Christmas
Subtle seasonal touches bring warmth to a meticulously designed house
WINTER DOESN’T COME TO SINGAPORE, so Christmas here relies on imagination rather than climate. That suits architect Rene Tan just fine. In his three-storey home in Bukit Timah, the season is woven gently into the architecture itself – subtle, intentional, always secondary to space and light.
Tan is the co-founder of architecture firm RT+Q, which has designed close to 200 homes across the region. His 4,831-square-foot semi-detached house is unmistakably his: spare, deliberate, and composed around the choreography of how natural light hits planes of concrete, steel and timber.
The house won the Design Award for the Residential – Low-Density Housing category at the prestigious SIA Design Awards in 2020. It is admired for its intelligent spatial clarity, its pristine concealed storage solutions, and the way seemingly simple flat planes unfold into surprising volumes.
Its material palette – fair-faced concrete, steel, glass, timber – forms the true ornamentation of the residence. Hence, any Christmas decoration must be slipped in with restraint, respecting the architecture’s quiet authority first and foremost.
“Architecture, after all, is about movement and contemplation within space,” says Tan. “The way you move through a room – guided by light – shapes the entire experience.”
The design of the house leads; the decorations follow.
The art of understatement
Tan shares the home with his wife, Chuah Woei Woei, who works in finance, and their daughter, Lara, studying to be an opera singer at Harvard University.
Chuah says: “When we think of Christmas decorations, we see it as an enhancement of the visitor’s journey – from the entrance of the house into the living room, and then up.”
The journey, she explains, has been “choreographed horizontally and vertically” so that the visitor eventually ends up in the attic on the third floor for a quiet surprise.
As one approaches the house, the first encounter is the main gate – a sliding hedge of Murraya plants subtly turned into an Advent wall of sorts. Baubles, bells, ribbons and reindeer hang across the grid, catching light but never overwhelming the structure.
On the home’s fair-faced concrete facade, a giant inflatable Santa appears to scale the wall. It is a jolt of colour and festive humour, a playful counterpoint to the building’s formidable presence.
Step inside, and the foyer extends this gentle mischief. A cheerful snowman greets the visitor, its red hat glowing softly against the grey concrete. Beside it, sparkling gold reindeer and neatly wrapped gifts sit arranged around a geometric, primary-coloured chair designed by Gerrit Rietveld in 1917.
The living area itself is defined by clean modern lines and statement furniture, such as the classic Le Corbusier LC4 chaise longue and a gold-veined marble kitchen island designed by his office.
But they’re now gently complemented by festive textures and small pops of colour. There are pine cones and candles, miniature Christmas trees, and several gnomes with pointed red hats and long white beards. Elsewhere, ornaments appear discreetly on shelves and in small nooks – always playful, never intrusive.
Nothing competes with the architecture, a controlled study in proportion and materiality. The Christmas decor adds warmth and humour without overwriting the precision.
“The most tasteful approach to Christmas decor is not overdoing it,” says Tan. “In a home, especially, sometimes less is more.”
Surprisingly, there is no Christmas tree on the first floor. “The decoration,” explains Chuah, “culminates in the attic with the tree and the ‘visiting Santa’.”
The vertical movement of the house remains legible. Light pools naturally on each landing. Festive touches are placed sparingly to preserve clear sight-lines and uninterrupted circulation. Nothing obscures the upward flow from foyer to living room to stairwell to attic.
Where decorations fall away
As one ascends, the decorations fade almost completely, allowing the design – and only the design – to command attention. A massive bookshelf flanking the stairway holds hundreds of books on art, architecture, design and travel. It rises with the height of the steps, guiding the eye upward.
The second-floor landing opens into a hushed corridor lined with full-height, flush cabinetry. Each door is so perfectly concealed that the entire hallway reads like a single continuous timber plane. The effect is monastic, disciplined – just as Tan intended.
Behind these invisible doors, the private spaces unfold with restrained drama. The master bedroom is a retreat carved from light and proportion rather than ornament – a gracious, uncluttered room softened by the gentle wash of light through its windows. Decorations here are virtually non-existent – the room needs none.
But it is the double-volume walk-in wardrobe adjoining the master suite that steals the breath. Entering it feels like stepping into a private atrium for clothes – towering cabinetry, mirrored reflections and soaring height narrate a space that is both efficient and unexpectedly theatrical.
Lara’s bedroom continues this interplay of clarity and delight. Modest in footprint but rich in surprise, it hides a secret swivel-door built into a bookshelf – one that opens into a tiny music studio tucked into the home’s geometry.
This playful utility – a hallmark of Tan’s design language – keeps the upper floors feeling alive, adaptable, and quietly inventive.
To each his own
Then comes the final ascent.
The staircase leads to the attic, where the home’s only tree – a small, beloved, two-decade-old one – waits in its corner. Here, the light shifts. It settles on the pitched ceiling, the exposed beams, the simple ornaments.
“We’ve kept this little Christmas tree over the years because of its significance,” Chuah says. “We bought it more than 20 years ago, when we lived in an apartment with no space for a bigger tree.
“Through the years, we have become very fond of it, especially after Lara was born. It is a story we tell Lara – that Christmas need not be celebrated on a grand scale, and an intimate experience with a little tree can be equally joyous.”
Up here, the palette remains muted.
“The sparkling Christmas tree already provides every variety of colour,” Chuah notes. “We don’t need anything additional. All we need now is for Lara to come home from Harvard for Christmas – and the picture is complete.”
This restraint preserves the home’s architectural integrity. The season exists, but the house remains the protagonist.
Asked for an architect’s advice on how others should decorate their homes for Christmas, Tan says: “There really is no good or bad, correct or incorrect way of decoration. If one is happy decorating the house in their own way, they should express themselves and enjoy the moment, regardless of judgment.”
Still, the house feels like a lesson in restraint. Sometimes, a celebration needs only the lightest touch to feel heartfelt.
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