Stripping a bathroom to studs and subfloor is the only version of the job where the room stops being a set of surfaces and becomes an assembly whose condition can be seen. How much correction the scope carries, how long the room is out, what can be put right while it is open — all of it is decided by what sits behind the board, and none of it is knowable from the outside.
Demolition is a survey as much as it is destruction. The findings repeat across island housing of a certain age. A subfloor gone soft in a ring around the toilet flange, from a wax seal that failed years ago and wept a little with every flush. No blocking anywhere in the walls. A fan duct that ends in the attic. An exterior wall with no insulation, or with a vapour barrier on the wrong face. A shower base that has been leaking into the joist bay for a decade without ever marking the ceiling below. These are era-normal rather than misfortune.
What follows is a fixed order, and physics fixes it rather than preference. Framing corrections, then plumbing and electrical rough-in, then inspection where the scope calls for it, then insulation and vapour control, then board, then continuous waterproofing, then tile, then grout, then glass, then fixtures. Each stage buries the one before it, so anything skipped costs a demolition to retrieve. Two waits sit at the end and cannot be pulled forward: glass is templated to the tiled opening once grout has cured, and a stone top is templated to the cabinets after they are set and levelled.
The strip is also the only opportunity for a short list of items that cannot be bought later — a floor brought level across its whole span, blocking for a floating vanity or a rail, a dedicated circuit, a duct rerouted to a real outside terminal, a niche framed between studs at a chosen height. That list is worth settling while the studs are still visible.