Why Being Yourself Is the Only Interior Trend That Matters

I’m often asked what makes me instantly bored when I walk into a room. The answer is simple: when it feels like nobody actually lives there. Or worse, when it feels like someone is putting on their telephone voice in décor form- polite, careful and slightly apologetic. Homes shouldn’t sound like customer service calls. They should sound like you.

Somewhere along the way, we started designing homes for imaginary audiences: estate agents, future buyers, visiting relatives who may or may not approve. It’s a strange performance. Because the truth is, you’re the one who has to wake up there every morning. If your home isn’t speaking your language, what exactly is it doing?

The Great Grey Hangover

Grey once had a purpose. It was clean, modern, a bit daring even. But now? Most grey interiors just feel drab and slightly defeated, like they’ve given up halfway through a sentence. Neutrality can be elegant, of course, but neutrality out of fear is something else entirely. That’s not taste, that’s hesitation.

And while we’re on overused things, can we talk about the word curated? It’s everywhere. Social media bios, property listings, design captions. Yet true curation implies knowledge, intention, and editing with conviction. Throwing together a few on-trend objects doesn’t make something curated; it just makes it assembled.

Designing For Yourself (Radical, Apparently)

We are always designing homes for ourselves. Never for estate agents. Never for hypothetical future occupants. And definitely never for the mother-in-law. A home is not a negotiation with strangers, it’s a declaration of identity.

When people decorate cautiously, it often comes from fear. Fear of getting it wrong. Fear of bad taste. So they settle into a bland middle ground that feels safe but rarely feels memorable. But memorable homes, like memorable people, usually involve a bit of risk.

Seduction, Not Exhibitionism

People are surprisingly nervous about sensuality in their homes. Not extravagance, not cost: sensuality. And yet we’re instinctively drawn to it. That moment when light catches a polished surface, the richness of velvet, the glow of a lamp with a gold-lined shade. It’s not about flamboyance; it’s about atmosphere.

Lighting, in fact, is one of the most emotional tools we have. Overhead lighting has its place, mostly in morgues, but in living spaces we’re all subconsciously chasing candlelight. Softer, warmer, kinder. Romantic, even.

And yes, colour plays its part. Tobacco brown, for instance, has a depth that feels enveloping rather than fashionable. Rich colours don’t shout; they murmur. They invite you in.

The Myth of “Polite” Interiors

Polite design is usually just design that hasn’t committed to anything. It avoids offence by avoiding personality. But a house that never risks disapproval rarely inspires affection either. Dangerous interiors, contrary to popular belief, aren’t wildly experimental, they’re often just beige taken too far. Safety, endlessly repeated, becomes its own kind of hazard.

Taste, Risk, and the Joy of Division

People sometimes ask whether I’ve ever designed something knowing it might divide opinion. After three decades in this industry, I'd rather hope so! Design without edge is decoration. Design with a bit of tension: that’s where excitement lives.

And I don’t subscribe to the idea of “brave” interiors. Good design should always feel slightly on the edge. If everything feels entirely comfortable, you’re probably not exploring enough.

What A Home Should Really Say

Ideally, your house should say:“This is who I am. Take it or leave it.”

When someone tells me they “just want it to feel nice,” what I usually hear is uncertainty. And that’s fine. Taste evolves. Homes evolve. But clarity comes from engagement, not caution. A truly seductive home, incidentally, never runs out of good lighting, or a decent bottle of gin. And if your house feels a bit boring? It might not be the furniture. It might simply be that you’re playing it too safe.

Which brings me to the only design advice I’d happily have shouted on my gravestone:

All the best design starts with a gin.