When I moved into my 1940s-era home a couple of years ago, one of the first things that caught my eye was this odd little nook in the hallway. It wasn’t particularly deep, maybe around three feet tall, with a peaked top that almost made it look like it had some architectural purpose, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what it was supposed to be.

I stood in front of it, puzzled, thinking it was too small to hold books and way too awkward to use as a spot for a decorative vase—though yes, I tried and it looked ridiculous. For months, it just sat there, completely empty and unapologetically useless, staring back at me every time I passed by like a tiny riddle carved into my wall. Then one random afternoon, while browsing a forum dedicated to restoring old houses, I stumbled on a post that featured a photo of a hallway niche that looked nearly identical to mine. But this one had something in it that changed everything—a rotary phone. And just like that, it clicked.

I had a vintage telephone niche built right into my house. Suddenly, that weird little space in the wall made perfect sense. I didn’t grow up in a house that had one of these. By the time I was old enough to prank call my classmates, we already had cordless phones and answering machines. But I could immediately feel the nostalgia hit me. Back in the day, before cell phones and Wi-Fi, most families had a single landline phone—just one—and it was usually located in a central hallway where everyone had access to it. These niches weren’t just random architectural quirks; they were designed specifically to hold the family phone, along with maybe a shelf for the phone book, a notepad, or even a pencil holder. This little corner of the house was the original communication center.

It’s where moms made grocery lists while chatting with neighbors, where teenagers whispered secrets long after they were supposed to be in bed, and where every kid learned how to say “Tell them I’m not home!” like a pro. After learning this, I knew I couldn’t let my nook sit there untouched any longer. I briefly considered hunting down an actual vintage rotary phone to restore the space to its former glory, but have you seen the prices on those things? Instead, I opted for a more budget-friendly homage to the era. I found a reproduction rotary-style phone in the most perfect shade of mint green that happened to match my kitchen tile—yes, I matched it on purpose—and I snagged a small wooden shelf from a thrift store for five dollars.

I added a faux leather notepad and a cute “Call Mom” sign I discovered on Etsy, and boom—my vintage-inspired telephone niche was officially a thing. And let me tell you, it’s a conversation piece. Every time someone comes over, they notice it. One friend even said, “This feels like something from my grandma’s house, but in the best way possible.” I took that as a compliment. If you happen to have one of these charming little nooks in your home, don’t let it go to waste. There are so many ways you can make it your own. You could go all in with the nostalgia and find a real rotary phone, or take a more modern route and use it as a USB charging station. Add a spotlight and a shelf and turn it into a mini art gallery or display vintage books. You could even change it up seasonally—tiny pumpkins in fall, string lights in winter, and fresh flowers in spring. The possibilities are endless, and there’s really no wrong way to do it. What’s funny is that I used to walk right past that nook without even noticing it, like it was just part of the wall. But now, it’s a daily reminder that homes used to be designed with real personality, with thoughtful touches that had meaning. Even something as simple as a phone had a place of honor. Maybe it’s just a recessed hole in the wall, but to me, it’s a small tribute to a time when conversations happened without screens, when phones were tethered to walls, and when we actually stood still to talk to each other. I’m not about to ditch my iPhone anytime soon, but keeping a little slice of vintage charm alive in my hallway? That’s something I’ll always make space for.