Homes for Rebels – The Design Process

Where the Story Begins

The conventional way for interior designers is to create mood boards and presentation boards, all beautifully laid out and polished within an inch of their lives. But that’s not how we do it here. My clients get involved much earlier in the process, helping me build the narrative of the project before we ever talk about plans or finishes.

Every home begins with a conversation — not about square metreage or layouts, but about life: where they’ve been, what they love, how they live when no one’s watching. Sometimes we talk about travel, fashion, films, or even a piece of music that always feels like home. These small stories are the clues I use to create something deeply personal.

Occasionally there are fears of what others might think; sometimes there’s too much creativity; and very often, reluctance toward certain eras — a client might never want to revisit the 70s or 80s if they lived through them the first time around. And we all have childhood memories we’d rather not repeat — I once had a client who refused any trace of yellow because their childhood bedroom was painted in it.

My role is to navigate all of this, often mediating between differing opinions within couples, to create a home that doesn’t reek of compromise. I find that “good taste” can often be the result of compromise and fear. The line I tread lies somewhere between that and a place that looks completely bonkers — and that’s usually where something truly unique happens.

Finding the Home’s Character

Rather than dictating a style, I build a character — the home’s personality. Once that’s clear, everything else falls into place. The mood may change from room to room, but there’s always a common thread — sometimes subtle, sometimes bold. Maybe it’s a house that’s quietly glamorous; maybe it’s a riot of texture and colour. What matters is that it’s ultimately their stamp, not mine.

Often, I ask clients to share a few images from Pinterest or Instagram and describe what they love or hate about them. Usually, I hear certain words repeated — “cosy,” “considered,” “calm,” “bold,” “impressive.” I note those descriptors because they help me build an idea of what they dream about.

The images are then discarded because I never copy another designer’s work. After all, good design is about solutions, not reproduction — a response to the home and the people who live in it.

Reading the Clues

I notice how someone dresses, the image they project, the books or films they reference. It all helps me understand their taste and temperament. I always ask whether they want me to be direct — after all, my job is to guide them away from expensive mistakes — though it does require a little subtlety.

Design, for me, is less about imposing a look and more about creating a mood. I like to think of it as setting a stage where life can happen beautifully — perhaps even a canvas they can continue to add to over the years.

Recently, I’ve been asked to return to projects I completed more than fifteen years ago — to update and refresh them. It’s rather lovely to see that the houses still look in good condition and haven’t fallen out of fashion, because they were never in fashion. Usually, I’m remodelling rooms because of a change in lifestyle — updating technology, creating Zoom rooms, or even converting basements into cinemas and nightclubs.

It’s these small rebellions — the decisions that make no sense on paper but feel exactly right — that make a home sing. For my clients, it’s about knowing they’re in good hands, and that they can dare to be bold.

The Beautiful Mess

The process itself is wonderfully messy. There’s sketching, sourcing, building, editing — and more than a few surprises along the way. I encourage my clients to enjoy it: to see how things evolve and to trust that magic happens in the in-between moments. Often, what begins as an offhand idea over coffee becomes the soul of the project.

We work with scraps of paper and pencils, talking through ideas — perhaps a tile or textile one of us has picked up on our travels, or a great piece of art that suddenly becomes the key to the whole scheme.

“Magic happens in the in-between moments.”

The Art of Layering

Layering is everything. It’s where the richness comes from — the patina of age against the new, the soft with the strong, the refined beside the raw. A home without layers can feel lifeless, but when you combine craft, art, memory, and a little mischief, something special emerges. It’s like composing music — every object, fabric, and finish plays its part in the harmony.

That Moment of Recognition

By the end, I want my clients to walk into their homes and feel that slight shock of recognition — that sense of this is me. That’s when I know we’ve done it right.

I call them homes for rebels not because they’re loud or defiant, but because they dare to be personal. They’re designed for people who know who they are — and aren’t afraid to live that way.

“Homes for rebels aren’t loud or defiant — they dare to be personal.”