Decisions get made in the order they become interesting. Tile first, because tile is enjoyable. Cabinetry somewhere in the middle. The shower valve at the last minute, because nobody realised it was a decision. The build needs close to the reverse order, and that gap is where most of the frustration in a renovation lives. The useful planning document is not a mood board; it is a list of which decisions close when.
Rough-in is the first hard deadline. Everything that ends up inside a wall or under a floor has to be settled before it: the valve body and its depth relative to the finished tile face, whether the pan is floor-mounted or wall-hung, where a bath filler lands, the niche framing, blocking for grab bars and for frameless glass hinges, a box for a light beside the mirror, and whether the floor is being heated. None are difficult choices; all are costly to reverse, because reversal means reopening what was closed.
Tile has an earlier deadline than most people expect, because it is a dimension before it is a finish. Its thickness sets the finished floor level, which sets the drain height and the threshold. Its format decides whether a single-plane fall works and how flat the substrate has to be. Its module sizes the niche. All of that has to be known before the waterproofing detail is set, and waterproofing goes on long before the tile it was detailed for is unwrapped. Choosing tile late does not delay tiling — it delays a stage three steps earlier.
The rest of the order follows lead time rather than logic. Made-to-order cabinetry and stone tops are the usual long poles, and a top cannot be templated until the cabinets stand, so it is the last item to arrive and the first to be ordered late. Glass is templated after tile. Tile needs enough surplus from one dye lot to finish the room, counted before demolition rather than discovered short at the end.