The Essence of Japandi Kitchen Design
I’ll be honest—when I first heard the term ‘Japandi,’ I rolled my eyes. Another portmanteau dreamed up by interior design magazines to sell paint, I thought. Then I actually spent time in a properly done Japandi kitchen, and I understood. There’s something about the combination that works on a level I hadn’t expected.
The fusion brings together Japanese wabi-sabi (that beautiful acceptance of imperfection and transience) with Scandinavian hygge (the Danish obsession with cosiness that we’ve all been mispronouncing for years). What makes the combination click is that neither tradition is about showing off. Both cultures developed aesthetics rooted in restraint, in making do beautifully, in finding elegance through subtraction rather than addition.
If you’re researching Japandi kitchen colours, you’ve probably noticed that the palette discussions online tend toward the generic. Lots of ‘soft neutrals’ and ‘earthy tones’ without much guidance on what that actually means when you’re standing in a paint shop with 47 different shades of greige staring back at you. This piece aims to be more useful than that.
I’ve spent the better part of eighteen months renovating a Victorian terrace, and the kitchen became my testing ground for these ideas. Some of what I’ll share comes from that experience—the colours that worked, the ones that looked great on a sample board and terrible on actual cabinets, the combinations I’d never have predicted. The ten colours here aren’t a definitive list, but they’re ones I’d stand behind.
Balancing Scandi Functionalism with Japanese Minimalism
Scandinavian design didn’t emerge because Nordic people have naturally impeccable taste (though they might). It developed because winters are long and brutal, light is precious, and there’s a practical Lutheran streak that finds ostentation distasteful. Everything in a traditional Scandinavian interior earns its place. If something’s purely decorative, it had better be exceptional.
Japanese design philosophy comes from different circumstances but arrives at similar conclusions. Space is limited in traditional Japanese homes. The aesthetic values of Buddhism and Zen emphasise simplicity. There’s a deep appreciation for natural materials that show their age—what the Japanese call ‘wabi-sabi,’ though that term has been so overused in Western design media that it’s practically meaningless now.
What these traditions share matters more than where they differ. Both reject clutter. Both value craftsmanship. Both prefer natural materials to synthetic ones. Both understand that empty space isn’t wasted space—it’s breathing room.
The colour palette is where you see this convergence most clearly. Neither tradition goes for bright, attention-grabbing hues. Scandinavian interiors historically lean toward cooler whites and light greys, while Japanese spaces tend toward warmer, earthier tones. Japandi finds the overlap: colours that feel organic rather than manufactured, muted rather than saturated, warm without being cloying.
Interior designer Courtney Cole put it well when she described Japandi as blending ‘Scandinavian simplicity and functionality with Japanese elegance and warmth.’ That’s not just marketing copy. A well-designed Japandi kitchen genuinely feels both efficient and welcoming—no small feat.
Why Colour Palette is Crucial for Serenity
There’s a reason hospitals don’t paint their walls red. Colour affects mood and behaviour in ways we don’t consciously register. Walk into a room painted deep crimson and your heart rate edges up slightly. Enter a space washed in soft blue-grey and your shoulders relax. These aren’t dramatic effects, but in a room where you spend significant time—where you make breakfast half-awake and prepare dinner after long days—they compound.
Japandi colour palettes work because they systematically avoid the extremes that trigger stress responses. You won’t find jarring contrasts or feature walls screaming for attention. Instead, the approach favours muted tones that recede rather than advance, warm neutrals that prevent spaces feeling clinical, and natural colours that echo materials like timber, clay, and linen.
I’ve visited dozens of kitchens while researching renovations, and the serene ones share common traits. They’re not monochromatic—that reads as sterile—but their colour variations stay within a narrow band. Different surfaces might be cream, oatmeal, and warm grey, all with similar undertones so nothing jars. The visual effect is cohesive without being boring.
Arianna Barone, a colour consultant with Benjamin Moore, suggests that Japandi colours should ‘evoke tranquillity, blending simplicity with sophistication.’ I’d add that sophistication here doesn’t mean complexity. It means the kind of restraint that requires confidence. Anyone can throw together an eclectic kitchen; it takes real conviction to commit to a quiet palette and trust it to work.
Neutral Foundations: Whites and Soft Greys
Every Japandi kitchen needs a foundation, and that foundation is almost always some variant of white, cream, or pale grey. But here’s where people go wrong: they grab the first ‘white’ off the shelf without realising that white is actually a spectrum of hundreds of subtly different colours.
The white you choose depends entirely on your lighting and materials. A pure brilliant white with blue undertones will make a north-facing British kitchen feel like a morgue. That same white might work beautifully in a sun-drenched Australian space. Context is everything.
Paper White and Warm Alabaster
Paper white—and I mean specifically the slightly warm, slightly textured shade of good handmade paper—sits in a useful middle ground. It’s clearly white, not cream, but there’s enough warmth that it doesn’t feel stark. Think of the colour of a freshly cracked egg’s interior, or high-quality watercolour paper. This white works on upper cabinets, walls, and ceilings without the harshness that brilliant white can create.
Warm alabaster pushes further toward cream. Behr sells a shade called Blank Canvas that their colour specialist Erika Woelfel describes as ‘a warm, welcoming cream perfect as a foundational colour.’ That’s accurate. Alabaster tones glow rather than reflect; they add warmth without obvious yellowness.
Here’s my rule of thumb: paper white for kitchens with abundant natural light and cooler-toned materials (think white marble, stainless steel, pale ash). Warm alabaster for spaces with less light or where you’re working with darker woods and brass hardware. Get sample pots. Paint them on large boards. Live with them for a week in different lighting conditions. What looks perfect in the shop will look completely different on your wall at 7am in January.
Stone Grey and Soft Mist
Grey has been overused in British interiors for the past decade—I know that. But there’s a difference between the cool, nearly blue greys that made every other house look like a showroom and the warmer, more organic greys that work in Japandi design.
Stone grey takes its name seriously. Think of river pebbles, weathered concrete, the colour of unpolished granite. There’s variation in it, a sense of depth that single-tone painted surfaces don’t usually achieve. When you find the right stone grey, it suggests the natural world rather than the paint factory.
Soft mist is lighter—almost approaching white but with enough grey that it creates definition. I used this on my kitchen walls with paper white cabinets, and the effect is exactly the layered, subtle contrast I was hoping for. Neither colour dominates. They sit alongside each other comfortably, like relatives who actually get on.
One practical note: grey hides fingerprints and smudges better than white. If you have children, or if you’re honest about how often you actually wipe down your cabinet fronts, grey might save your sanity. The matte finishes typical of Japandi design help too—they’re much more forgiving than gloss.
Earthy Tones and Organic Textures
This is where Japandi kitchens diverge from the colder Scandinavian minimalism that dominated the 2010s. Those all-white, all-grey kitchens photographed beautifully but often felt unwelcoming to actually cook in. Earth tones bring warmth without compromising the simplicity.
The colours here come from observation rather than invention. What shade is dried clay? What colour does linen turn after years of washing and sunlight? How does oak look when it’s been oiled but not stained? These aren’t arbitrary choices from a marketing team; they’re colours humans have lived with for thousands of years.
Oatmeal and Sandy Beige
Oatmeal sounds boring. I understand. But spent oats—before they’re cooked, before any liquid touches them—have a colour that’s quietly beautiful: warm without being yellow, pale without being cold, textured in a way that solid paint can’t quite replicate. Oatmeal walls in a kitchen feel enveloping rather than sterile.
Sandy beige goes a step further into warm territory. It’s the colour of Northern European beaches, of raw linen, of certain blonde woods. On large expanses of cabinetry, sandy beige creates weight without darkness. It grounds a space while keeping it light.
These colours work especially well with textured materials. If you’re using oatmeal or sandy beige on cabinets or walls, consider linen blinds rather than painted shutters. Look at woven pendant lights instead of metal fixtures. The colours are meant to echo natural fibres and materials; pairing them with the real thing reinforces the effect.
The danger with oatmeal and sandy beige is creating a space so neutral it verges on bland. You need texture variation, material contrast, perhaps a deeper accent colour somewhere to prevent the whole thing flattening out. A completely monotone room, however sophisticated the colour, gets boring fast.
Terracotta and Muted Clay
Terracotta in Japandi contexts is not the bright orange-red of Mediterranean exteriors. We’re talking about a quieter shade—the colour of old clay pots that have spent years outside, their surfaces weathered and faded. If the terracotta in your head is from an Italian holiday, dial it back significantly.
Muted clay barely registers as a distinct colour. It reads as a warm neutral until you place it next to something cooler, and then you see the depth it adds. Clay is an excellent choice for spaces that need some warmth but where anything more saturated would feel out of place.
I’d use these colours sparingly. A terracotta splashback against oatmeal cabinets creates focal-point warmth without overwhelming the room. A muted clay island beneath paper white perimeter cabinets adds interest while maintaining calm. Too much terracotta, and you’re in Tuscan farmhouse territory, which is fine if that’s what you want but isn’t Japandi.
Both colours share undertones with natural timber, which means they’ll harmonise with the wood finishes central to this aesthetic. That harmony isn’t accidental—it’s one of the reasons the combination works.
Deep Accents for Contrast and Depth
A palette of exclusively light neutrals creates problems. Spaces feel flat, photography-ready but somehow lacking life. Japandi design solves this through judicious darker accents—enough visual weight to anchor the room without disrupting the calm.
The key word is ‘judicious.’ You’re not creating feature walls or statement pieces. You’re adding depth the way a good pencil drawing uses shadow: enough to create dimension, not so much that it overwhelms the subject.
Sage Green and Olive Drab
Green connects humans to nature more directly than any other colour. We’re wired to find green environments calming—there’s evolutionary logic there about vegetation meaning water and food. Sage green, with its grey undertones, brings this calming effect while staying within Japandi’s muted parameters.
Sage isn’t the vivid green of fresh leaves. It’s dried herbs, eucalyptus, lichen on stone. There’s grey in it, sometimes brown. It’s a colour that looks like it’s been outside, weathered by sun and rain.
Olive drab (and yes, that’s a legitimate colour name, not just military terminology) pushes deeper and warmer. It’s green with significant brown undertones, which means it works remarkably well alongside natural wood. Olive cabinetry with light oak flooring creates a combination that feels organic in a way I didn’t anticipate until I saw it executed well.
Consider green for lower cabinets (keeping uppers light), for a statement range hood, or for open shelving against a neutral wall. The contrast creates visual interest; the specific shade maintains tranquillity.
Charcoal and Inky Blue
Charcoal is the deepest colour most Japandi kitchens will use. Not black—black feels too absolute, too manufactured. Charcoal retains enough variation, enough hints of brown or blue, to feel like a natural material. Burnt wood. Volcanic stone. Good quality slate.
Inky blue sits in similar tonal territory with different character. Think of Japanese indigo dyeing—centuries of craft tradition in that colour. Inky blue feels sophisticated and slightly unexpected, an alternative to the charcoal that every Instagram renovation uses.
Behr chose a shade called Cracked Pepper as their 2024 Colour of the Year—it’s somewhere between charcoal and deep greige, warm enough to avoid coldness while dark enough to anchor a space. That choice reflects a broader shift toward deeper, warmer neutrals after years of cool grey domination.
Use these deep tones in limited doses. A charcoal island against light perimeter cabinets. Inky blue lower cabinets with white uppers. Dark hardware against pale surfaces. The contrast should feel deliberate and balanced, not like you couldn’t decide what colour you wanted.
Integrating Natural Wood Finishes
Wood isn’t technically a paint colour, but discussing Japandi palettes without addressing timber would be absurd. Wood brings warmth, texture, and visual interest that no painted surface can match. It’s also where both design traditions converge—Scandinavian love for pale timbers, Japanese reverence for craftsmanship and grain.
The choice between light and dark wood significantly changes a kitchen’s feel. Light woods emphasise Scandinavian influence and brighten spaces. Dark woods add sophistication and lean toward Japanese aesthetics. Many successful Japandi kitchens use both, creating contrast within the wood tones themselves.
Light Oak and Ash for Scandinavian Brightness
Light oak has become so associated with Scandinavian design that the connection feels inevitable, but it’s worth understanding why. Oak is practical: hard, durable, resistant to wear. Its colour—that pale honey, sometimes almost yellow—warms a space without darkening it. The prominent grain adds visual texture even in otherwise minimal rooms.
Ash offers similar lightness with subtler grain. Where oak announces itself, ash whispers. I tend to prefer ash for cabinet fronts in smaller kitchens, where oak’s stronger grain pattern can become visually noisy. Ash reads as refined and quiet.
Pay attention to undertones when selecting light woods. Some oak finishes lean yellow, others lean pink or grey. Match these undertones to your paint choices. Yellow-toned oak alongside warm alabaster walls creates harmony. The same oak next to cool grey can clash oddly.
Light woods work especially well for floating shelves (breaking up painted surfaces), drawer fronts (adding warmth to an otherwise uniform cabinet run), and flooring (grounding the entire space in natural material).
Dark Walnut for Japanese Sophistication
Dark walnut brings unmistakable richness. Those deep brown tones—sometimes approaching purple, sometimes nearly red—create depth that light woods simply can’t. There’s a reason walnut has been prized for fine furniture making across cultures: it looks expensive because historically it was.
The risk with dark walnut is heaviness. Too much in a kitchen, especially a small or poorly lit one, and the space becomes oppressive. The solution is strategic placement: a walnut island against light cabinetry, walnut floating shelves against a pale wall, walnut drawer fronts providing rhythm within a lighter cabinet run.
Mixing light and dark woods in the same kitchen might seem risky, but when done well, it creates dynamic interest. Ash-fronted upper cabinets paired with a walnut island. Oak flooring beneath sage green cabinets with walnut open shelving. The key is ensuring the wood tones share compatible undertones—cool with cool, warm with warm—rather than fighting each other.
Practical Tips for a Harmonious Kitchen Layout
Theory is one thing; actual implementation is messier. The practical realities of kitchen design—lighting conditions, maintenance requirements, budget constraints—shape what’s actually achievable. Ignoring these considerations produces beautiful Pinterest boards and disappointing finished kitchens.
Choosing the Right Cabinetry Finish
Cabinet finish matters as much as colour. Japandi aesthetics strongly favour matte finishes—they absorb light rather than bouncing it around, creating that soft, calm atmosphere the style aims for. Matte also hides fingerprints and minor scratches better than gloss.
That said, matte finishes hold onto grease more stubbornly than smooth gloss. They’re harder to wipe clean. Satin finish offers a compromise: some light reflection, more forgiving of marks, easier to maintain. For a busy family kitchen, satin might be the pragmatic choice even if matte is the aesthetic ideal.
Always—and I cannot stress this enough—test colours at scale. A small paint chip bears almost no relationship to how that colour will read across several square metres of cabinetry. Get the largest sample you can. Paint it on actual boards. Live with it in your actual space for at least a week, observing at different times of day and under artificial light. Colours shift dramatically between morning and evening, between natural and electric light.
Two-tone cabinetry has become common in Japandi kitchens: lighter uppers, darker lowers. This makes spatial sense—it grounds the room while keeping eye-level surfaces light and open. It also allows you to use both foundation neutrals and deeper accents without committing entirely to either.
Coordinating Countertops with Your Palette
Countertops introduce natural materials that complement your colour choices. Stone, concrete, timber—each brings different characteristics and maintenance requirements.
Natural stone with subtle veining adds organic variation that prevents spaces feeling too uniform. White or grey marble works with neutral cabinets, though it stains and etches if you’re not careful (or don’t care, which is valid—worn marble has its own beauty). Quartzite offers similar aesthetics with better durability. Concrete suits the industrial edge sometimes present in Scandinavian design, particularly against warmer cabinet colours.
Timber countertops connect directly to the wood finishes already discussed. A butcher-block section on an island adds warmth and creates a practical prep surface. But timber needs regular oiling and careful treatment around water. If you’re not committed to the maintenance, don’t install it where it’ll deteriorate.
Consider visual weight. Light countertops on light cabinets create airy spaciousness but risk feeling insubstantial. Dark countertops on light cabinets provide grounding contrast. Matching countertop and cabinet tones produces seamless flow but needs textural variation to avoid flatness.
The most successful Japandi kitchens I’ve seen layer multiple materials: perhaps marble perimeter countertops with a timber island top, or concrete surfaces alongside warm wood cabinet accents. This layering creates interest while maintaining the cohesive, natural feeling that defines the style.
Making It Your Own
These ten colours aren’t a prescription. You don’t need all of them, and you certainly shouldn’t try to use them all simultaneously. Start with your foundation—probably some variant of white, cream, or pale grey—and build from there. Add warmth through earthy tones or natural wood. Consider whether deeper accents would benefit your specific space and lighting conditions.
The colours that make Japandi kitchens serene share common qualities: they’re muted rather than vibrant, natural rather than synthetic, warm without veering into territory that feels dated or cloying. They work together because they belong to the same visual family.
What makes these spaces genuinely successful isn’t any individual colour choice. It’s the restraint behind the overall approach. A Japandi kitchen invites slowing down, appreciating quality over quantity, finding elegance through simplicity. The colours should support that invitation.
Get your samples. Test them properly. Trust your instincts about what feels right in your specific space. And remember that a kitchen, above all, is a room for cooking and eating and living—not for photographing. Choose colours you’ll enjoy standing among at 6am on a Tuesday, bleary-eyed and making coffee. That’s the real test.