It doesn’t design for me. It allows me to think faster.

Interior design has traditionally had a long distance between an idea and actually seeing it. You imagine something, sketch it, explain it, render it, revise it. Now, I can ask: What if this room felt more English? What if we kept the architecture but made it stranger? What if we pushed the color further? — and see the thought almost immediately.

Some ideas are terrible. That’s part of the magic. I’d rather discover that in five minutes than five weeks.

But the most interesting thing AI has taught me is that access to endless ideas makes taste more valuable, not less.

Soon, everyone will be able to generate something beautiful. The differentiator will be knowing which beautiful thing is right.

Why the strange chair works. Why you keep the old floor. When a room needs another layer — and when to stop.

AI gives me permission to explore the crazy version first. More color. Bigger gestures. Combinations I might once have edited out before ever seeing them.

And strangely, the more I use AI, the more interested I become in everything it can’t replicate: instinct, nostalgia, imperfection and point of view.

AI hasn’t replaced the way I design. It’s removed the friction between having an idea and pushing it until it becomes unmistakably mine.

I’ve spent most of my career thinking about the things we surround ourselves with—why one room stays with you and another doesn’t, why something technically beautiful can still feel completely forgettable, and why the things we love most are rarely the things everyone agrees on.

That, to me, is taste.

It’s personal. Instinctive. Sometimes a little irrational. And increasingly, I think it matters.

We have more access to beautiful things, inspiration, recommendations and other people’s opinions than ever before. We can see what everyone is wearing, buying, designing, saving and talking about almost instantly. The result is that it has never been easier to know what is considered good.

But knowing what you think is good? That’s more interesting.

I’m drawn to people and things with a point of view. The unexpected color. The piece that makes no sense on paper but somehow makes the entire room. Someone who wears something because they love it rather than because it’s having a moment. The new idea that makes you reconsider something you thought you already understood.

Taste isn’t about having the most expensive version of something. It isn’t about following a set of rules. And it definitely isn’t about liking all the right things.

It’s about discernment. Curiosity. Confidence. Knowing when to follow your instinct—and being interested enough to keep changing your mind.

That’s why I created The TASTE Report.

A place for the things I think are worth noticing: what I’m seeing, what I’m thinking about, what’s inspiring me, and the people and ideas shaping the way we see things.

Not a list of what you should like.

A point of view on what’s worth looking at twice.

Welcome to The TASTE Report.

Design is often portrayed as beautiful mood boards, stunning reveals, and perfectly styled photographs. What people don’t see is that even the most talented designer can’t execute a great project without trust.

The service industry is hard. We are hired for our expertise, yet we’re often expected to defend every decision, accommodate every opinion, and absorb every delay. Endless revisions, blurred boundaries, shifting expectations, and a lack of trust don’t just make a project more difficult—they make great design nearly impossible.

The irony is that the clients who trust the process almost always end up with the best homes.

I’ve spent years believing that every project could be saved with more effort, more communication, or more patience. Sometimes that’s true. But sometimes the greatest obstacle isn’t the budget, the timeline, or the contractor. It’s the relationship.

As designers, we need to have more honest conversations about protecting the creative process. We should talk about boundaries, mutual respect, and the fact that great design requires someone to lead—and someone willing to trust that leadership.

I’m entering a season where I’m more interested in building a legacy than building a portfolio. Less interested in chasing volume, and more interested in creating work with permanence—projects that can be nurtured over years, not just completed and photographed. I want my career to be defined not by how much I created, but by what still matters decades from now.

Because the most beautiful interiors aren’t created through endless revisions or constant compromise. They’re created through collaboration, confidence, and trust.

And perhaps that’s the part of our industry we should celebrate more. Not just the finished rooms, but the relationships that made them possible.

There’s something so satisfying about reaching the point in a project where all of the little decisions begin to make sense together.

This bedroom has been exactly that. What started as a collection of fabrics, paint colors, lighting, and sketches is finally beginning to feel like a room with a story. Seeing the layers come together is always my favorite part of the process.

One unexpected thing I’ve discovered along the way is a new love for sourcing vintage. Not because every room needs antiques, but because the right vintage piece brings a depth that simply can’t be replicated. A beautiful painting, an aged frame, or a perfectly worn chair adds just enough history to make a space feel lived in from day one.

For this room, every detail was chosen to create a sense of quiet comfort—soft greens, warm neutrals, floral textiles, antique-inspired lighting, and collected pieces that feel as though they’ve always belonged here.

It’s still evolving, but that’s what I love most. The best rooms aren’t rushed. They come together one thoughtful decision at a time, and somehow the finished space always feels better because of it.

I’m excited to share more as this one continues to unfold.

This is my first season ever planting a garden, and naturally I approached it the same way I approach interiors: obsessively, aesthetically, and with approximately 400 tabs open.

I knew I didn’t want a traditional vegetable garden. I wanted something that felt romantic and layered — part English garden, part European kitchen garden — with roses next to herbs, strawberries spilling over the edges, climbing cucumbers, lavender, mint, and vegetables that were actually beautiful enough to belong there.

So I used AI to help me map out the entire thing. Every plant placement, every color story, every texture. Honestly, it felt less like planning a garden and more like designing a living room that happens to grow tomatoes.

Now I fully understand why people become obsessed with gardening. It’s design, ritual, patience, beauty, and chaos all at once.

Anyway, if this goes horribly wrong, at least the roses will be pretty.

St. Barth’s gave me a lesson in luxury that feels effortless: tropical comes in every color, light hits differently by the hour, and details are where the mood lives. Here’s what stayed with me—and how I’m translating it into my interiors.

1) The palette: multicolor, but intentional
From vibrant accents to sun-warmed neutrals, I’m bringing back the idea that “color” doesn’t mean chaos—it means harmony. Think: jewel tones paired with warm stone, clean whites, and a little punch wherever the eye needs a pause.

2) The texture story: sun + stone + softness
I loved the contrast between rough, natural surfaces and soft, gathered fabrics. In my home, that becomes a mix of stone/terracotta-inspired tones with layered textiles—curtains, throws, and anything that moves beautifully.

3) The “jewelry” moment: art in the details
Those ornate, beaded elements inspired me most—because they function like interior jewelry. I’m using the same energy through statement accessories: layered necklaces (in spirit), artisan finishes, and accents that feel collected rather than chosen from a shelf.

4) The atmosphere: all-day warmth, indoor-outdoor living
There’s a reason St. Barth’s spaces feel so elevated—everything is styled for the way you actually move through the day. I’m taking that into my process: brighter gathering areas, inviting seating, and design that welcomes you in, not just looks good.

What I’m making next: an interior concept built on multicolor warmth + tactile finishes + statement details—because that St. Barth’s feeling should live inside your everyday spaces, too.

Welcome

Welcome to my Substack. If you’ve ever wondered how a space becomes truly finished—how it moves from “almost” to exceptional—you’re in the right place.

What You’ll Get Here

You’ll get the behind-the-scenes perspective of my personal interior projects—some still under construction, and others that just need the right refinement to reach their final, elevated potential. You’ll see the real decisions that shape luxury: what stays, what changes, and why certain details make all the difference.

What I’ll Share

• The process behind my projects (not just the final reveal)

• Inspiration + design direction as I refine spaces

• Home-living insights to keep beauty practical

• Styling and finishing notes for the moments that create impact

The Promise

You won’t just see pretty pictures—you’ll see how I build atmosphere, solve challenges, and refine the details so everything looks exceptional and lives beautifully.

Quick Question

What kind of space are you working on right now—under renovation, a new move, or just ready for a refresh?