Whenever I design a bedroom, I always return to a few guiding ideas. They’re never about chasing trends or making a space look ‘perfect’ – they’re about how a room feels when you’re actually living in it. For me, a bedroom should grow softer, cosier, and more beautiful with time, not the opposite.

Here’s what I always keep in mind.

1. Start with Layering

For me, layering is what makes a bedroom feel finished. Without it, a space can feel flat or one-note. Bringing in different textures and tones instantly adds warmth and depth. It doesn’t have to be complicated – just thoughtful combinations that make the room feel more inviting and lived in.

2. Lighting Changes Everything

Lighting shapes the entire mood of a bedroom. Overhead lights have their place – usually when you’re tidying up or changing the sheets – but beyond that, I rarely switch them on. Instead, I rely on layered, low-level lighting: lamps on the bedside tables, and, when space allows, a pair of sconces or even a soft-glowing pendant. Everything is dimmable, always. I want my bedroom to feel bright and energising in the morning, then melt into something gentle and tranquil by evening.

3. Less Really Is More

I think bedrooms get overwhelmed so easily. A few too many pieces of furniture, or surfaces covered with little things, and suddenly the whole room feels busy. I like to pare things back – just the essentials, with space to move and breathe. When a room is edited down, it instantly feels more restful.

4. Materials That Age Gracefully

This is a big one for me. I’d much rather invest in pieces that will still look beautiful years from now than buy something that feels ‘finished’ straight away. Natural wood, linen, stone, and leather all develop character over time. Linen curtains soften and drape beautifully, wood develops a rich patina, stone acquires little imperfections that make it feel authentic, and leather gains that warm, lived-in richness that only improves with age. These are the subtle details that make a bedroom feel truly lived-in and welcoming.

For me, these four materials are always the foundation of a bedroom that feels right. They may seem like small choices individually, but together they completely transform the way a space feels – today and for years to come.

Not to generalise too much, but being a sociology major can sometimes feel like a subtle red flag that you’re still figuring out what you actually want to do after graduation. Or… maybe that was just me? I remember finishing university with absolutely no idea what came next. Then someone hit me with the classic (and slightly cliché) question: ‘What would you do if money weren’t an object?’ In other words: what did I really want?

Deep down, I knew the answer – I wanted to be an interior designer. But at the time, I had no idea what that even looked like in practice, or how someone actually becomes one. So I packed up my life and moved from New Orleans to New York City, where I landed a very entry-level fashion job at Condé Nast. I loved being close to the glamour, but schlepping garment bags across Manhattan to random photoshoots wasn’t exactly soul-stirring work.

I still vividly remember sitting in a spray-tan salon (yes, we’re going there), when I overheard a girl around my age – maybe 23 – casually mention that she was an interior designer. I had to physically restrain myself from turning to her, grabbing her by the shoulders, and begging, ‘How did you start? Where do you even begin?’

This was pre-social media. I didn’t know of any big-name designers, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have known how to reach them. There wasn’t a roadmap - at least not one I could see.

When I finally made the leap from fashion to interiors (by returning to design school at nysid.com ), I really had no idea what to expect. My only references were interior designers in movies, who always seemed to live impossibly glamorous lives – karate-chopping pillows, carrying around bolts of luxurious fabric, sipping champagne in chic showrooms. And while there is definitely a glamorous side to this job, that’s only a fraction of the reality.

So today, I thought I’d pull back the curtain and share a little behind-the-scenes look at what I truly love about being an interior designer… and a few things I could happily live without.

What I Love the Most About Being an Interior Designer

Here’s an honest look at what I love about interior design.

1. Creating Beauty

There are days – often sparked by being in a space completely void of design, and sometimes by a mood I can’t quite put into words – when I’m hit with a restless, almost urgent energy. The only thing that soothes it is being surrounded by beauty. (My husband recently suggested this might not be the most practical way to live – yet I respectfully disagree.)

When I can channel that energy into a client project, it’s utterly satisfying. It’s as if the vision takes over: I can immediately see how the space should look, function, and, above all, feel. Every detail, from the color on the walls to the smallest piece of flatware, comes together in perfect harmony. The whole space just clicks – it sings, as if the home is designing itself. Creating a world from a blank slate never loses its magic, and that sense of possibility is what keeps me coming back, project after project.

2. Using Both Sides of my Brain

One of the things I love most about interior design is that it allows me to use both sides of my brain. There’s the creative side – the part most people imagine when they think of an interior designer’s day: selecting fabrics, sketching ideas, and envisioning beautiful spaces. But just as vital (and often overlooked) is the practical side. Every project requires careful coordination – balancing budgets, managing timelines, overseeing vendors, and maintaining a high level of organization from start to finish.

When the creative flow isn’t quite clicking, I actually find it grounding to lean into the execution side. There’s a satisfying rhythm to checking things off the list, knowing that all the behind-the-scenes work is what allows the design itself to come to life. At the same time, running a small business adds another layer of creativity: juggling proposals, contracts, invoicing, marketing, and client communications. The business side is its own challenge, and I’ve come to truly appreciate how essential it is to making every project succeed.

3. Collaboration and Connection

Design is deeply personal, and it gives me the chance to connect with people in a way that few professions do. I get to learn about their daily routines, family dynamics, habits, and even the little quirks that make them who they are – all so I can create a space that truly reflects and supports their life. Some of the most fulfilling parts of this work are the relationships I build along the way – not just with clients, but also with the artisans and tradespeople who help bring each project to life.

For the most part, we’re fortunate to work with incredibly kind, trusting clients who are a joy to collaborate with – and who go out of their way to show how much they value our work. That mutual trust makes all the difference.

Over time, I’ve realized that one of the most important decisions I make is who I choose to work with. Mutual respect and good chemistry matter, whether it’s with a client or a contractor. And while I know that being selective is a privilege – not always available at every stage of business – I don’t take that privilege for granted.

What I Don’t Love

The three honest challenges and frustrations that come with being a designer.

1. Blurred Boundaries

While most of our clients are kind, respectful, and a true joy to collaborate with, there are occasional experiences that remind me just how vital boundaries are. Whether it’s being treated dismissively, expected to be available 24/7, or navigating a lack of trust in the process, it can be exhausting. Mutual respect is non-negotiable, and I’ve learned to safeguard that space thoughtfully and deliberately.

2. Unrealistic Expectations

While design shows have done wonders in helping people appreciate the value of good design, they’ve also created a false impression of how quickly and cheaply a space can be transformed. The truth is that thoughtful, enduring design takes time, care, and investment. It’s not all fast-forward and dramatic reveals. And while working within a budget is completely understandable, trying to value-engineer every single detail can backfire – cutting corners often compromises quality, and the finished space rarely feels as considered or lasting as it could.

3. Design by Committee

One client is usually straightforward. Two can be a little tricky. But when clients start polling friends for opinions, and the people involved in the design – like spouses – aren’t communicating directly with each other, things can get complicated fast. I’ve worked on projects where every decision turns into a mini-survey: ‘What do you think of this color?’ or ‘Should we go with this style or that one?’ Meanwhile, one spouse loves a look that the other dislikes, and neither is having the conversation.

While input can be helpful, too many voices and a lack of clear communication often dilute the original vision and slow progress. When clients constantly change their minds based on others’ feedback, moving forward becomes a real challenge. Sometimes, the hardest part of my job isn’t the design itself – it’s the diplomacy required to keep everyone aligned and the project on track.

Despite the occasional stress and late-night problem-solving, I wouldn’t trade this work for anything. The joy of turning a house into a home, of reflecting someone’s personality and lifestyle through design – that’s what makes it all worthwhile. So yes, I love fabric swatches and puzzling together floor plans. But even more than that, I love helping people feel good in the spaces where life happens.

Perhaps it was the pandemic, or perhaps it’s always been this way, but lately, luxury feels less about appearances and far more about how a home actually feels. Of course, everyone wants a beautiful house – that goes without saying – but what people crave most now is comfort, tactility, and atmosphere. The spaces we truly love don’t just look exquisite; they envelop you. They remind you why home is, quite simply, better than anywhere else.

It’s a modern take on Louis Sullivan’s famous adage, ‘form follows function’, which I mentioned in my last letter. Today, function isn’t just about how a chair works – it’s about how it feels to sink into one for three hours at a dinner party. Clients want sofas upholstered in cashmere and filled with down that practically beg for a nap. They want beds layered in linens that feel broken-in from the moment you climb in. They want luxury kitchens where the countertop edge is a soft double bullnose rather than a harsh 90-degree corner. In short, the details matter more than ever, because they’re what make a house feel like home.

This new idea of luxury lives in the little surprises: the sherpa texture your hand brushes as you pass a sofa arm, the way wool-satin curtains turn sunlight into a soft, flattering glow, or the silk or linen wall covering you only notice when you lean in and realise the room feels warmer, quieter, softer. That’s the moment you think – this is special.

The shift is that people are no longer chasing what glitters. They seek spaces that cocoon. A home that feels layered, lived-in, and thoughtfully considered will always outlast a glossy showpiece. A mohair throw draped over a chair, lined drapery that just grazes the floor, a silk-wrapped light switch discovered by accident – these are the details that whisper luxury. They don’t demand attention; they quietly earn it.

Of course, ‘effortless’ design is a myth. To make a home feel indulgent, every detail must be carefully considered. The sofa can’t just look chic; it has to invite you to sink in with a book. Dining chairs should read as sculptural from afar, yet let you linger over dessert without shifting in your seat. Materials must withstand dogs, toddlers, and the occasional glass of red wine – all while remaining timeless. Emotional luxury is its own discipline: part science, part magic, all restraint.

And yet, it’s deeply personal. Comfort doesn’t look the same for everyone. For one client, it’s crisp percale sheets; for another, a velvet quilt that feels like a hug. Some find it in candlelight and silence; others in the hum of a full house. The point is that a home isn’t a stage set. It’s a living, breathing reflection of the people who inhabit it. Emotional luxury honors that truth.

In an age of perfectly styled rooms and endless scrolls of inspiration, emotional design feels like an antidote. Pretty is easy. What lingers is how a space makes you feel. The homes that endure aren’t the ones that impress at first glance; they’re the ones that let you exhale, curl up, and never want to leave.

The future of luxury isn’t about more – it’s about meaning. It’s about beauty you can touch, craftsmanship you can feel, and rooms designed to be lived in, not merely admired. True luxury doesn’t shout; it hums quietly in the background, revealing itself over time. The most extraordinary home isn’t the one that looks the part – it’s the one that feels like you’ve finally arrived.

Art has the power to transform a space far beyond its aesthetic value. It’s not simply about filling walls; it’s about curating pieces that tell your story and bring a sense of vitality to your home. As a designer, I believe decorating with art is as essential as furniture or finishes. It’s what gives a room its heartbeat.

Let the Art Lead the Design

For many clients, a favorite painting, photograph, or sculpture is the best starting point for a room. When art comes first, it naturally shapes everything that follows. Designing a room is much like composing a painting: the art becomes the focal point, while furnishings, finishes, and lighting form the supporting brushstrokes. This approach ensures a space feels intentional, layered, and cohesive.

Choose What Resonates, Not What Trends

Art is personal! It should resonate with your history, passions, and sense of place. I often guide clients to invest in works that reflect who they are, whether that’s a reminder of their hometown, a travel memory, or simply a piece that stirs an emotion. Trends can be fleeting, but when you connect with a work of art, it transcends fashion and becomes timeless in your home.

Let Art Shape Your Palette

One of the most practical ways to incorporate art into design is to use it as a color guide. A bold canvas rich with blues and greens can inspire an entire living room palette, while a monochrome photograph may steer you toward a tonal, minimalist scheme. Art gives you the confidence to be adventurous. A streak of crimson in a painting might translate into a velvet pillow, a lacquered side table, or a painted accent wall. Likewise, the subtle neutrals in a landscape can anchor a serene foundation for fabrics, finishes, and textures. With art as your compass, color decisions feel both natural and inspired.

The Final Layer of Design

Even the most meticulously planned interiors don’t feel finished until the art is in place. I often think of it as the jewelry of the home – the detail that brings depth, sparkle, and soul.

This final layer is where individuality shines through, turning a polished space into a personal sanctuary.

Conclusion: Living with Art

Art is more than decoration. It’s a reflection of who you are and how you live. When you let art guide your design choices, from the first inspiration to the final touch, you create interiors that are not just beautiful but deeply personal. Trust your instincts. Collect what you love. Because when you live with art that resonates, your home will always feel alive, layered, and truly yours.

There’s a certain feeling that hits when you walk into a home that’s truly lived in. Not the messy, socks-on-the-floor kind of lived-in (though we’ve all been there), but the deeply comforting, ‘I could stay here forever’ kind.

Growing up, people often said – and still do – that my parents’ house felt like a warm hug. I never fully understood what that meant until I started designing myself. That’s when I realized it was exactly the feeling I wanted to come home to: spaces that carry stories in their corners and warmth in their bones. They’re not necessarily polished or perfect, but they have soul – and that, my friend, makes all the difference.

I’m often asked how to create that feeling with your home decor ideas. The good news? It doesn’t require a huge budget or a full-scale renovation. Soul isn’t something you buy. It’s collected, layered, lived in – and most importantly, it takes time.

There’s no secret how-to guide for creating soul in a space. Chances are, you already have everything you need – it’s just tucked on a shelf or packed away in the basement. Sometimes, it’s simply about seeing things a little differently. Not for what they were, like the box labeled ‘fancy china for guests only,’ but for what they could be – daily reminders of meaning and memory.

It often starts with something old. Not necessarily antique-store fancy, just something with a bit of history. Maybe it’s the salvaged table you found on the side of the road and dragged home because you couldn’t stop running your hand over its worn edges (we’ve all been there, right?). Or a vintage mirror, gilded and slightly foxed, that catches the morning light just so. These pieces don’t just fill space – they bring presence. They hold time. A room immediately feels more grounded, more human, when it contains something that has seen things. I swear, you can feel the stories living inside these pieces.

But soul isn’t just in the big gestures. It lives in the quiet, everyday details too. Like using your grandmother’s silver flatware on a Tuesday night just because. No special occasion required other than reflecting on the day’s events. Use it every day. Make your everyday feel a little more special. These aren’t museum pieces; they’re memory-makers. They remind us where we came from, and when we use them, those moments become part of our daily rhythm. Honestly, a bowl of cereal just hits differently when eaten with a spoon that’s older than you are.

I’ve also come to believe that your home should whisper your story, not shout a trend. Some may say ‘grandmillennial’ or ‘vintage’ is having a moment right now, but I wouldn’t call it a trend. I’d call it an appreciation for things we’ve always had – we just didn’t know how to use them.

A hand-written recipe card from your mom can be framed and hung in the kitchen, turning something humble into a little shrine of sentiment, butter stains and all. That old flannel shirt of your dad’s you’ve been holding onto? Turn it into a cushion. Let the things you love become part of the landscape.

Texture, too, plays a starring role. It’s the unspoken layer of comfort. Think linen curtains catching the breeze, a velvet chair that insists you sit down and stay awhile, a nubby wool rug underfoot that makes your morning coffee just a little cozier. Don’t overthink it – just mix what you love. If it feels good, it belongs.

Layered textures make a space feel thoughtful and real, even when it’s not perfect. (Which, let’s be honest, it never really is. And thank goodness for that.)

There’s something beautifully liberating about letting your home evolve slowly. You don’t need to ‘finish’ a room in a weekend. In fact, please don’t. Let it breathe. Let it gather stories. Pick up a piece here and there – a ceramic bowl from a weekend market, a painting that makes you feel something, even if you’re not quite sure what. These are the things that give a space its heartbeat.

Rome wasn’t built in a day… and neither is your home.

And when something doesn’t feel quite right? Trust your gut. If it doesn’t make you smile, sigh, or remember something special – it probably doesn’t need to stay. Creating a home with soul is more about subtraction than perfection. Keep what matters. Let the rest go.

In the end, soulful homes aren’t styled – they’re loved into being. They carry fingerprints, flaws, textures, and tales. They hold pieces of where we’ve been and quietly make space for where we’re going.

And really – isn’t that what home is all about?

When approaching any project, I believe balance is one of the most essential principles of design. Too much of any one element can overpower a space, but the right combination creates harmony and ease. Over time, I’ve found myself returning to three enduring materials – linen, oak, and stone – each with its own distinct character, yet all united by a sense of natural beauty and timeless appeal. Together, they form a design language that feels calm, grounded, and quietly luxurious.

Linen brings an immediate sense of softness and ease, a tactile comfort that makes a room feel lived-in and inviting. Its organic texture and effortless drape lend themselves beautifully to upholstery, curtains, or even the simplest details. I love how linen interacts with its surroundings – softening the grandeur of a heritage interior or adding warmth to a contemporary, minimalist space. It’s understated yet transformative, creating a relaxed elegance that never feels contrived.

Part of linen’s magic lies in its versatility. Lighter weights make the perfect sheers, diffusing sunlight into a gentle, flattering glow that feels serene and natural. I almost always turn to linen for this purpose – it creates an atmosphere that’s both bright and intimate. Heavier weaves, meanwhile, bring substance and structure to upholstery, shifting the tone of a piece from casual and lived-in to refined and tailored. Yet even at its most polished, linen never feels rigid or formal. It has an inherent honesty and ease that grounds a space, ensuring that comfort always sits at the heart of good design.

This adaptability is what makes linen an essential foundation in my projects. Whether used subtly to soften a room or more deliberately to anchor it, linen brings warmth, tactility, and a timeless quality that deepens with age.

Oak, in contrast, provides depth, versatility, and a grounding presence. I’m endlessly inspired by how different treatments of wood can transform a space – from the character of a vintage reclaimed table to the clean lines of a contemporary oak floorboard. Mixing wood tones adds richness, giving a room a lived-in authenticity that tells a story. Oak, in all its forms, carries its history beautifully, wearing its age with grace, which is something I deeply admire.

In almost every project, our joinery is bespoke, designed specifically for the home. This ensures a seamless fit while allowing complete control over finishes. I rarely commit to a stain or wood treatment until the marble in the room has been selected. Stone sets the tone, and from there I refine the woodwork, testing small samples directly against the chosen marble until I achieve the perfect balance. It’s about harmony rather than contrast, ensuring the joinery complements rather than competes, creating a space that feels both cohesive and timeless.

I also love decorating with vintage pieces or incorporating reclaimed wood into my designs. Whether it’s a weathered table or a small decorative accent, these pieces carry a patina and a sense of history that new materials simply cannot replicate. When paired with modern finishes, reclaimed wood creates a dialogue between old and new, adding depth, character, and soul to a space. It keeps interiors from feeling overly pristine, infusing them with authenticity and warmth that make them genuinely lived-in.

And then there is stone, a material that has always been one of my personal favorites. As I’ve mentioned before, I approach its use thoughtfully and deliberately, ensuring it never overwhelms a space but instead complements the other elements. Stone carries an inherent elegance and permanence, yet when paired with the warmth of oak and the softness of linen, it achieves a perfect balance. A honed marble countertop, for example, feels approachable and relaxed when set against a warm oak cabinet and linen-upholstered dining chairs. It is this interplay – soft and hard, warm and cool, refined and relaxed – that creates interiors that are not only visually balanced but emotionally resonant.

Stone anchors a space, but combined with oak and linen, it becomes part of a wider conversation rather than a standalone statement. While I use many other finishes in my projects, linen, oak, and stone almost always form the foundation of every palette. They act as anchor points from which everything else – metals, glass, plaster, fabrics, and color accents – can build and flourish.

Each brings something distinct: linen softens and relaxes, oak grounds and warms, and stone lends strength and stability. On their own, they are beautiful; together, they create a harmony that elevates a room beyond aesthetics into an experiential space.

For me, this trio is less about following design trends and more about embodying a philosophy of how a home should feel – timeless, layered, and deeply comfortable. They reflect the balance I aim for in every project, ensuring that the spaces we create are not just seen, but truly felt.

Ultimately, linen, oak, and stone are materials I never tire of. Each is unique, but together they form a perfect equilibrium – creating interiors that are authentic, functional, and enduring.

Nearly ten years ago, I made a quiet but firm promise to myself and my clients: every project would strike a thoughtful balance between new and old – half new, half vintage. That 50/50 commitment has evolved over a period of time (now often feeling more like 80/20, with a majority antique).

It wasn’t an interior design trend or a marketing strategy. It was simply what felt right – ethically, aesthetically, and emotionally. I wanted the homes I designed to reflect a deeper kind of beauty: one that wasn’t based solely on what’s new or now, but that honored the richness of what came before. Sustainability wasn’t just a checkbox. It was a mindset, a rhythm, a respect for the stories already embedded in time-worn wood, sun-faded fabrics, and brass patina’d by decades of touch.

Over the years, this 50/50 philosophy has become a natural part of my creative process. Most projects shift the ratio – a space might lean 80% vintage – but the guiding idea remains: every home should layer the soul of the past with the freshness of the present.

At Molly Kidd Studio, sustainability doesn’t mean sacrifice. It means sensibility. We’re not chasing minimalism for the sake of aesthetics or maximalism for the sake of drama. We’re chasing longevity. Beauty that endures. Pieces that last not just in structure, but in sentiment. I will only put a piece in a home if I can imagine it eventually ending up in an antique store.

Choosing vintage isn’t just good for the planet – it’s good design. A vintage armoire brings proportion, weight, and craftsmanship that modern manufacturing rarely replicates. Just like fast fashion, fast interiors lack originality, patina, and personality. An antique Danish sideboard can break up a room of too many new pieces, ground a space, and whisper: this didn’t come from a box. This came from somewhere – usually Europe.

Because I believe in sustainability at every layer, I also source with locality in mind. Whenever possible, I shop within the town or state of the project. It’s part environmental, part emotional: giving back while taking history. A handmade bench from a local craftsman in Montana, a stack of French dining chairs from a flea market in Texas – these regional pieces hold a charm that makes a space feel connected, not just styled.

This pillar extends far beyond furniture. When I walk into a remodel, I don’t look to erase – I look to preserve. Original flooring, millwork, lighting, or cabinetry worth keeping stays put, guiding the new chapter we’re telling.

Good design doesn’t mean starting from scratch, even in a new build. It means seeing the land and leaving an MKS footprint for generations to come. Honoring the bones of a home not only reduces waste, it creates character that can’t be replicated with all-new materials. It’s in that quiet doorway trim or the 1930s window latch we refuse to replace – that’s where the soul lives.

The 50/50 promise has become more than a ratio – it’s my design ethos. It guides how I source, how I layer, and how I collaborate with clients who value the blend of elegance and earthiness. It’s why a project might feature a custom sofa paired with a 100-year-old farm table, or why I’ll scour thrift stores in upstate New York for a vintage mirror that grounds an otherwise modern powder room.

Clients often ask, ‘How do you make a new home feel like it’s always been there?’ The answer almost always lies in the vintage – in the stories we choose to carry forward, in the balance between fresh upholstery and heirloom chairs, between modern lighting and antique brass hooks. You can immediately tell when a home is filled entirely with new pieces: it lacks depth and character. My goal is always to create spaces that feel timeless, homes where you can’t quite pinpoint when they were designed.

Because in the end, a well-designed space settles in. It remembers. It evolves. And the best design choices – like the best furniture – are those that stand the test of time.

As I sit down to write this, I’m 8.5 months pregnant with my third child. You might expect me to be deep in the throes of nesting – folding tiny onesies, organizing closets, and rearranging furniture in a flurry of preparation. But the truth is, I haven’t felt that instinct this time, or with the two before. Perhaps it’s because decorating, designing and organizing spaces is what I do every day; when it comes to my own home, the internal switch just hasn’t flipped.

What I have been thinking about, though, is how the spaces we raise our children in shape their earliest impressions of what ‘home’ means – and, more subtly, how these impressions can influence their design sensibilities later in life. In my first book, House Rules, I explore the importance of finding inspiration in our own histories, particularly the homes we grow up in. These memories become deeply personal design references. No one else has your exact point of view, and that’s what makes your design perspective uniquely yours.

I grew up just outside New York City, in a town where many of my friends’ homes were painted in neutral tones – beige walls, beige carpets, beige sofas – the kind of palette that defined the 1990s, when Tuscan-inspired interiors were all the rage. My own home couldn’t have been more different. The entire open-concept first floor was drenched in bold, unapologetic brick red, some walls painted, others wallpapered, creating a vibrant backdrop for family life.

The kitchen hadn’t been updated since the house was built in 1952, complete with original linoleum floors, vinyl countertops, and aging appliances. It’s the one space my mother has since renovated – now brown and red, her signature style – but the rest of the house remains largely unchanged, a vivid reminder of my childhood and the bold design choices that shaped it.

Most notably, every room is still filled to the brim with inherited furniture – some of it beautiful, most of it mysterious, and none of it easy for my mother to part with. She can trace the lineage of nearly every object and, to this day, loves to point to a shelf and remind me that a particular man-shaped shot glass figurine was brought over from Russia by a great-great-uncle escaping the pogroms, or that a hefty carved stone from Alaska is apparently quite valuable and must never be discarded.

Looking back, the house was chaotic, layered, and deeply lived-in. And, while perhaps as a natural reaction to the visual richness, I’ve created a more edited and intentional environment in the home I’m raising my children in, I often wonder what elements they’ll carry with them as markers of their childhood. What fabrics, colors, objects, or patterns will define ‘home’ for them? Will it be the feel of a certain rug underfoot, the print of the wallpaper in their bedroom, or the shape of the vintage chair we all fight over?

There’s a quiet power in the details we choose to live with. Even if our children aren’t consciously aware of them now, they’re being imprinted with ideas – about comfort, beauty, identity, and belonging. We may not always get to decide what memories stick, but we can be intentional about the environment in which those memories are made.

And maybe that’s what nesting really is, in the end – not just organizing the drawers or preparing the nursery, but quietly, consistently shaping the backdrop for a lifetime of memories yet to be made. My mother did that instinctively, and now, in my own way, I’m doing the same.

On the day of the first meeting, my clients are often nervous when I walk through their home. They feel vulnerable, apologetic, worried that I’ll judge the condition of their home – or them – for how they live. But that moment, stepping into someone’s space for the first time and seeing exactly how they live, has always been one of my favorite parts of the design process. It’s an opportunity to listen, to really understand them and their pain points. Anyone can ask about room color ideas or decorating with patterns – that’s the easy part. The real design work begins with uncovering what isn’t working.

I look for places where the energy feels stuck. I listen for frustration, and I notice where clutter gathers – and why. I often hear a familiar refrain from women with small children: ‘Maybe I’m just really type A, but I need things a certain way and I feel overwhelmed all the time.’ Over the years, I’ve come to understand what they really mean: ‘My home doesn’t feel right, and I can’t quite put my finger on why. So I blame myself – my anxiety, my constant feeling of being flustered.’

But the chaos these homeowners describe isn’t a personal failing – it’s a space failing. It’s the poorly planned kitchen that forces you to zigzag just to unload the dishwasher. It’s the back door that dumps backpacks, shoes, and soccer gear straight into the living room. It’s the missing pantry, the undersized laundry area, the closets that never quite fit what they need to. These design flaws create daily stress. My job is to design homes that support the people who live in them – spaces that make life flow more easily instead of working against them at every turn.

I’ve walked through stunning homes with tennis courts, swimming pools, and sprawling family rooms – yet nowhere to hang a coat when you walk in. I’ve seen massive houses where all the daily chaos bottlenecks into one narrow hallway, shoes piled up, a single closet crammed with three seasons’ worth of jackets.

When it’s time to help clients prioritize their wishlist, there’s one space I almost always recommend tackling first: the mudroom. When designed well – with smart storage, durable materials, and a thoughtful flow – it becomes the launchpad for family life. Get this one room right, and the rest of the home naturally falls into place. Despite its modest name, the mudroom sets the tone for how life moves through a home. It’s the threshold you cross each morning as you head out, and the landing pad you return to at the end of a long day.

We ask so much of this space – it now often serves as the main entry for family and guests alike. Four seasons’ worth of backpacks, pet gear, laundry, and ski equipment all converge here, and without a system, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed before the day even begins.

As I walk through a home for the first time, I’m already imagining soft-close drawers with hidden charging ports, hooks hung at just the right height for heavy backpacks, a mix of open and closed storage, and tumbled stone floors that can stand up to snow, mud, dog hair, and daily life. I know I’ve done my job when my clients feel that elusive sense of calm – standing in their mudroom, grabbing a coat and the dog leash, and heading out for a Berkshire hike with ease.

I recently spent a weekend in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and the first thing that struck me upon leaving the airport was the intensity of the light. Clouds were perfectly edged, almost like paper-cut cartoon formations, and the clarity of the sunlight felt surreal. What felt even more real was how it made me feel – I was enveloped in a luminous space that seemed to embody lightness itself.

When we design spaces, most of our tools are tangible and tactile. From the architectural envelope to furnishings and fixtures, everything is something we can touch and feel. Yet there is one element that always shapes our compositions in profound ways – lighting, in all its ever-changing forms. The rhythms of day and night create a choreography of illumination, from the soft glow of sunrise to the brilliance of midday, settling finally into the gentle hush of dusk, a cycle we are intrinsically connected to.

Our relationship with natural light is almost metaphysical – we use our senses to perceive, understand, and respond to it. Over time, we have also developed technologies to create artificial light, allowing us to manipulate, modulate, and 'sculpt' illumination to set a mood, define shapes, or highlight specific objects and moments.

Thoughtful window placement can transform the way light interacts with your home. Windows can frame a view, capture the sun’s traveling rays in just the right spot – perhaps where you enjoy your morning coffee – or bathe your favorite relaxation corner in the pink and orange hues of sunset. Because daylight changes in intensity and color throughout the day, furniture placement can maximize its benefits. A desk might face north for consistent, diffused light, while a bed can be positioned to greet the morning sun. A dining area could face southwest to bask in the warmth of sunsets, creating a living experience in harmony with natural rhythms.

Light is a tangible material in our work. A Noguchi paper floor lamp can infuse warmth into a cozy corner by a window with a view, while Louis Poulsen lanterns guide you safely along a garden path. Vintage Murano sconces offer ambient light like jewelry adorning your entryway walls, and a Lindsey Adelman porcelain disk pendant can cast a gentle glow over a dining table, turning a functional moment into a visual delight.

In character, light can be bold and commanding, like a diva demanding attention, or subtle and delicate, grazing surfaces to create a serene, calming atmosphere. It can serve as a practical partner, a whimsical flourish, or an ephemeral, fleeting experience – all shaping how we inhabit and feel a space.

The highlight of my trip to Santa Fe was a wedding held on a ranch. After mingling on a small plateau, we were guided up a gentle hill to an opening in the ground. Turning our backs to the early evening sun, we descended into a dark, carved-stone tunnel that opened into a cavern softly illuminated by candlelight from a smaller chamber – the wedding altar. Further inside, I looked up to see natural openings framing the evening sky. The experience was mysterious, magical, and unforgettable – a sequence orchestrated entirely by light.

Using color in the home is often associated with boldness, but its true power lies in subtlety. When chosen with intention, color shapes a space quietly yet profoundly – creating rooms full of nuance, tailored to both the architecture and the people who live within.

Neutrals have their place – of course, I use them often – but relying on them for safety’s sake isn’t timeless (remember Millennial gray?). It’s a non-decision that can leave a space feeling flat or forgettable. That’s never my goal, and I’m guessing it’s not yours either.

Most people aren’t afraid of room color itself – everyone has a favorite – but of using it poorly. And that fear is understandable. We’ve all seen rooms where good intentions went sideways: where a vibrant hue felt overwhelming, chaotic, or disconnected from the rest of the home. It’s enough to send anyone running back to white walls. But when handled well, color becomes the unifying element – the tone-setter – and the part of a room you remember.

One of my favorite painting techniques is color drenching, where walls, ceilings, trim, doors, and millwork are painted in the same hue. It eliminates visual breaks and structural distractions, creating a seamless, immersive experience. Tiny rooms feel intentionally intimate, while simple millwork gains architectural presence. A color-drenched room feels confident and cohesive – spaces like these invite you to linger.

Function, too, should inform the palette. In family rooms, libraries, and other places meant for relaxation, I lean into rich, enveloping colors: inky blues, smoky greens, saffron yellows, and warm terracottas. These hues are grounding yet generous. In kitchens and sunrooms, I gravitate toward lively greens – even the zesty, almost acidic ones. And for bedrooms, restoration is key: soft pale blues, blush pinks, and muted greens that soothe without slipping into blandness.

Now, back to decorating with neutrals. Not every room needs to be saturated in color. Some spaces are designed to serve as visual pauses – moments of calm that allow the eye to rest before moving into bolder territory. In these instances, neutrals do the heavy lifting, though they’re far from simple.

In fact, getting a neutral right can be more challenging than working with color. Each carries its own undertone and personality, capable of either lifting a space or leaving it flat. I’m drawn to red-based neutrals for their warm, luminous quality; they give rooms a subtle glow. Green-based neutrals, by contrast, feel grounded and putty-like – perfect for transitional spaces. And I have a soft spot for those barely-there blues that masquerade as white until the light shifts, revealing just a whisper of color.

Then there are the rooms where I encourage clients to be bold – spaces like powder rooms and guest bedrooms. These are perfect for experimenting with deeper colors, daring patterns, and unexpected combinations. After all, who doesn’t love telling someone to take 'the blue room' for the night? These aren’t spaces you live in every day; they’re ones you experience in short, memorable moments. That makes them ideal for pushing beyond your comfort zone – go moodier, more dramatic, more surprising.

Ultimately, color isn’t about bravery versus safety – it’s about thoughtfulness. A richly saturated room can feel serene, just as a pale one can energize. The difference lies in intention. The goal isn’t to use color for shock value, but to let it serve the room’s purpose and express who you are at your most interesting.

Neutrals certainly have their place, but they aren’t the only path to timelessness. When applied with care, color becomes part of a home’s emotional memory: the terracotta den where you spend cozy winter evenings, the soft blue bedroom where you’ve watched countless movies, the jewel-toned guest room friends still mention years later. These are not just rooms – they’re experiences.

If you’ve been hesitant to use color, remember it doesn’t have to shout to make an impact. Some of the most powerful uses of color are the quietest. And if it doesn’t feel right? It’s just paint – you can always begin again.

As a designer, I’ve learned that the details homeowners lose sleep over are rarely the ones that truly shape how a home feels or functions. People will agonize over the perfect shade of white for their trim but forget to consider the mood they want to create when they walk through the door. They’ll debate grout colors for weeks, yet treat lighting as an afterthought.

So here’s a gentle design PSA: some choices simply don’t matter as much as you think. Letting go of those micro-stresses creates space to focus on what actually transforms your home. Here’s what to stop fixating on – and where that energy is better spent when it comes to your home decor ideas.

Don’t worry about matching metal finishes

I promise your home won’t fall apart if your cabinet hardware doesn’t match your faucet. In fact, mixing metals – like pairing a matte black handle with a brass sconce and a polished nickel faucet – creates depth and character that a perfectly matched set could never achieve.

Do this instead: Focus on how your finishes relate in tone and texture. Are they warm or cool? Brushed or polished? When layered thoughtfully, a subtle mix of metals feels intentional, collected, and uniquely yours – more like a home, less like a showroom.

Don’t worry about picking the perfect paint color on the first try

Paint is one of the easiest design elements to change, so please – don’t lose sleep over a fan deck. Yes, room color ideas matter, but agonizing over 19 shades of greige will drain your creative energy faster than a harsh LED bulb.

Do this instead: Choose two or three favorites, test them directly on your wall, and observe how they look throughout the day. Then, trust your instincts. If it doesn’t feel right later, remember – it’s just a gallon of paint, not a lifelong commitment.

Don’t worry about what other people will think

Designing your home to please someone else’s Pinterest board is the quickest path to design regret. Just because something is trending doesn’t mean it belongs in your space – and just because it’s not trending doesn’t mean it shouldn’t.

Do this instead: Create a home that feels unmistakably you – one that reflects your lifestyle, your memories, and your unique sense of comfort, drama, or humor. The most memorable interiors are never the most on-trend – they’re the most authentic.

Don’t worry about getting everything done at once

A home should grow with you. Rushing to decorate every room on a tight timeline often leads to choices you’ll later regret – and unnecessary spending.

Do this instead: Focus on high-impact spaces first, like the living room or bedroom, and let the rest of the home reveal itself over time. Give yourself space to live in it before filling every corner.

Do consider lighting, layout, and layers

These three elements are truly worth your attention: the right lighting, a smart floor plan, and layered textures and tones – rugs, pillows, curtains, and art – that transform a house into a home.

Design should bring joy, not stress. Stop worrying about the small stuff and focus on what matters. You can always repaint walls or swap a sconce, but you can’t replicate the feeling of a home that reflects your spirit, story, and personal style.

Rust has become one of those room color ideas I return to again and again in my work. It’s warm without feeling heavy, earthy without turning rustic, and bold without overwhelming a room. Sitting perfectly between red and brown, rust feels modern, approachable, and timeless all at once.

In upholstery, rust gives form and presence. A curved lounge chair or tailored sofa in this shade instantly grounds a space. On textiles, it adds depth and richness – whether in a patterned rug underfoot or a pillow layered onto a neutral sofa. Even in the smallest details, such as a ceramic bowl or a woven throw, rust subtly shifts the energy of a room, infusing it with warmth and depth.

What makes rust truly special is how gracefully it pairs with other materials. Against oak, it feels like an organic extension of the wood. Set beside black marble, it sharpens, taking on an architectural edge. With brass, it becomes luminous and refined, while alongside creams and soft whites, it provides just enough contrast to keep a palette alive and balanced.

Rust also carries a quiet sense of history. It evokes terracotta, weathered leather, and the glow of a sunlit landscape at day’s end. These associations make it feel familiar and comforting – yet somehow, it always feels right at home in a modern space.

For anyone thinking about introducing rust at home, a single piece is often enough. An upholstered chair is a great place to start, and I especially like the Garret Armchair from Soho Home. I’ve used one in a project myself, and the shade has even carried into my own collection in the Époque and Croisé (shown above) armchairs and the Mélange credenza (also shown above). It is not a color that needs to dominate to make an impact.

Rust endures because it feels both grounded and adaptable. It supports other elements while maintaining a distinct voice of its own. That balance is rare – and it’s exactly why I return to it again and again.

Designing a kitchen can be exciting – until it becomes overwhelming. One moment, you’re imagining a perfectly curated island or a striking vintage light fixture; the next, you find yourself debating grout colors for hours, questioning where to even begin.

Step 1 – start with the island

Forget the old rulebook. I like to begin with the kitchen island. It’s the heart of the kitchen, the hub of activity, and, for me, the anchor of the entire design.

Will it house a sink, or stand as a striking, furniture-style island reminiscent of a vintage draper’s table? Perhaps it features open shelving, or soft, rounded corners that bring warmth and balance to the room. Whatever form it takes, the island helps answer many other questions: the layout, the flow, the finishes, the mood.

So yes – I start there. Every. Single. Time.

Step 2 – make it functional (or you'll regret it)

A beautiful kitchen that doesn’t function is money wasted. No matter how dreamy your kitchen backsplash is, if your cabinet doors collide or your workflow is awkward, it’s a space you’ll never truly love.

Think about how you live. Are you cooking three meals a day, or is this more of a wine-and-charcuterie haven? Do you need space for the kids to do homework while you prep dinner? Is it a hub for entertaining, or a peaceful sanctuary for yourself?

Design around your lifestyle. Function always comes first.

Step 3 – layout is everything

Once the island is set and you understand how the space will be used, it’s time to finalise the layout.

Keep the classic kitchen triangle in mind – fridge, stove, sink – and make sure these key points work seamlessly together. The flow should feel intuitive; you don’t want to be walking a marathon just to make a sandwich.

Whether it’s a galley kitchen, an L-shaped kitchen, or an open-concept kitchen anchored by a generous island (hello, dream kitchen), a carefully considered layout is essential. It will shape not just the look, but the everyday experience of the space.

Step 4 – Budget: know it, respect it, bend it (a little)

Of course, we’d all love marble counters, bespoke cabinetry, and unlacquered brass taps hand-forged in England. But in reality, priorities are essential.

Invest where it truly counts: durable countertops, well-crafted cabinetry, and appliances you’ll use every day. Save on elements like tile or hardware – there are plenty of beautiful, budget-friendly options available.

Always set a realistic budget with a 10–15% buffer for the inevitable surprises. Because in renovations, those 'uh-oh' moments aren’t a matter of if – but when.

Step 5 – let your style guide you

Choose a style direction and commit – but don’t be too precious. Whether your kitchen is warm and layered, clean and modern, or infused with a European flair, it should reflect not just the you of today, but the you of the future.

Avoid chasing trends. They’re like fast fashion – exciting for a moment, but soon they feel dated. Instead, build on timeless foundations and express personality through texture, color, and carefully chosen accents. If you truly love it, it will never go out of style.

Step 6 – focus on appliances: let the range be the star

We love a show-stopping range – whether it’s a bold pop of color, matte black, or classic stainless steel – let it shine. It’s functional art, and it deserves to be treated like the diva it is.

For the rest of the appliances, panel them whenever possible. Hide the dishwasher, tuck the fridge into a built-in nook, and let everything blend seamlessly with the cabinetry. Unless, of course, you have one of those glorious residential acrylic fridges – in that case, give it the spotlight it deserves and a well-earned round of applause.

I’m especially fond of styling the fridge as its own hutch. It adds charm, structure, and breaks up a wall of cabinets in the most graceful, considered way.

Step 7 – hardware: keep it small but mighty

Kitchen hardware is the jewelry of the kitchen. The right pieces can make everything shine – or fall flat.

Often, the last detail people consider, the right hardware has the power to transform the entire feel of a space. Don’t be afraid to mix styles – a bin pull here, a simple knob there – but keep everything in the same finish to maintain cohesion.

Think of it like an outfit. Your kitchen might be wearing a classic blazer, but the hardware? That’s the bold statement earring that makes it unforgettable.

Step 8 – lighting: break the 'three pendants' rule

Kitchen lighting is where you get to have some fun. Of course, you need task lighting – you don’t want to be chopping onions in the dark – but that’s just the beginning.

Can we retire the rule that says you must have three pendants over the island? Who even made that rule? A single vintage chandelier can be breathtaking, or two oversized pendants can create drama and surprise. If you do stick with three, play with scale – go bold, or don’t bother.

Lighting is an opportunity to infuse personality and style into your kitchen. Don’t let it be boring.

Step 9 – real life matters

Design your kitchen for real life, not just Instagram.

Build in more storage than you think you’ll need. Use durable materials that can handle life’s messes. Plan your zones: prep, cook, clean, and gather. And remember that beauty and practicality aren’t mutually exclusive.

You’re going to live here. The kitchen should work as hard as you do. Choose materials that are going to patina over time and show the memories that you are creating in your kitchen.

Final thoughts

So, where do you start when designing a kitchen?

Start with the island. Let it lead the way. Then design with function, focus on what matters, and don’t forget to have fun. Break a few rules. Make bold choices. Mix the old with the new.

Because the best kitchens aren’t just beautiful – they feel good to be in. They’re the backdrop to your everyday life. So make yours one you truly love.

I may be a little biased, but I can’t think of a topic more fitting for me to discuss than stone, decorating with marble in particular, simply because I’m in love with it. When used thoughtfully, marble is one of the most beautiful additions to a room. Like anything, though, too much of it can overwhelm the senses, but when the balance is right, it elevates a space like nothing else.

When I’m designing a home, these are the factors I always weigh to let stone become the true star of the show. The amount of stone within a room is my first consideration. In our projects, it’s common to see extensive use in kitchens and bathrooms, often layered across multiple surfaces. In these cases, I pay close attention not only to the stone’s color and veining, but also to how its finish will feel once it dominates such a significant portion of the space. Equally important is the balance it strikes with the other design elements and materials throughout the room.

Using marble at home will never disappoint. However, a marble with bold veining or strong contrast can easily overwhelm when applied across expansive surfaces. The key is striking a balance between impact and harmony, ensuring the stone elevates the architecture without overpowering it. Sometimes that means choosing a quieter, more understated variety when it will be used extensively, or embracing a dramatic slab but in a more restrained application. Ultimately, it’s about curating the relationship between the stone and its setting so it feels intentional, elegant, and timeless – never excessive or ostentatious.

When I work with marble, it is always the first finish I define; everything else in the room flows from that choice. At the design stage, I propose a marble direction to set the tone, which informs early visuals and helps establish the overall mood and material palette. But I never finalize the decision until I’ve visited the stone yards, for two reasons. First, there are moments when a truly extraordinary slab appears – something completely different from the initial concept, yet so inspiring it reshapes the entire design. In those instances, I welcome the pivot.

Second, no two slabs are ever the same. One piece of Calacatta Viola, for example, will look entirely different from the next. This is why I avoid committing to surrounding finishes until the marble is chosen – because the stone leads the palette. Its color, veining, and character dictate the balance of materials and ultimately define the scheme. Allowing the stone to guide the process results in a design that feels authentic, cohesive, and deeply attuned to the unique beauty of the slab itself.

When it comes to finish – honed versus polished – there’s no definitive right or wrong. It’s a matter of personal preference and the atmosphere you want to create. Personally, I tend to favor a honed finish. With its matte surface and slightly muted tones, honed marble carries a softness and a sense of ease. I hesitate to call marble understated, because it never truly is, but a honed finish takes the edge off its inherent drama, making it feel more subtle, timeless, and quietly sophisticated.

Polished marble, by contrast, heightens everything. The veining appears sharper, the colours deeper, and the surface reflective. It exudes glamour and boldness, almost demanding attention. While honed marble whispers with quiet elegance, polished marble makes a statement – both beautiful, but in very different ways.

Another topic that inevitably arises when working with marble is clients’ concerns about staining and wear. And the truth is, marble is a natural, delicate material that requires care if you want it to remain exactly as it looked on the day it was installed. Modern sealants are available – and we always seal our marbles before installation – but they’re not a perfect or permanent solution. They require maintenance, typically on an annual basis. I understand this isn’t the most exciting or practical task, and it can easily slip through the cracks as everyday life takes over.

That being said, I also appreciate a different perspective. For me, part of marble’s beauty lies in how it evolves over time. The soft etches, subtle marks, and gentle wear become part of its story. Rather than flaws, I see them as character – evidence that a home is being lived in, loved, and enjoyed. Our goal is always to design homes that feel warm and inviting, where clients can relax and appreciate their surroundings without worrying about every spill or scratch. A home should be lived in, not curated like a museum where everything feels precious and untouchable.

Ultimately, making stone the star is about restraint, balance, and respect for the material. When handled thoughtfully, marble becomes far more than a finish – it becomes the soul of the room. And to me, that’s when design truly comes alive.

I grew up surrounded by pine forests, fog-draped coastlines, and the quiet, contemplative mornings of Oregon. The Pacific Northwest wasn’t just my backdrop – it was my foundation. Years later, as I step into homes across the country as a designer, I can see how profoundly those early surroundings shaped my approach: the textures I choose, the rhythm of the spaces I create, and the gentle way I respond to what’s already there.

There’s a stillness in the Pacific Northwest that teaches you to notice. The way light filters through late-afternoon trees. The soft green of lichen on bark. The worn beauty of natural materials patinated by time – stone, wood, wool. These early observations instilled in me a belief that design isn’t about imposing style; it’s about listening and responding to the story of a space.

My approach to materiality reflects this upbringing. I’m drawn to the organic: oak beams and flooring with visible knots, hand-thrown ceramics, and linen that’s slightly rumpled. It’s not just about aesthetics – it’s about energy. Natural materials have a way of softening a room, of inviting you to linger, to settle in, rather than perform.

I reach for vintage often – in fact, I make a promise that every project contains at least 50% vintage (sometimes as much as 80%). It’s not just for sustainability; it’s for the quiet power of time. There’s something sacred about a piece that has already lived a life – the story of a thousand dinners, softened edges, sun-faded corners. Whether it’s a farm table from upstate New York or a 1970s Scandinavian light fixture, I love placing objects with soul into homes that feel equally storied. Oregon taught me early on that curation should always value quality over quantity.

At Molly Kidd Studio, we believe quality design begins with reverence for the land it sits on and the story it will tell for generations. In new builds, we consider the natural footprint of the site – the light, the trees, the slope of the land – and work with it rather than against it. The goal is never to impose, but to harmonize. We design with intention and restraint, respecting the land so that what we create today will feel thoughtful and true decades from now.

Fun fact: when sourcing vintage for a project, I make a point of sourcing locally, within the same town or state, whenever possible. It’s a small but intentional choice, rooted in sustainability and a sense of place. Pieces that already belong to the region add historical charm, yes, but more importantly, they feel inherently at home – as if they were waiting to be invited back in.

In remodels, we find poetry in old bones, uncovering the character that already exists and building upon it. Each project balances legacy and innovation, layering in modern functionality while letting the spirit of the home lead the way. It’s not about erasing the past – it’s about evolving it with beauty and purpose. The result is a design that feels both rooted and renewed, crafted to endure for generations.

What’s it like working from the Pacific Northwest? Let’s be honest – this isn’t a zip code that appears on every glossy magazine page. Being based outside New York or LA means you sometimes have to fight a little harder for your seat at the table. And yet, that challenge has made me sharper, more resourceful, and more rooted in my own perspective. I don’t need the buzz of a big city to find clarity; I find it in the stillness, in the texture of aged wood, and in the subtle palette of a coastal trail.

This rootedness has had a surprising effect: it allows me to connect with clients across the country. I’ve had the joy of working on homes from California to Texas, Maryland to Florida – and no matter the location, that grounded, nature-forward aesthetic resonates. People are seeking authenticity. One-of-a-kind spaces that breathe rather than shout.

My room color ideas are unmistakably Pacific Northwest – earthy browns, mossy greens, sun-faded creams, sometimes deep reds or biscuit yellows. Colors drawn from forest paths and coastal trails. I always return to decorating with brown as my endlessly nuanced favorite. Nature never chooses the wrong color, and these hues feel timeless – not because they’re trend-proof, but because they’re real. You don’t tire of the colors you see in the wild.

When I design a space, I want it to feel collected, not decorated; organic, not overworked; and always – always – rooted in something deeper than trend. That depth comes from Oregon – from the home that raised me, the landscapes that steadied me, and the palette that became my visual language.

Even when styling a New York penthouse or sourcing pieces for a country house in Santa Barbara, I carry the Pacific Northwest with me. It’s in the materials, the restraint, the quiet reverence. And every so often, a client will walk in and say, 'It just feels grounded.'

That’s when I know my roots are doing their job.

At LALA, one design principle runs through nearly every project: bringing the outdoors in. And not just with flowers or small plants – we mean real, living, breathing trees. Our love of landscaping and gardens naturally extends indoors, where one of our favorite stages of the process is curating greenery throughout a home – even trees in unexpected places.

We believe greenery is one of the best investments you can make in your space. When we’re mapping out floor plans, we often designate a spot for a striking tree or oversized plant in any room that can accommodate one. Our favorites include sculptural, easy-to-care-for varieties like ficus and fishtail palms.

Sometimes, we’ll even sacrifice a piece of furniture to make room, because a tree in your living room can be as impactful as a work of art. Add a subtle uplight in the planter, and suddenly it transforms –serving not only as a living sculpture but also as mood lighting. By day, it creates a calm, serene atmosphere; by night, it sets the stage for a dramatic, inviting ambiance perfect for entertaining.

If you have an awkward corner or a stretch of 'dead space' in your home, resist the urge to crowd it with extra furniture. Instead, make a statement with a tree. Concerned about the cost of a larger specimen? Here’s our favorite trick: place a smaller tree in a tall planter to instantly give it presence – it’s the equivalent of putting your plant in high heels.

When sourcing, we gravitate toward unusual shapes over perfect symmetry. We lovingly call them our 'Dr. Seuss trees' – quirky, characterful plants often overlooked for their irregularities. To us, those imperfections are what make them special. Each one carries its own personality, and it’s precisely that individuality that brings soul and beauty to a space.

And don’t forget the planter – it’s just as important as the tree itself. We tend to favor antique-inspired, neutral-toned ceramic vessels that quietly complement the greenery rather than compete with it, allowing the tree’s sculptural form to take center stage. One of our favorite sources is Inner Gardens, which offers a beautiful selection.

The benefits of bringing trees indoors go well beyond aesthetics. They not only lift your mood and foster a sense of connection to nature, but they also help purify the air, creating a healthier home environment.

So the next time you’re wondering what’s missing from a room, consider skipping the extra chair or console. What your space may truly be craving is a tree.

At its heart, By Design is about expanding the conversation. Our readers value expert advice and timeless inspiration, but they also want to hear the personal stories behind the craft. That’s why we’ve invited a curated group of creators to form the first wave of By Design. Together, they bring a blend of established voices and fresh perspectives, each offering something new to the way we think about design today.

'By Design is about widening the lens of Homes & Gardens,' says Sarah Spiteri, Global Brand Director and Group Editor in Chief. 'We know our readers value hearing directly from experts they can trust, and we also know that designers want new ways to connect with an engaged, design-loving audience. This initiative gives both – a platform for talent, and authentic, expert-led content for our readers.'

For our audience, By Design offers a richer, more personal source of inspiration. You’ll discover professional insights alongside the stories, passions, and ideas that shape the work of some of today’s most compelling voices.

For the design community, it provides a new way to connect – aligning with one of the most established names in design while sharing their vision with a global audience.

By Design is just beginning, and it will continue to evolve. As it grows, we welcome your feedback: tell us what resonates, what excites, and what you’d like to see more of on this platform.

This is the start of a fresh chapter for Homes & Gardens – one that celebrates expertise, embraces diverse perspectives, and invites you into the conversation.

You may have heard of the Japanese practice of Kintsugi – the art of repairing broken pottery with lacquered gold, celebrating its imperfections rather than hiding them. In Japanese culture, it transforms the sadness of breakage into something beautiful, something to be cherished.

I want to take that idea one step further. Instead of filling every crack or scratch with gold, why not leave them be? Let each ding carry the memory and history of a home. Whether from running, playing, dancing, or an overzealous cooking session, I believe wear and tear can endure as a beautiful record of everything a house contains.

I recently completed a major renovation of my own home. After 18 months of living elsewhere, my family was thrilled to move back just before Thanksgiving. Naturally, I thought, why not celebrate Thanksgiving with my entire extended family in our newly renovated home? And while we’re at it, let’s throw a party for 200 people the weekend before Thanksgiving. That’s exactly what we did.

With the paint barely dry and the furniture only just in place, our guests began to arrive. Friends and family filled every corner as we celebrated all night with candles, food, and music. Walking through the house, watching people laugh, lounge, and enjoy themselves, my heart swelled.

The next day, as I wiped down the dining room table, removing half-empty glasses and leftover platters, a long, fresh scratch in the newly refinished walnut revealed itself under one of the cheese boards. It was fairly deep, but nothing a furniture maker couldn’t fix. I ran my finger over it and let it sit.

A few days later, I returned to the dining room and looked at the scratch again. It brought back the night of the party – the warm candlelight, the laughter, the joy. I realized, this scratch can be anything I want it to be. I chose to see it as a reminder of that magical evening – a thank-you gift. I’ve kept it front and center on the dining table ever since, and every time I see it, I smile.

When my team and I design for clients, we often use reclaimed materials as the foundation of a home: wood flooring, limestone pavers, vintage furniture, and rugs that have already lived a life in another home, barn, or church. These pieces carry stories and are now beginning a new chapter with a new family. Their imperfections teach lessons – they are forgiving, soft, and inviting. They call out, 'Don’t be shy. Curl up on me. Jump on me. Spill your drink on me while dancing with joy.'

So the next time you notice a lemon ring on your marble counter, a ding where your daughter tugged a glass from the dishwasher, or a pen mark your five-year-old left on the wall, consider leaving it there. Maybe even take pride in it. Take your pen and mark your children’s height on the doorway, writing the date each year. Give them a wall in their room where friends can leave messages, doodle, or create something that evolves and can be repainted over time. Make holiday cards together at the formal dining room table, and when you spot that stubborn speck of glitter sparkling on the floor, remember the laughter and joy of that day – and let that little fleck shine a while longer.

See more of how Jess Cooney designs here

In a world where everything is filtered, formatted, and vying for likes, our homes quietly retain a superpower that no digital screen can replicate: the ability to reveal the unfiltered truth of who we are. They tell that story not through perfection, but through quirks, contradictions, and character. Through soul.

I’ve never trusted a room that feels too perfect. You know the type: all beige everything, no books meant for reading in sight, perfectly styled. A well-designed room should invite you to flop on the sofa, pull a book from the shelf, and stay a while. Good design isn’t flawless – it’s personal. A scratched floor from dancing in the kitchen, a chipped bowl from a roadside market in France, the stack of novels you swear you’ll finish – these are the details that make a space feel alive. They are what separate a showroom from a home.

Rooms should reflect who you are, not hide it behind closed doors. Show me the kids’ drawings, the records, the inherited artwork valuable only for sentiment, the comically large collection of vases. (We all have a thing – mine happens to be an unusual number of ceramics shaped like hands and feet. I have no idea how it started.) Color matters too. Color has power. It can make a room feel cozy, energetic, moody, or calm. A thoughtful color story sets the tone for your entire space before anyone even speaks.

But design isn’t just about 'vibes.' Your space has to function. Form follows function, as Louis Sullivan said, and I believe a beautiful room is useless if you can’t easily adjust the lights, hold a conversation, or set your drink down. A home should feel alive and intuitive. Furniture should make sense for how you live. If you have to move a chair every time you open a cabinet, something’s off. Real life is unpredictable. Your home should be the calm in that chaos: soft walls, plush upholstery, room for mess, space for guests, and yes, room to grow.

That last part is crucial. A home should evolve with you, not become a time capsule sealed in grout. Permanent design choices shouldn’t follow trends – leave those to paint, accessories, and the occasional quirky lamp. Hard-to-change elements deserve materials that age gracefully. I love a honed marble countertop with an ogee edge or a handmade subway tile that feels warm and interesting without ever making you cringe. Your home is not a time machine; it’s a living, breathing space. Let it grow with you.

Put art on your walls. Lots of it. I love wallpaper and paint as much as the next designer, but nothing beats art that means something to you. It can be bold, subtle, romantic, surreal, or completely bonkers. It can make you laugh or cry. It can cost a fortune or absolutely nothing. Some of the best gallery walls I’ve ever created were a mashup of kids’ drawings, vintage prints, family photos, and one serious piece anchoring it all. Play with scale, mix your frames, and embrace the quirks. Art gives a room its pulse.

At the end of the day, designing for real life is about creating a home that works hard and loves you back. One that wears in, not out. One that makes space for your history and your evolving taste. That’s functional, comfortable, and unmistakably you. A home isn’t just where you live – it’s where you tell your story, one overstuffed sofa, chipped plate, and wine-stained counter at a time.

Read more about how Zoe Feldman designs spaces here

Where to begin when decorating your home? It’s the very question I’m asking myself as I type these first words onto a blank page, reflecting on how design takes shape. My thoughts wander to sedimentary rocks – specifically a conglomerate stone with rounded pebbles and cobbles, affectionately known as Puddingstone for its resemblance to a classic British Christmas pudding dotted with raisins. Layered, textural, and full of character, it feels like the perfect metaphor for how design unfolds.

I’m thinking back to a blustery March day, scrambling over the tectonic formations along a beachfront property with a new client I had met only hours earlier. Out of curiosity – and then simply for the fun of it – we began gathering rocks of different shapes, sizes, tones, and textures as we walked and talked about the project. We weren’t collecting them with design in mind that afternoon, but in retrospect, that’s exactly when our design process began – naturally, and without planning.

Over the years, I’ve come to realize something about design that hides in plain sight. The answer to ‘where to begin’ is this: design is both intentional and fortuitous – shaped by careful choices but also by the happy accidents we stumble upon. That single tea leaf carries immense permission: to be surprised by how beautifully green tones harmonize, to suddenly see how painting ceilings the same color as walls can make a room feel more expansive, or to understand why designers so often turn to black – using it to ground a space while making everything else stand out, almost like a magic trick.

If you find yourself staring at your own version of a blank page, unsure of where to start, take a walk. Notice how colors sit together in nature or in the built world. Pause when something makes you stop and look twice, take a photo, and remember the combination – whether pleasing or unexpected. And if you have a moment on your way back, step into a shop or public building you’ve never visited. You may find just a fleeting detail or perhaps a spark big enough to shape your whole design.

In the early days of my career, my partner and I traveled to Milan for Salone. We wandered into a small gallery on Via della Spiga, where Nina Yashar, founder of the Nilufar Gallery, graciously walked us through a handful of vintage treasures. Then we saw it – a rare Swedish rug by Marta Maas-Fjetterström that stopped us in our tracks. Its unusual dimensions, we realized, were a perfect fit for a project we had just begun.

On impulse, we called our clients. It seemed crazy to purchase such an expensive piece before we’d even created mood boards or a design presentation, but we were certain it was right. To our delight, they agreed. And so that project began not with a plan, but with a rug we hadn’t been searching for.

That March day, I felt like a child making a new friend – playing, exploring, discovering. I hadn’t brought a presentation or a plan, yet I left with more than I could have expected (much like our trip to Milan). When I look back at photos of the completed project, I can still see the textures, colors, patterns, and qualities of light from that afternoon woven throughout the design.

Just this morning, driving through coastal Virginia, my eye caught an old house painted in a shade of acidic celadon. That oxidized, bluish-green-almost-grey tone instantly became the new direction for the walls in my son’s bedroom. I’d been testing paint colors for weeks, searching for the right one, but nothing landed until today – when a weathered façade turned my head.

Not long after, from the back seat, my son asked if I thought rocks were smart or dumb. I told him rocks have been here longer than we can imagine, so of course they’re wise – if you listen closely, they’ll tell you stories.

And that’s the heart of design: listening. To the rocks. To the unexpected shade of paint on a house you pass on a rural road. To the serendipitous encounter with a maker whose work sparks something new. Stay open. Keep your eyes sharp. Let chance guide you – and you’ll always find where to begin.

Read more about how Poonam Khanna designs spaces here

Before you even hire me, you’ll ask how long the process takes from start to finish. You’ll want a clear timeline – when the contractors will finish, when deliveries will arrive, when your home will finally feel 'complete.' You’ll say you understand delays and lead times, yet it’s natural to feel frustrated by them anyway. You’ll ask me to lock in an install date so we can bring in your beautiful new furniture, hang the art, style the bookshelves, and tie every detail together.

But what you’re really asking is simple: When will my home be finished?

And I hear you. Especially today, in a world overflowing with perfectly curated Instagram feeds and Pinterest boards, it’s easy to feel like every room should look styled and photo-ready at all times. That pressure can make a home feel 'unfinished' until it looks like it belongs in a magazine – and that’s a feeling I see often, even among the most seasoned homeowners.

Of course, there will come a point in the design process when we wrap up. The contractors will leave. We’ll roll out your rugs, hang your window treatments, and arrange your furniture. In that moment, we’ll all feel excited that your space is ‘done,’ ready for you to enjoy. Your home will look beautiful, feel new, and that milestone is worth celebrating. But honestly, that moment isn’t my ultimate goal.

I see my job as laying a thoughtful foundation for your space. From there, it’s most important that your home feels like yours – alive, personal, and evolving. Maybe we didn’t find the perfect piece of art during our time together – and that’s okay. One day, you’ll stumble upon something that resonates with you, something that recalls a flea market adventure with a friend or a special trip. That connection, that story behind the piece, will mean far more than anything I could have sourced just to tick a box and declare the room ‘finished.’

When we design, we intentionally leave room for growth – for you to rearrange, revise, and revisit your surroundings over time. It’s human nature to collect, evolve, and fall in love with new things. Whether it’s a vintage mirror you inherit or a finger painting from your child, these layers are what make a house feel like a home. If a space is designed so rigidly that nothing can be added without disrupting the ‘look,’ then we haven’t built a home – we’ve built a showroom.

A home should never feel frozen. Over time, you might want more color on the walls or fewer throw pillows on the sofa. That’s not a design failure – it’s a success. It means your space supports you, allowing you to grow and change without starting from scratch every time your tastes evolve. Your home should reflect who you are, and who you are is always evolving.

So yes, part of my job is to give timelines, manage contractors, oversee installations, and deliver a space you love when we put down our pencils. But my true goal – the part that keeps me engaged and inspired – isn’t about creating a static, photo-ready home. It’s about crafting a personal, adaptable space that welcomes change, invites memory, and celebrates not just who you are today, but who you are becoming.

Read more about how Emma Beryl Kemper designs spaces here

If there’s one thing I wish more people would do in their homes, it’s this: use paint with purpose – not just on the walls.

Paint is, without a doubt, one of the most transformative tools in design. It’s accessible, relatively affordable, and has the power to completely change the mood and feel of a space – without knocking down a single wall. Yet so often, I walk into homes where paint is an afterthought. Walls are relegated to safe neutrals, trim is ignored, and ceilings? Left flat white.

Here’s my plea: stop defaulting to 'ceiling white.'

The ceiling is often called the fifth wall – and for good reason. It’s a blank canvas with the power to add depth, drama, and cohesion to a room. Rather than treating it as an afterthought, consider extending your wall color up onto the ceiling. This color-washed effect creates an immersive, enveloping atmosphere – perfect for bedrooms, powder rooms, or any space where you want extra mood and intimacy.

For a bolder approach, try a contrasting ceiling color to make it pop. Want to really push the envelope? Consider wallpapering the ceiling. Yes, wallpaper. It’s unexpected, elegant, and adds a delightful element of surprise. In projects where we’ve done this, the reaction is always the same: people stop, look up, and say, 'Wow, I never would have thought of that.' That’s exactly the kind of reaction good design should evoke.

And remember, it’s not just about ceilings.

Another detail I wish more people would embrace is contrasting trim and interior doors. In many homes, trim is treated as purely functional – white and standard. But this is a prime opportunity to add character and intention to the spaces between rooms. It’s not just about the profile you choose; it’s about the color you carry through the home.

Hallways, in particular – where multiple doors line a space and there’s often little else – can be transformed by painted trim and doors. What might otherwise feel like a cold corridor becomes a curated, intentional moment. We love using deep, saturated hues – warm taupes, olives, ochres, muddy blues – treating these earth tones as neutrals to give transitional spaces a sense of place and personality.

People often underestimate the emotional power of color. It’s not just about aesthetics; color influences how a room feels and how you feel in it. That’s why I always encourage clients to be bold. Don’t chase trends – trust your instincts. Bold doesn’t have to mean bright or loud. A soft, moody taupe can feel just as daring as a vibrant rust orange if it’s applied with intention.

When we approach color in our projects, we think about the home as a whole. We want the spaces to flow seamlessly from one room to the next. Where can we create moments of drama? Where should a space feel soft and calm? How do the colors transition from one area to another? Paint lets us sculpt that narrative. It’s one of the few tools that can unify an entire home – or make each room shine individually.

And the best part? It’s not permanent. It’s not structural. If it doesn’t feel right, paint over it. Try again.

So the one thing I wish everyone would do? Use paint. Use it thoughtfully. Use it creatively. Use it everywhere. Don’t limit yourself to walls. Don’t shy away from darker tones. Don’t assume white is the only safe choice. Your home should reflect your story, your style, your soul – and color is one of the simplest, most powerful ways to express that.

It’s the details that matter. They’re what make a space feel curated and intentional. Often, they’re what turn a house into a home.

Read more about how Ashley Montgomery designs spaces here

When I was asked to write this column, I paused – truly paused – and gave myself time to think. I wanted to write about something that felt authentic to me, both personally and creatively as a designer. I wanted to strike the right tone for those of you who don’t yet know me, but who I hope will come to understand the ideas and themes that guide my approach to design. And so, it felt natural to start at the beginning: why I got into design.

When someone recently asked me this question, the answer was simple. I believe interiors are not just visually beautiful spaces – they should transform the way you think and feel. From a young age, I’ve been drawn to spaces that offer calm, joy, and a sense of ease. I’ve always wanted to create homes that are uncompromisingly peaceful, where people feel happy and at ease the moment they enter. For me, design is never just about what we see; it’s about that quiet, restorative feeling when the noise fades, and the space truly resonates.

I used to romanticize the idea of slow mornings – the kind where you don’t immediately reach for your phone, sip a cup of tea in silence, or spend 15 minutes meditating to start the day 'the right way.' I loved the idea of that person, but honestly, it’s not me.

Like many of you, I’ve come to accept that my mornings begin in a more chaotic fashion. From the moment I wake, the noise starts – not just from the buzzing streets of Brooklyn, which I now call home, but from the world outside springing to life: chatter, traffic, the familiar ping of notifications, and the visual clutter of our surroundings. This is all part of what defines our age of overstimulation.

Design, once a vehicle for quiet elegance, has in some ways become another source of overwhelm. Driven by social media platforms like Instagram and Pinterest, we are inundated with fast trends, where the emphasis often feels more about quantity than quality. In a world that rarely pauses, stillness has become not just desirable, but a luxury – and in many ways, a universal aspiration. Post-pandemic living has only intensified this feeling. We’ve all had to reconsider how we inhabit our homes, the necessities they provide, and how they make us feel. From this, I asked myself: how do I design for stillness in a loud world?

For me, it comes back to intentionality. Design that quiets the mind. Spaces that do not shout for attention but instead offer calm, a place to rest, reset, and simply be. As a designer, my role is to create interiors that soothe rather than stimulate, crafting environments that act as a sanctuary from external life – a refuge within the home that provides a sense of calm amid the everyday chaos.

One principle I return to time and again in our work is material honesty. Ever since studying in Florence, I’ve been drawn to natural materials – timber, stone, clay walls – materials that carry their own quiet presence. They don’t need to shout to be noticed. Often, they form the foundation of our projects because when used thoughtfully, they speak for themselves.

Of course, these materials can be used in bold, dramatic ways, but I tend to favor a more restrained approach. I want them to feel sympathetic to their surroundings rather than compete with them. Even the most beautiful finishes can become loud or distracting if overused. It’s a question I ask constantly during the design process: how will this space feel in five years? After all, the homeowner lives in it every day, not just when it’s photographed. My goal is to create interiors that feel considered and timeless, not trend-driven or overworked.

It’s easy to fall into the mindset that more is more – and sometimes, I agree. When it comes to styling, for example, I don’t hold back. I love layering objects, books, art, and treasures, both I and our clients have collected – everything that makes a space feel personal and lived-in.

Through thoughtful curation, we can create rooms that are inviting, livable, and quietly beautiful. For me, design is never about impressing at first glance or overwhelming the senses. It’s about crafting a space that feels calm, considered, and welcoming – a place where people want to spend time and the feeling it leaves behind endures.

When it comes to what I call the ‘bones’ of a home – the architecture, the layout, the materials – I firmly believe in restraint. Stillness doesn’t mean emptiness; it means intentionally simple. A kind of layered minimalism that feels warm rather than stark. It’s about creating space for a home to breathe.

I like to think of my approach as refined and quietly confident. I place strong emphasis on architecture and materiality, often influenced by European sensibilities – spaces that feel special but never ostentatious. From there, the layering begins. With furniture, fixtures, and fittings, I lean into a more relaxed, Californian aesthetic, incorporating linen upholstery, mixed wood tones, and pieces that feel lived-in and approachable. It’s this balance that makes a space truly feel like home.

The homes we create often take years to bring to life. They are the product of a long, collaborative process – from early concept to final installation – requiring many hands along the way. Naturally, there’s a thrill at the finish line. After years of ideation, problem-solving, and careful planning, seeing it all come together is immensely rewarding – for both us and our clients.

But what I think about most is what happens afterward. When the teams have packed up, the dust has settled, and everyday life resumes. That is where the real success of a project lives for me. My hope – and intention – is always that we’ve created more than a beautiful space. We’ve created a home.

A home where our clients and their families can truly unwind, switch off from the pressures of the outside world, and feel at ease. A bedroom designed as a sanctuary, meant to be a space to escape to and simply be.

At the end of the day, that is the real purpose of what we do: creating homes that offer stillness and calm in an overstimulated, loud world.

Read more about how Katie Harbison designs spaces here

When people enter a room, their eyes naturally take it all in – and when the ceiling is doing its job, they look up too. That’s exactly the point. I’ve always believed the ceiling is the most underrated – and yet most impactful – 'wall' in any space. It’s the fifth plane, a silent scene-setter that, when approached thoughtfully, can transform a room from the expected to the extraordinary.

For me, designing a ceiling is storytelling. It shapes intimacy, drama, light, and mood – and can even introduce a touch of whimsy or surprise. Here, I’ll share some of my favorite ways to get it just right.

1. Wallpaper – bring the drama overhead

Wallpaper on the ceiling is a bold move. Not for the faint of heart, it’s the perfect way to infuse a space with personality, or transform a tucked-away lounge into a jewel-box moment. Pro tip: a little sheen goes a long way.

In a recent project, we wrapped the ceiling in a dramatic, swirling paper that evokes both a stormy sky and a marble slab. Paired with navy cabinetry and brass accents, it introduces unexpected movement and depth. The eye naturally travels upward, and the room comes alive – moody, dynamic, and utterly captivating.

2. Paint – subtle can still be stunning

Not every ceiling needs to make a statement. Sometimes, restraint is the ultimate luxury. Paint is the simplest – and most versatile – tool in the ceiling playbook. It can ground a lofty space or bring elegance to a modest one, and it’s one of the quickest ways to give a room that polished, pulled-together feel.

I often pair wall and ceiling colors for a seamless, cocooning effect, or choose a darker ceiling to introduce subtle drama. In one serene living room, we kept the ceiling beautifully understated, letting the strong, dark fireplace and soft, neutral furnishings take center stage. The eye still rises, but more gently, creating quiet sophistication.

3. Decorative painting – turn your ceiling into a canvas

Why settle for ordinary when your ceiling can be a work of art? In one living room, we painted the coffered ceiling a deep navy and inlaid it with subtle metallic gold detailing. The tone-on-tone effect adds both structure and shimmer, while visually lowering the ceiling just enough to create a cozy, intimate atmosphere.

In a serene bedroom, we embraced a more playful approach. The ceiling was painted a rich green and adorned with delicately hand-painted gold leaf motifs that scattered around the perimeter like falling coins. Lighthearted yet elegant, it elevates the space without overwhelming it – a perfect example of how thoughtful ceiling design adds a bespoke layer of luxury.

Ultimately, a well-designed ceiling isn’t just about aesthetics – it’s about how it makes you feel. Whether adorned with wallpaper, painted in a moody hue, or transformed into a mural, the ceiling sets the emotional tone of the space. So the next time a room stops you in your tracks, pause for a moment and look up.

Read more about how Tineke Triggs designs spaces here

Some moments quietly remind us why we do what we do as creatives and interior designers. For us, one of those moments unfolded around a recent candlelit summer table setting in the Hamptons.

What started as a casual mention of a dinner hosted by David Alhadeff of The Future Perfect and celebrated lighting designer Lindsey Adelman became far more meaningful than we anticipated. We arrived expecting an elegant evening of design-minded conversation– and we found that – but we left with a renewed appreciation for the emotional thread running through all great design: human connection.

The setting was impeccable, blending intimacy with aesthetic care. Lindsey’s home radiated intention without pretence. Fireflies cast a soft, golden glow over a long table by the pool, while guests from across the design world came together over shared plates and stories. In an industry often focused on objects – the chair, the lamp, the layout – it was a refreshing reminder that the soul of design lies in the people who inhabit it.

That night, we weren’t merely admiring our surroundings; we were part of a living example of design at its best: fostering community and creating a backdrop for belonging. What felt revolutionary wasn’t scale or spectacle, but simplicity. No product launches, no agendas – just designers, creatives, and makers being human together. Perhaps that’s the most radical design move of all.

There’s an important takeaway here: design is not merely about beautifying spaces – it’s about creating moments; what we like to call the art of living. A beautifully set dinner table can emerge from a seasonal harvest, sourced thoughtfully from the land. At LALA, when we set a table, we fill it with figs, pomegranates, walnuts, kumquats, or whatever the season provides. These natural centerpieces, layered among Ginori plates and amber carafes that catch the light with their citrine glow, make guests feel as if the table has been arranged just for them – intentionally, thoughtfully – setting the stage for conversation and connection.

A room arranged with care, where the chairs are angled just so, extends a silent but warm welcome. These are acts of hospitality and empathy. The homes and gardens we nurture are more than private sanctuaries; they are stages for connection, dialogue, and community – a canvas where the art of living comes alive.

So the next time an invitation lands in your inbox, we encourage you: say yes. Say yes to the gathering, to the conversation, to the chance to connect with people who see the world a little like you – or, even more intriguingly, very differently. And if you’re hosting, give yourself the space and time to care for the table as much as you do the plates, to craft an experience that feels intentional and welcoming.

Sometimes, all it takes is one evening – one thoughtfully designed space – to remind us that we are not creating in isolation. We are part of something larger. We are, quite simply, in good company.

Read more about how LALA Reimagined designs spaces here

If you’ve followed my work over the past decade – or simply stepped into one of my spaces – you’ve probably noticed a signature color woven through every design. It appears in the patina of aged furniture, oak floors, mohair upholstery, reclaimed beams, vintage pottery, art, décor, and even my coffee cup: brown. Rich, grounding, and endlessly nuanced brown.

People often overlook decorating with brown in favor of safer tones, but it has soul. Sophisticated. Unapologetically grounded. I use it to create contrast, add warmth, and bring balance. It’s not just a neutral – it’s a statement when used with intention.

I used to treat brown like most people do: a filler, a background note. But over the years, as I’ve leaned into what feels natural, comforting, and lived-in, brown has quietly taken the lead. It’s now the starting point for many of my palettes and the note I return to again and again when I want a room – or even an outfit – to feel like home.

Being from the Pacific Northwest (Oregon), brown feels like nature’s original hue. There’s something about it that calms the nervous system, at least for me. While black can feel bold and stark (and beautiful in its own right), brown room ideas are forgiving. It has softness, warmth, and range.

In design, brown adds weight without unnecessary drama. It creates contrast without feeling cold. Whether it’s chocolate-stained furniture or a vintage walnut-framed mirror, brown brings an earthiness no other tone can replicate.

My love for brown deepened when I started working more intentionally with wood. There’s an honesty to wood – especially sustainably harvested oak – that I can’t get enough of. Not slick, shiny finishes, but raw, brushed, oiled wood that reveals its grain, ages gracefully, and grounds a room in a subtle, enduring way.

I also reach for brown in textiles: mohair, wool, linen, velvet, and florals. It reads differently in each material. A tobacco-hued velvet bench in an entryway feels moody and elegant; a café-au-lait rug in a bedroom adds understated luxury. That’s the beauty of brown – its depth isn’t just in its pigment, but in its personality.

And then there’s paint. I’m often asked which browns I use when I want a shade that’s not too muddy, orange, or gray. Farrow & Ball’s 'browns' section has some of my favorites: Salon Drab, Broccoli Brown, Drab, Deep Reddish Brown, Wainscot, and Tanner’s Brown. Their tones are rich without ever feeling heavy-handed, and they capture light in surprising ways throughout the day.

A good brown paint, like a well-designed room, should shift with the sun.

If you’re hesitant to bring brown into your home, my best advice is simple: start small, but start with intention. Swap black frames for stained wood, or add a chocolate throw or pillow to your sofa.

My current palette sits somewhere between a bar of Moonstruck milk chocolate (made in Portland and forever stocked in my kitchen) and my morning espresso – deep, smooth, and layered. It’s the palette of early mornings, slow rituals, long walks, and homes that feel collected rather than decorated.

For me, brown isn’t about trends – it’s about tone. It’s emotional. It evokes places I love, people I’ve known, and spaces that feel as though they’ve always existed. Maybe that’s why I keep returning to it – not just as a designer, but as a person.

So when you see brown in my spaces, know it’s never just a color choice. It’s a feeling. A texture. A story quietly unfolding in the background. And if you’re looking for something that grounds, softens, and lingers, brown might just become your new favorite, too.

Read more about how Molly Kidd designs spaces here

Most of us don’t give much thought to what we see when we step through the front door or glance down a hallway – but those fleeting moments, the way your eye moves through a space, can completely transform how your home feels. That’s where sightlines come in.

Sightlines are just what they sound like: the natural paths your eyes follow when you enter a room, walk through a corridor, or look across one space into another. Designers pay close attention to them when choosing home decor for good reason. They shape how we experience a home, and when they’re done well, every room feels intentional, harmonious, and inviting.

The best part? You don’t need to knock down walls or call in a contractor to improve yours. In fact, some of the most effective sightline tricks are surprisingly simple – and they can instantly make your home feel more polished and put together.

Here are five easy ways to elevate the sightlines in your space. It is an interior design rule worth knowing.

1. Declutter your doorway views

Stand in any doorway of your home and pause for a moment. What do you see from that vantage point? If the view is cluttered with cords, piles, or a piece of furniture that feels intrusive, it’s subtly working against the calm of your space.

Doorways are natural transition points, and keeping them clear instantly makes rooms feel more open and serene. Often, just moving one or two distracting items is enough to let the eye relax – and the whole space feels calmer as a result.

2. Add a focal point at the end of a hallway

Hallways are natural visual pathways – your eye is drawn to where they lead. Instead of leaving them bare or overlooked, treat them as an opportunity to create a moment of interest. What you place at the end of a hallway can anchor the space and subtly invite you forward.

It doesn’t have to be elaborate. A framed artwork, a tall plant, or a slim console table can provide just enough visual weight to make the hallway feel intentional and complete, without ever overcrowding it.

3. Keep your sightline clear by avoiding visual clutter on surfaces

Sometimes sightlines aren’t interrupted by furniture or walls but by cluttered surfaces. When tables, shelves, or counters are crowded with too many objects, the eye has nowhere to rest – and the whole space can start to feel chaotic.

By keeping surfaces streamlined and intentional, you create cleaner sightlines and a calmer, more cohesive view throughout your home.

4. Position furniture along natural sightlines

Furniture plays a major role in how your eye moves through a space. Oversized pieces or those that block views can make a room feel cramped or disconnected. But when furniture aligns with the natural sightlines of the room, it enhances openness and flow.

Keep walkways clear, and avoid placing furniture directly in front of windows or key focal points. Even small shifts in placement can transform the way a room feels.

5. Add a mirror to open up your space

Mirrors are a simple but powerful tool for extending sightlines. By reflecting light and views, they can make a room feel larger, brighter, and more connected.

Place a mirror where it can catch natural light or reflect an appealing part of the room. Even this small adjustment encourages the eye to travel farther, instantly creating a greater sense of openness.

Good design often comes down to noticing what’s already there. You don’t need new furniture or a full renovation to change the feel of your home. Sightlines offer an easy way to bring calm, flow, and connection to any space.

Read more about how Nina Takesh designs spaces here