Today I take off across the Atlantic for a macro-dose of offline inspiration. More on that soon. Before then, this week’s letter is a Q&A sourced from your questions on Instagram and the VIPs in the There Y0u Are chatroom.

Let’s get into it.

Q: What’s the most recent song you saved?

A: brand new chanel$ by Slayyyter.

Q: Where do you recommend someone start when wanting to pursue a creative career?

A: This is a tough one to answer without knowing, frankly, how good are you, really? That said, when I was in art school, I cold-emailed a photographer I admired, Driely S, with a similar question. She generously responded with this Ira Glass quote, which shadowed me through my early creative career:

Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. […] It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. […] It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.

Q: Fav cozy date Brooklyn?

Petite Crevette, Rucola, Brooklyn Inn

Q: No art in house. Where to start looking?

A: I’ll be completely honest: none of those curated-new-original-art sites have hit the nail on the head for me just yet. For new original art, remember it’s free to follow artists! Then follow their friends, their friends’ friends, then the galleries that they post, etc. etc. Don’t be afraid to message an artist directly and ask about their available works.

South Loop Loft does a beautiful job curating vintage art, though it is pricey. I spend hours on Chairish, eBay, and Etsy looking for original art; there is no cheat code for these, it’s just patience and knowing what you like even when it’s not styled and ecomm’d out for you.

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Q: What hair products do you use for your curls/waves?

A: I’ve been using the same 3 products for 10 years: Davines Love Curl Shampoo, Davines Love Curl Conditioner, Davines Curl Building Serum. I recently started using the Mare Reverie Mediterranean Sea Mist for beach-y texture and will re-purchase.

Q: Where is the plaid blanket in your AD from?

A: It’s a very old Pendleton blanket that I stole from my parents’ house. Similar here.

Q: Theory or design reading recs for people looking to learn more about design?

A: I’m thinking of the song Million Dollar Bill by Dawes. Textually, the song is a man wondering what his next job will be after his relationship ends. But what I learn from the song is a lesson on regret, feelings of inadequacy, class, heartbreak. The song, in my opinion, would feel less masterful if it explicitly harped on any of those themes. Too ham-fisted.

I feel similarly about developing my art and design POV. The works that most furthered my design POV were often not explicitly design books. Frankly, a book strictly on design theory probably wouldn’t be able to hold my attention. Living Rooms from The Middle East Archive is more docu than interior design, and it definitely isn’t theory, but I’ve found it more influential on my POV than, say, Modern Scandinavian Design. I also own and reference Modern Scandinavian Design, but I’m not ingesting it cover-to-cover the way I do with Living Rooms.

Q: If you could have any new bag, what would it be?

Probably a big, fat, Balenciaga Rodeo.

Q: How on earth do you store shoes near your door (without a coat closet) in a way that looks reasonably cool/stylish?

A: I like to do a long, low bench that you can tuck shoes underneath. If it’s a true bench without a back, you can add a catchall and a little lamp so it functions as a pseudo entryway table. Consider adding a cushion to signal “hey, take a seat, kick off your shoes, and come on in”

Q: When collecting furniture/objects over time, how to pull it all together and when to know when something is worth keeping vs. letting go, especially if it’s not quite the right fit

A: I am ruthless when it comes to this. If it’s not the right fit for my current space, I sell it. I’d rather make more room for the right fit. I believe in Marketplace karma. That said, if there’s a piece of art you really can’t let go of, there’s an argument for a gallery wall. It takes the pressure off a single piece and can function more as an altar to your journey than a statement of your taste.

Q: Favorite female artist?

Probably Tracey Emin (pre-neon era) or Jenny Holzer.

Q: Fav sneakers and sandals?

A: Transparently, I did an ad for Asics, so they sent me a pair of their HYPERSYNCS. That brand deal is behind me but I’m still wearing the shoes more than any other sneaker in my closet.

As for sandals, I did an experiment last summer where I walked 10k+ steps per day in a different pair of sandals until I could crown the official city sandal of summer. It became a thing on TikTok. The winner was the Camper Dana, and they’re still going strong.

Q: Ph5 or Frisbee above a kitchen table?

A: Personal preference: PH5.

Q: What’s your take on throw pillows on sofas?

A: It depends on the shape of the sofa. But if I had to boil my feelings down: unless you need them to feel comfy, pass.

Q: Best ever TRR purchase?

A: Tough one, but maybe this $30 Kiki De Montparnasse top for which I’ve achieved stunning cost-per-wear (same neckline here for an XS).

Q: How to decorate a long hallway?

Consider a picture ledge, a series of little pendant lights, or a runner. I also like to anchor the end of the hallway with a demi-lune table with a piece of art over it, so your eyes rest at the end of the hall.

Q: What is your daily routine, from morning until night?

A: A standard work day, as weekends are anyone’s guess:

7:15am: My phone alarm wakes me up. I Brick my phone at night to keep me from scrolling on The RealReal until the wee hours, so the motivation to get out of bed is usually to un-Brick so I can read my emails, et cetera (sad).

7:45am: Walk around the neighborhood or go to the gym. Shower.

8:30am: Sourdough, avocado, and two soft boiled eggs.

9:00am: Arrive at the studio and start the work day with 3x Office Hours calls with clients (30-minutes each, one-on-one mini consults).

10:30am-1:00pm: Work (source for clients, write, build decks, catch up on emails).

1:00-3:00pm: 3x one-hour consults with clients.

3:00pm-6:30pm: Realize I’m famished around 3pm, try to eat something. More work.

6:30pm: Walk home, ask my fiancé if I can pick anything up for dinner, he always says no. He’s an amazing cook, though my favorite dinner he makes is “dog food” AKA ground turkey, rice, and vegetables. He just does it extra good!

7:00pm: Eat dog food, if I’m lucky.

8:00pm: Neighborhood stroll with my beloved.

8:30-10:30pm: Email catchup and media time (TV, movie, book)

10:30pm-11:00pm: Wind down, goodnight!

Xo,

Talia

For all of your burning design questions, feel free to email designask@nytimes.com and I might get back to you via NYT’s Ask A Design Obsessive.

Ciao 💋

It’s been about 8 years since I first walked into a custom framing shop, arrogantly declared I had some pieces I needed framed, then watched my dreams die when he told me the price. Frames and rugs, man. Nobody warns you!

Anyways, I found a Groupon and put it on credit. This is an art and design newsletter, not a personal finances newsletter. I knew, even then, that the way I framed my art could make or break it (yes I could have DIY’d something but I was young and stupid). Since then, I’ve spent countless hours with my neck bent over a framer’s table, going absolutely galaxy brain mode over the many variables (mat size, mat color, frame material, glass quality, frame tone, etc. etc. etc.). Here are some guidelines I’ve picked up over the years:

1. The less traditional the art, the bigger the mat

This could also be phrased as “the more conceptual the art, the bigger the mat” or “the stuffier the art, the smaller the mat”. Pick your poison. Here’s what I mean:

A mat validates a piece of art. The bigger the mat, the more validation it provides. An oil painting of a battle scene, for example, doesn’t need a ton of validation. It’s like “hey, I’m an oil painting and you’ve seen 10,000 versions of me hung in the MET, so I’m good”. However, the receipt you saved from a special dinner of yore might need a little coaxing. He’s like “I’m just a receipt, do I even deserve to be hung on the wall?” Yes you do, little guy, and I’m going to put you in a 6” mat to prove it.

If you’re stuck, a good rule of thumb is to inspect the medium. In general, photography, digital prints, lithographs, and works on paper appreciate a mat. Oil, acrylics, and works on canvas are less likely to need a big one or one at all.

2. The Smaller The Art, The Bigger The Mat

This one is related to Rule #1, as a smaller piece is more likely to need validation, but medium is less of a factor here. There is something so chic about a little postage-size piece swimming in a big, cocky mat.

3. Natural Medium = Natural Frame

The material of your frame is crucial. If you’ve been following There Y0u Are for a while, you know that I love to suggest a thin metal frame. I love it for a few reasons: it’s more affordable than wood, it lends a contemporary edge, and it’s foolproof without being boring. The thin metal frame comes up so much here because people are more often asking about digital prints than say, oil paintings. Digital prints and more graphic pieces suit metal frames. More organic media like oils, charcoals, and pastels suit equally organic frames like mahogany, walnut, and birch.

I will say, this is the one “rule” with the most flexibility. If you want to make a more traditional medium feel contemporary, update it with a metal frame, and visa versa.

4. Know When To Float

^Sung to the tune of Back When by Tim Mcgraw. Anyone?

I go crazy for good paper. I’ll be damned if the fluttery eyelash edges of, say, a handmade Korean mulberry paper are hidden behind a mat. Unacceptable. Inspect the paper of your piece, and if the edges make your heart flutter, ask your framer to float the piece on top of the mat. This creates a little shadow underneath the piece that lets the paper shine.

I chose a float for The Paradiso Print (digital file available here), because I wanted to emphasize how delicate the paper was, and show off the crinkles that are integral to the concept of the piece.

These “rules” are just enough to get you started, but of course there’s so much more at play. We didn’t even get into frame tone (consider the color temperature of your piece), bottom weighted mats (good for when a piece will be hung high), or frame width (should always be at least 1.5x the size of the mat). Feel free to drop those questions in the comments or in the There Y0u Are group chat.

In the meantime, here are some secondhand pieces that come unframed; a perfect opportunity to exercise your new framing prowess. Starting at $5.99 (as in five dollars and ninety-nine cents, USD):

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🌟🌟🌟August consults are fully booked, but September bookings are now open. If you’re looking for one-on-one design guidance, you can book with me here.

Need help sooner? Evan, There Y0u Are’s Senior Design Associate, is available beginning in August. You can book with Evan here.🌟🌟🌟

Welcome to 2026 Q3’s State 0f The Uni0n, a quarterly update on my art and design moods, internet grails, and personal musings. If you’re here from the New York Times’ new column, Ask A Design Obsessive, hi! Welcome to There Y0u Are, a series of art and design briefs by me. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, guess what? I’m writing Ask A Design Obsessive, New York Times’ new advice column. Today’s column was on mixing and matching woods. Give it a read, and if you have design questions of your own, feel free to write into designask@nytimes.com.

Today, I’m excited to share recent saves from new-to-me artists, 5 secondhand art pieces under $500, the search terms inspired by a thrift store and a spa day.

8 Recent Saves

It’s free to follow artists! Here are a few pieces I’ve saved/artists I’ve followed lately:

Search terms

I just saw this piece at a thrift store in Washington:

Which got me thinking about floral still lives and what separates the stuffy from the subversive. The guiding monochromaticity of the thrift shop piece made it feel more conceptual and less like a freshman’s painting class assignment. I decided to search my sites by flower, and “anemones” turned up the following:

I found another anemones piece on eBay, and the piece is nice, Hockney-esque even, but I found myself more taken by the back of the piece, which the seller chose to include for some reason:

I actually prefer the back! The wet medium bleeding through the paper, creating a textural hint at the still life— not a joke, I like it.

I recently had a little pre-wedding spa day with some of my girls at the new Spencer’s in Williamsburg.

We waited for our treatments in the fabulous private space for group events, which was a veritable chair museum. Most notably, this rattan showpiece front and center:

I spent the duration of my facial thinking about the chaise; how the contemporary shape offset the age-old material. Back at home, “1990 rattan chaise” turned up this <$900 Ralph Lauren daybed, a vintage Ikea lounger, and this iron-legged beauty. Thanks for the tip, Spencer’s.

5 under $500

Art and design at a damn good price. Starting at $10:

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I’m pressing send on this week’s letter whilst peeking through my fingers. It might be a terrible idea to spell out some of my favorite sources for you, but hey, a rising tide lifts all boats.

I always ask my sourcing clients how comfortable they are with vintage. Most of them are totally cool with it, which is why they came to me in the first place. But even for the most rabid vintage-lover, I like to sprinkle in a few new pieces to tilt the scales just a touch towards showroom polish. Just a touch.

Sometimes you just want something brand spanking new. Maybe it’s a sofa you want to faceplant on, or a vase you’re shipping across the country as a wedding gift— something where new retailers’ return policies and packaging offer some peace of mind. Perhaps you’re throwing up your hands after months on Marketplace, and ready to buy a table lamp the old-fashioned way, with a return label and plug that definitely works. I have sources for that too.

When it comes to buying new, there are a few retailers I keep coming back to, and now have bookmarked for sourcing sessions. Some are obvious (ABC Home isn’t exactly breaking news to New Yorkers), and some are lesser-known. Let’s keep the smaller ones between you and me, ok? You’ll put me out of business if these start selling out.

The Oblist

The Oblist operates more as an artisan marketplace than a traditional retailer. It’s the first place I look for a funky lamp, a centerpiece sculpture, or a not-like-other-coffee-tables coffee table. They also have a robust vintage collection to check out, but as you know, my favorite vintage store is Facebook Marketplace.

Casa Ysasi

Casa Ysasi is a small Los Angeles-based gallery and studio. They make all their pieces in-house with talented makers, and are selling some of the freshest lighting solutions on the market right now. I also love their simple desk.

Mishcat Co

I put a Mishcat Co rug in almost every deck I create. This one is great for people who like the look of jute but can’t stand the feel, this one is for those of you dipping your toe back into the pattern world as Nordic Knots mania subsides, and this one is for the gal who loves the look but is skeeved out by vintage rugs (can’t relate). They’re not a screaming deal à la vintage rugs, but the price is fair, the quality is great, and the designs are more interesting than most rugs in this range.

PS: the prices often load in rupees, so don’t let that number scare you.

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My mom’s friends threw me a bridal shower last weekend. I wore a Brooklyn-prairie-girl skirt and scallop-trimmed tank top in my hometown’s sweltering heat, the long table smothered in lilting Tennessee accents and large-text iPhones with grandchildren lock screens. One of my closest friends trotted in just a few minutes late, took her seat across from me, and breathlessly, innocuously, asked “how are you?” I started to cry. I’m sorry, I’m just-

I know better than to be a stressed out bride. It’s cliché, and as Don Draper’s best girlfriend Dr. Faye Miller said, nobody wants to think they’re a type. My cousin offers: “don’t worry, nobody will remember the table linens”, I laugh and say “I know.” I’m so particular in my day-to-day life, this is what people expect me to be stressed about, but we’d be dabbing our mouths with paper towels if it wouldn’t send my mother to an early grave. What I don’t say is the way that planning a wedding feels like a multi-pronged machine designed specifically to press all of my bruises.

The bruise of my body. The bruise of my family. The bruise of my religion, friends, finances, guilt, and attention. The bruise of knowing better than to give a shit, but giving a shit anyway. No sore spot is safe from the machine.

Lord have mercy on my sore body. At my first wedding dress fitting above a Restoration Hardware outlet in Industry City, the shop owner, Sue, tried to gauge just how much weight I was planning to lose in the next few months, so she could tailor the dress accordingly. This isn’t Sue’s first rodeo. In the few seconds before I answered, I saw a supercut: GLP-1 ads, pink wrist weights, every photograph I'd ever taken from the side in a tank top. I blink the ghoulish montage away and offer a weak “who knows.”

In an unspoken act of defiance, my friend and I went for bagels after the fitting. An angel and devil screech into my ear with each bite; one about the harmlessness and joy of a good breakfast, the other about my next dress fitting in September. It was too loud to enjoy the $17.50 sourdough bagel. I’m not skipping meals like I once would, but I am skipping mirrors— particularly the one between where I drop my towel and step into the shower.

Splash my face with cold water, a few self-inflicted slaps across the face. I’m a gold-medalist perfectionist in the micro and the macro. Micro: I want to feel and look perfect. Macro: a perfect me would not care about feeling and looking perfect. I know better. I thought I was better.

Micro: the table linens, the dress, me at my bridal shower, swallowing the lump in my throat, chasing it with latke-crusted chicken schnitzel and prosecco. Macro: My body is sore; the machine persists.

10 Art Pieces I’m Eyeing This Week

1. Abbott Handerson Thayer - Flower Studies - ca. 1886

   

2. Loren Erdrich - What could be simpler?

   

3. Local Romance - Stele for Poppy

   

4. Jörn Peter Budesheim

   

5. Ennio Pouchard - Visual Poem

   

6. Rottenman Editions - Black Red and Beige Abstract Sketch

   

7. Donald Sultan - Cala Lilies

   

8. The Paris Review - Summer 2026 Poster

   

9. Horst Janssen - Tokyo Expressionist Exhibition Poster

   

10. Ed Fella - 8 Rubbings into Drawings

    

Thank you for being here,

Talia

⭐ I’m taking a break from all consults in August. A few July slots are still open, book here.

⭐ You may now book a consult with TYA’s senior design associate, Evan McAvenia. She’s an architectural historian, estate sale expert, and has an uncanny ability to diagnose exactly what’s not working in a room. I’ve trusted her with TYA’s sourcing clients for the past year, and you can now book time with her here.

⭐ I'm officially a New York Times columnist! The first Ask a Design Obsessive is live, and rumor has it it'll be in Sunday's print edition. If you spot it, send me a photo!

I will keep 1,000 tabs open in the hunt for a perfect t-shirt (it’s this one, btw) but all practiced prudence goes out the window when it comes to art books. You’ll find me at the register of Iconic Magazine, eyeball deep in art books, with nary a spine cracked. I liked the covers! Never forget 2022’s Printed Matter Art Book Fair, when I was sore for a week after schlepping from Queens with two IKEA bags full of art books on each arm.

The way I see it, you can’t lose. Best case scenario, you end up with a deep well of inspiration in the hallowed physical dimension. Worst case, your coffee table has a new brooch and you get new collage fodder. I like to run my art books through my handy scanner and clog up my Google Drive with my favorite images, complete with that delicious moiré effect that often accompanies an amateur scan job. I’d share them with you, but after a quick Google search, I think that might be illegal (so we’ll all be cool about what I did for my wedding inspiration post, right?).

Instead, I’ll share with you 101 good art books. I own quite a few of these, but not all— though if I had space, I would.

Just like my 101 Good Lamps post, I’ve divided my findings into 11 categories from photography to interior design to color theory and beyond.

Let’s begin:

1. Nan Goldin - This Will Not End Well 2. Michael Ackerman - Homesick New York 3. Diane Arbus - A Box of Ten Photographs 4. Middle East Archive - Football 5. Middle East Archive - Women 6. Dean Shamshuma - Being Alone

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When one of my sourcing clients tells me they’re looking to spend, say, $6000 on their dining room, I’m liable to blow $5000 on a banger dining table, to be paired with $30 each simple dining chairs (x6), a $600 buffet from someone’s garage in Jersey, and a $200 print from a septuagenarian docent uptown who is looking to downsize. That brings us to $5980. Keep the change; you’re welcome.

Do you ever feel that rooms full of exclusively expensive pieces feel flat? Textureless? Inert? I felt this way recently while wandering through an Upper West Side showroom geared towards a certain set. Without grit, my eyes glazed over. Don’t get me wrong, I love the finer things. I revisit this tapestry, this sumi ink drawing, and this ceramic accent chair in my 1stDibs saves daily. But even with their upcoming summer sale (wink wink), these aren’t exactly pieces I’m bundling in one fell swoop.

Enter Marketplace, high/low heaven, where Luar chairs mingle with $50 Ralph Lauren and dinged up teak coffee tables that’ll make you say, “that feels fair”. Below, I’ve assembled eight “rooms” chock full of today’s Marketplace gems, combining ultra-rare investment pieces with equally thrilling steals.

To start us off, a setup under $1000 total:

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The gripes with the modern-day bachelorette trip have escaped the group chat.

There’s been a plethora of coverage on the bachelorette industrial complex and its many pitfalls. When it came time to plan my own, I was up to my ears in all the reasons I should just skip the occasion altogether. There was just one thing holding me back:

I need to scream-sing in a stretch limousine with my girls.

A few more truths: I’m busy, I’m hemorrhaging money attending six out-of-town weddings in the next few months (not including my own), and I require 8+ hours of sleep per night to feel okay. What’s a girl to do?

No PTO, no dress code, no carpools, no matching pajamas. The answer, I decided, was to go back to basics: a one-night-only bachelorette party in New York City.

Let me be clear: I’ve only had the best of times at my friends’ bachelorette parties, and if a friend asked me to fly to Cancun to celebrate her impending nuptials, I’d be there with bells on, toting a life-sized cutout of her fiancé. That said, given the aforementioned limitations, I knew I needed something quicker and dirtier.

The festivities started at 6:30pm on a Saturday evening, and by 2:00am, the group of us stood outside the bar, drenched in sweat, calling our Ubers. Without staring down the barrel of a multi-day itinerary, we were able to leave it all on the dance floor. It was perfect.

The weekend began by checking into The Manner in SoHo with my bestie. We thought getting ready in a luxe hotel (instead of fighting for mirror space in my postage stamp-sized bathroom) would get us in the right frame of mind. I was also enticed by the prospect of late night room service.

I immediately slipped into the hotel robe and went down for a disco nap in the massive bed— I barely slept the night before due to pre-party jitters. Just as I woke up: a knock on the door, a room service cart, a sweating ice bucket, and a bottle of champagne. I connected my phone to the in-room speakers and navigated to my college going out playlist. Siri, play “It Ain’t Me By Selena Gomez”. Game time.

Iced coffee and champagne strewn about, we applied our game faces. I kept it light as my hope was to end the night sweaty: Gucci mascara, Victoria Beckham lip tint, and dry shampoo paste through my hair to get it big and messy how I like it. I didn’t feel like I needed much seeing as I recently did microneedling at The Brightwood which, oops, left me feeling a little beautiful (shoutout Elly).

My dress for the night was kind of a miracle. I had an outfit planned, but it was just ok. Earlier that day, on a walk down Atlantic Ave, I stumbled across the most event-appropriate dress of all time at Outline (featured in my NYC (For Design Freaks) guide). My aforementioned bestie and chief shopping enabler did her thing, and I walked out with a dress by Lebanese designer Renaissance Renaissance and a new pair of Thistles sunglasses.

So, after a kick-off ranch water at The Manner’s Sloane’s (probably not their typical drink order, but oh well), my chief shopping enabler and I stomped down Broome St towards our first stop, where we’d meet the rest of the girls. Our first locale (who later requested not to be named, due to their aversion to bachelorette parties— oops), was a LES bar with soaring ceilings, early summer light filtering through the windows, and just enough space to host a gaggle of girls in the back corner. We hugged, we got some stiff intros out of the way, and ordered a couple rounds to grease the wheels. No sooner had I polished off my soda bitters (I was already feeling my single ranch water from Sloane’s) that it was time to walk to dinner at Spicy Village.

Spicy Village was the MVP of the night. The tiny Chinatown restaurant has about a 25 person capacity, perfect for our little group. I called a few weeks before the party and reserved the whole restaurant for, let’s just say, a shockingly good deal. They let us push the tables together to make one banquet table, play our own music from a portable speaker, and BYOB. Dumplings hit the table, I got to hear “It Ain’t Me” by Selena Gomez a few more times, and my older sister, inexplicably on the aux, hit us with a little “If I Die Young” by The Band Perry. And reader? It hit*.

*I’m from Nashville, by the way. I can’t help it.

About an hour and a half and a few more ranch waters later, I was presented with a perfect Spicy Village t-shirt by the wonderful staff, and our party bus from NYC Party Bus Pros showed up right on cue. I’m boarding the party bus, I’m requesting “Enchanted”, I’m flying. Our next location was a 5 minute drive away, but I knew I’d need some time to stew in there, so I went ahead and rented the bus for an hour. Under the glow of those blue party bus lights, you’d have no idea we were crawling at 2MPH trying to reverse out of a tight alley for 30 of those minutes. In the party bus, for all I cared, we were cruising down the Las Vegas strip.

What felt like 5 but was actually 60 minutes later, we pulled up to our final stop for the evening. Whiskey Tavern was a popular birthday party spot for my friend group when we were in our early and mid 20s. Let me be clear: this is not a “cool” “bar.” This is not “anti-bride.” Vogue will not be featuring Whiskey Tavern in their “How To Have A Chic Bachelorette Party” coverage anytime soon. It’s fratty, there are paper soccer balls hanging from the ceiling, and I swear to G-d, the only DJ that likes to have fun in this town. He’s giving us Rihanna, Wacka Flocka, Hannah Montana, and Natasha Bedingfield. He’s mixing Beyonce’s Naughty Girl with Tate McRae’s Sports Car into LMFAO’s Shots. It’s so much better than cool. It’s fun.

I woke up the next morning at The Manner with my bestie next to me. We trudged to Montague Diner for a hangover breakfast, which most of the girls from the night before ended up joining. After coffee, bacon, and babka french toast, we hugged and embarked on our respective journeys of varying lengths back to the comfort of our own beds.

Who could have predicted what a relief it would be to give in to tradition by way of putting on a veil and boarding a party bus. Total submission to a passé format left no room for irony or pretension: it was corny, it was unoriginal, it was over before I could overthink it.

Hallelujah. The one-night-only bachelorette party is back.

Studios, Archives and Showrooms (Cont. from Part I)

5. Westbeth Studios

Westbeth is a former Bell Labs building in that was transformed into affordable live/work space for artists in the 1970s. Today, it’s the last gasp of bohemia in the West Village; structurally decrepit, sure, but still teeming with artists, many of whom have lived and worked there for decades.

It’s easy to catch the young art scene in NYC, but accessing a community of elder NYC artists is not to be taken for granted. If you’re lucky, you’ll catch one of their rare Open Studio events, where you can roam the building and pop your head into artists’ creative domains. If you’re even luckier, you’ll catch the flea market in the courtyard.

6. Minerva’s Drawing Studio

Folks, this isn’t Happy Medium, NYC’s favorite cutesy “casual arts club.” It’s certainly casual, but it ain’t cute. Minerva’s drawing studio, located on Canal St, hosts nude figure drawing sessions where the room is cramped and poorly ventilated, the session leaders are not necessarily friendly, and the price of admission is low. For any former art student nostalgic for no-frills figure drawing classes, this is it. As lower Manhattan becomes Blank Street Coffee-fied into oblivion, this is the last of a dying breed.

There are figure drawing sessions daily (some monitored, some not— check the schedule) and walk-ins are “welcomed” (so long as you text Minerva in advance). Minerva has charcoal and paper you may borrow if you don’t have your own. Do not take out your phone during a nude figure model session— seriously. You will be fined.

Crucially, the studio is around the corner from Scarr’s Pizza, so you can grab a slice during class break.

7. Student shows

New York is home to some of the best art schools in the world, and I’d choose a student art show over gallery hopping in Chelsea any night of the week. Pratt, Parsons, and NYU Steinhardt have student work on display throughout the year, and it’s always worth checking their websites and swinging by for art and boxed wine.

Tastes like youth.

Fashion (Boutiques, NYC-based designers, and vintage)

1. Shahmiri

Shahmiri scratches an itch that I didn’t know I had; it’s neither flashy nor underground, snooty nor common. The varied shelves reflect the impeccable eye of owner Leah Shahmiri, from handmade pendant necklaces to bags by buzzy downtown darlings. Chatting with Leah as she presides over her kingdom, it’s clear that every piece passes through her personal filter before earning a place on a shelf.

The store is small but deserves multiple laps; each circuit reveals a previously overlooked gem. I’m especially fond of Leah’s taste in bags, but am increasingly tempted by her work with makers Aviva Shapiro and Big Sur Goldsmiths.

2. In House Studio

In House makes clothes for the woman you want to be: interesting and interested, booked and busy, artful and refined. The by-appointment-only studio houses impeccable tailoring and surprising silhouettes. I just got this set for summer, and I’ve worn this set at least once a week since I bought it in the fall:

Yes, I would like the white and moss versions next. These are investment pieces you will see a return on.

3. Tumbao

Tumbao started as a popup, and now has a permanent home in a discreet lower level space in SoHo. Home to the largest curation of Latin American fashion in the world, it is an inspiring first stop on your SoHo shop crawl down Orchard St (feat. Kallmeyer, Unisecon, Understudy, and plenty of vintage— see #6).

4. Aflalo

Aflalo’s sprawling SoHo showroom is a site to behold. Does it look like a Nordic Knots promotional image? Absolutely. We all know I have my thoughts on the rug darling du jour, but I certainly would like to wear this dress to every wedding I’m attending this summer, and this set to my own.

5. Outline

Outline is where you go to see small, luxury brands that you’ve only lusted for online, in-person. They take the in-person thing seriously; their beautiful ass website doesn’t even have a webshop. In their breezy Atlantic Ave store, you may flip through racks of hard-to-find labels like Colleen Allen, Renaissance Renaissance, and Super Yaya, as well as big names like The Row, Maison Margiela, and Dries Van Noten. In a stroke of luck and mania I can only blame on bride brain, I found a dress for my bachelorette party at Outline mere hours before the party was set to begin, and decided to just go ahead and toss in the Thistles sunglasses while I was at it.

6. Vintage

I’ll be totally honest: I do 99% of my vintage shopping online. But if you’re in the city and looking to scratch that itch, you have plenty of options. There’s that stretch on the LES with heavy hitters: Laura Koleji, Desert Vintage, and Ending Soon to name a few. Surrender Dorothy and Farmer’s Daughter both have that “chaotic good” thing going on; Farmer’s Daughter was described on Reddit as “a scam run by a few Gen Z girls”, and I know whose team I’m on. My eyes were only recently opened to James Veloria, one of many young and splashy vintage storefronts in an inconspicuous Chinatown mall. Nearby yet an aesthetic world away is the small and slightly severe (in a good way) Ancien. Across the pond (and by “pond” I mean “The East River”), you’ll find Sorbara’s and Front General Store.

7. NYC-based designers

The list is limitless, but some current favorites:

• Camille Zacky: knitwear with a contemporary edge

• SC103: Eckhaus Latta walked so SC103 could run, and now they are galloping through downtown together in cool little tops

• All Three: purveyors of my #1 favorite t-shirt

• Diotima: crochet and tailoring-forward, handcrafted between NYC and Jamaica

• Thistles: made-in-NYC sunglasses, finally bringing some fresh shapes to the genre (just got these)

• Rachel Comey: a favorite amongst the Cobble Hill set, and creator of the chillest going-out-top in my closet.

While some of these designers don’t have dedicated storefronts in the city, you can find a solid collection at Brooklyn stores like Maimoun, Tangerine, and the aforementioned Outline.

That concludes NYC (For Design Freaks) Part II. I’ll drop my restaurant recs in the chat, where you can also ask me all your questions regarding your NYC itinerary. See you there?

Xo,

Talia

I’ve been meaning to go to Judd Foundation since 2021. It’s less than 20 minutes door-to-door from my place, and yet I’ve never made the time. So early this summer, I blocked off an entire week of my design consultations and dedicated the time to checking off all those NYC art and design boxes I always swore I’d get to someday. The goal: I wanted to treat a week in NYC like I treat a week in Paris: no time to dilly-dally, must drink the day.

Paris (For Design Freaks)

I planned like a tourist: I made an itinerary (very unlike me), booked reservations and tour guides, and wore my most walkable summer shoe. Morbidly curious as to whether I was feeding from the same algorithmic trough as everyone else, I asked ChatGPT what should be on my itinerary, using the prompt “what are the must-hit spots in NYC for an art and design obsessive?” Below, an excerpt from Chat’s response:

Ummmm…anyways…

Below, NYC (For Design Freaks) Part I, featuring only the choicest cuts from my personal NYC design week, plus the places that have earned permanent residency on my New York recommendations list:

NYC (For Design Freaks) Part I:

Tours

I hated tours when I was younger. I was so smug, thinking the guide could only pepper me with facts, while I could really suss out the soul of a place if left to amble around solo. As I get older, I crave the tour guide. These are the tours that are worth making a reservation for:

1. Judd Foundation

Many birthdays ago, my sister and I visited Donald Judd’s Chinati Foundation in Marfa, Texas. Yes, I got a picture in front of Prada Marfa. No, you can’t see it. Yes, it was 2015.

I’ve been meaning to visit Judd’s NYC former home, Judd Foundation, since. I knew it was in SoHo, but I walked past the cast iron building hundreds of times without realizing it was hiding in plain sight. Upon arrival, the guide let us know in a sing song-y whisper that photos are not allowed, so all the following images are courtesy of Judd Foundation:

This is hallowed ground. Like Marfa, the space was dotted with works by Dan Flavin and Judd’s austere structures. Unlike Marfa, these works weren’t contrasted by a remote, desert setting. Instead, they were right at home in a distinctly cosmopolitan environment: a cast iron SoHo loft, surrounded by views of other SoHo buildings. This backdrop removed the juxtaposition inherent to the Marfa installations, and instead felt like facts of Judd’s odd domestic life. Consequently, Judd Foundation felt less like a gallery and more like evidence of just how far Judd’s artistry proliferated through his day-to-day. I couldn’t help but wonder what those dinner parties must have felt like in those heavy, uncomfortable chairs, or how many host gifts Judd must have tossed to keep every vessel in his kitchen so damn uniform.

2. The Renee and Chaim Gross Foundation

The first stop on my itinerary was a particularly serendipitous one. Upon entering Chaim’s former Greenwich Village studio, I was struck by the similarity to Chana Orloff’s studio I recently saw in Paris. I asked the guide if Chana and Chaim were peers, and she confirmed that they had multiple documented correspondences, and one of Chana’s books was actually upstairs. Imagine how smart I felt.

The coincidences didn’t end there. I learned that Chaim studied at Beaux-Arts Paris, another stop on my Paris guide, and he taught Louise Nevelson (whose exhibition print I just bought on Etsy) at NYC’s Art Students League (more on this special place below). Chaim’s studio is as he left it, rife with Brancusi-inspired works. Upstairs in the salon hang pieces from A-List artists like Chagall and De Kooning— strewn haphazardly along cluttered gallery walls as if they were charming stoop finds, and not MoMa-level works.

Aside from tours of the studio, The Renee and Chaim Gross foundation offer all kinds of events from violin concerts (see you there in June) in the small upstairs salon (amongst the aforementioned De Kooning works) and writing workshops in the studio. I left with a map of Historic Artist’s Homes and Studios. If I win the lottery, I won’t tell anyone, but there will be signs…

3. The Paul Rudolph Institute for Modern Architecture

Modernist architect Paul Rudolph’s first love was Frank Lloyd Wright, yet he studied at Harvard under Bauhaus founding father, Walter Gropius. While touring Rudolph’s Modulighter building in midtown, our excellent guide and president of the institute, Kelvin Dickinson, mused that Rudolph spent his career trying to marry his two polar opposite mentors. Kelvin also frequently referred to Le Corbusier as “Corb,” which I will now also do.

This visit cemented modernist architecture + messy handiwork as #1 in my duo power rankings (followed by tutus + cowboy boots). Something I appreciated about Rudolph is that he was particular, but not precious about his materials: his patio, for example, was floored with subway grate and much of the “built in furniture” was humble particleboard, painted white.

The Paul Rudolph Institute is open to the public once a month for tours, which you may book here. If you miss a public tour date, you can always email them to set up a private tour.

4. The Noguchi Gift Shop I Mean Museum

It has to be said, and this is with all due respect to Mr. Noguchi, but the Noguchi Museum might just be the best damn gift shop in New York City. It’s worth the admission price alone just to poke around the little gift shop. But you might as well schedule your visit to align with the daily 2pm tours. Our tour guide encouraged us to get up close and personal with the sculpture, saying “you can walk around it, stick your arm through it, this isn’t the MoMa.” And thank G-d for that.

After our tour (which was lovely) in the gift shop, I got up close and personal with shapes of Akari lamps I’d never seen in person, bought my friend’s new baby a little Japanese paper jellyfish mobile, sniffed a tight collection of incense (delicious), and got inappropriately immersed in a few art books.

If you’re planning a trip to The Noguchi Museum, make sure to plan around a meal at the nearby Ayat in Astoria, the most recent outpost of the local chain. Ayat is a Palestinian restaurant with mocktails as succulent as their lamb shawarma. Come hungry. Prepare to bring home leftovers.

5. The Glass House

Ok, fine, so The Glass House is technically in Connecticut. But the train from Grand Central is so easy, you can get a Magnolia Bakery banana pudding from Grand Central’s food hall for the ride, and it’s so worth the trip. Not only do you get to see Philip Johnson’s masterpiece, but your journey there takes you back through the idyllic New Canaan suburbs, a Stepfordian real estate treasure chest.

I opted for the 2.5hr extended tour, which takes you to the house as well as galleries and Johnson’s studio. I’d only recommend this if you have a voracious appetite for modernism. Self-guided tours are offered on specific days and sound like a great option for wandering the property with ample time to take pictures and soak in all of Corb’s (thank you, Kelvin) delicious furnishings.

Studios, Archives and Showrooms

1. Sample House

Sample House felt the closest to play I’ve had in a long time. It’s a materials library, with shelves and drawers full of material to touch, compare, and play with: handmade tiles, contemporary rugs, and every shade of wood flooring your heart could desire. The space is centered around large, clean library tables designed for experimentation. I was encouraged to “make a mess” and not to “worry about putting anything away”; after all, it’s a library, and everything needs to be archived just so.

I spent my time experimenting with different wood flooring, even challenging myself to make a grey-toned wood palatable. The library tables even feature phone mounts that lets you easily take lay-flat photos to document your work:

This was a borderline meditative experience for me. Numbed by countless hours squinting at e-comm photos, it’s so satisfying to engage with materials in real life, with my own two hands. It’s a must for interior designers, hobbyists, or anyone embarking on a reno/redesign.

2. Somerset House and Lawton Mull

Somerset House and Lawton Mull are vintage furniture showrooms steps from each other, and just down the street from Sample House. My favorite vintage furniture dealer in NYC is Facebook Marketplace, of course, but there is something so posh about strolling these impeccable showrooms in person.

You’ll notice MoMa PS1 is a few blocks from Sample House, Somerset House, and Lawton Mull. While in the neighborhood, I figured I’d check it out. I’ll say this: you can pass on the museum in its current configuration, but Artbook, the PS1 giftshop, remains a reliable source for art books and highbrow postcards (yeah, I got a stack).

4. Alex Katz’s Metropolitan Faces

Alex Katz’s Metropolitan Faces installation came home to the 57th Street Subway Station in 2019. It startles me every time I happen to find myself ascending the 57th Street escalators. Katz’s signature sense of scale is on full display, his subjects’ unblinking stares snapping any commuter out of autopilot. It’s worth a visit no matter what, but you can always tack it on to a Central Park or Bergdorf’s trip.

7. Iconic Magazines and Casa Magazines

Casa Magazines is the stuff of NYC legend; an ostensibly humble West Village newsstand, opened in the ‘70s and filled floor to ceiling with stacks of niche glossies. Express a particular interest to the owner, and expect him to disappear into the back room, only to reappear with the future star of your coffee table. A 1982 edition of El Croquis? I’m closing my eyes and handing over my Delta Amex.

Beware: I’ve never stepped foot into Iconic and spent less than 5x what’s sane to spend in what is essentially a bodega.

A key difference between Casa and Iconic Magazines is that you can actually get a BEC at Iconic. It’s a true bodega that happens to have a killer magazine section in the back. In my experience, Casa tends to skew more fashion, while Iconic has a more robust design selection. Either way, both stores are essentially catnip factories to me; on my most recent visit to Iconic, I walked away with this Sandra Hüller cover, and yeah, I’ll admit it, an ice cold Essentia.

The fear is that solving a big ass wall means spending an arm and a leg on giant art. Well, sometimes it does! Or, the answer could be sitting in your family photo album, Marketplace feed, or linen closet.

I have 4 main approaches. Follow me:

1. The obvious

The obvious answer is: one big ass wall = one big ass piece of art. A single massive piece always looks premium, and is almost always priced to match. You can find massive pieces on all our go-to’s (Chairish, Etsy, Marketplace, 1stDibs) by filtering by size. I’ve also sourced from artists like Nick Rose and Andrea Solaja via IG for larger pieces.

Another more cost effective idea is to opt for the oft-overlooked textile piece.

Vintage textiles are easy to find secondhand, and look amazing framed. Using the search term “Japanese boro fabric” on eBay, I found these three pieces in about 20 seconds flat. Framed vintage rugs look amazing too; I’ve found Turkish welcome and prayer mats have surprising prints that function beautifully on your walls instead of your floors (see: this checkered delight, blue you want to dive into, and this gets you the below look for just $60):

While I have you, check out this rug I saw on Marketplace. Would look great in a simple walnut frame.

A vintage quilt typically reads a bit quaint for my taste, but this silk confection has me praying for more wall space. Imagine it with a warm ivory mat and bamboo frame. Delicious.

2. Leverage your own archive

When I moved into my apartment, the massive wall behind my couch haunted me for months. Looking through a collection of old family photos one day, I had a eureka moment: my scanner!

I used my scanner at home (though you can easily get your photo scanned at a local print shop or a FedEx situation) to take a high-resolution scan of a 4x6 photo of my grandfather from the 1970s. Legend has it that my aunt took the photo while she and my grandparents visited New York for my dad’s graduation. Once I had a high-res scan (I went for 600 DPI to be safe— the higher the DPI, the higher the resolution), I sent it to a printer and subsequently had it framed. The result:

When I moved into my new workspace, I was faced with a similarly haunting blank wall. This time, I didn’t want to use family photos— not the vibe in my place of work. Instead, I searched the Smithsonian Archive of American Art for public domain images of artist’s studios in NYC. Once I selected my 3 images and downloaded them, I headed to Artifact Uprising to easily upload the images, select a size, and frame. I went with the modern metal frame in black and enjoyed playing around with the different mat sizes and placement. The images arrived a few weeks later, already framed and ready to hang.

3. The triptych/diptych

A triptych is a piece of art that is divided into three panels or sections. Diptych is in two parts. Triptychs/diptychs/infinitychs are a great way to cover a lot of ground at less cost per square foot than one big piece; think of it as a grown-up gallery wall.

I’ve been known to have alerts turned on for artist Rottenman Editions on Etsy; they always have a great selection of multipart pieces (ex1, ex2, ex3 (hello $68)). I also love the idea of finding 3 pieces from Louisiana Museum of Modern Art webshop (IYKYK) and creating your own triptych, finding pieces that are unified either by their branding, size, or artist. For example, these three Mamma Andersson posters would look amazing all lined up together.

Remember when hanging art (either a single or multipart piece), you can always add significant coverage by putting a chunky mat on each section. This makes it easier to hold presence on a big wall without being drowned in negative space.

4. Get vertical

When confronted with a large swath of wall, it’s easy to see it as one large void. Adding verticality to the space creates a partition that separates the void into smaller, bite-size pieces. Now instead of needing a 6’ x whatever piece, you just need an easy 20” moment with a chunky mat!

Verticality can come in many forms, but a tall plant, light fixture, or highboy bookshelf are the first things that come to my mind.

Say this is your room:

Let’s add verticality with a lamp (this one happens to be ceiling-mounted, but you can use a regular old floor lamp):

Now instead of having one big square wall to fill, we have a much more manageable rectangle of negative space. Let’s add a moderately sized piece:

And a chair for good measure:

Another example:

If not for the verticality of the light fixture and sculpture, the monochromatic piece featured in the above image would read too small. The two vertical moments break up the wall and allow for a more digestible size. An easy way to apply this approach is by adding a candle sconces (like these threatening ones) to each side, so the piece is flanked by the vertical moment.

Hope this makes your Big Ass Wall less scary. See you in the chat!

Xo,

Talia

I’d heretofore not been on the app since college; I’d saturated my other feeds with enough artists and designers that it wasn’t an itch that needed scratching. But I’ve never been a bride before, and it was my understanding that Pinterest is just what brides do.

First on my agenda was the save the dates. I keyed the three words into the search bar and peered at the templated results through the gaps in my fingers. It’s not that the results were ugly, but I’ll be honest: something about seeing them flattened into the Pinterest feed soured the images for me. Knowing that I was looking at the same inspiration images as thousands of other blushing brides made me feel like I was looking for a halloween costume at Party City, and I’ve never liked costume parties.

It’s not that I’m so scared of having a wedding that looks like everybody else’s; in fact, my wedding is shaping up to be quite 2007-coded. No part of me is “anti-bride.” It’s just that in order to want to have a wedding at all, I need to be able to see myself in the role of bride. I feel most myself when I’m excited, and Pinterest was instead numbing. So, in the year of my wedding, I quit Pinterest and vowed to find all of my inspiration offline.

I hit Thriftbooks and the Smithsonian Archive of American Art hard. I ended up with a dining table covered in old wedding books, stuffed with yellow sticky notes. I wasn’t looking for anything specific like floral schemes or save the date templates; I just wanted to feel excited about a wedding, so I could step into my role as bride without feeling costumed. In the process, I realized my favorite images were either hyper-regional, hyper-dated (none of this “timeless” BS), awkward, or effortful. This released a pressure valve on my own aesthetic expectations. The North Star for my wedding became simply the crystallization of this holy moment in time, whatever that looks like.

Below, I’m sharing some of my favorite images with you, scanned from my dining table, sticky notes and all. Hopefully they provide some fresh inspiration for you, whether you’re planning a wedding or just need an algo palette cleanser.

My scans:

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Welcome to 2026 Q2’s State 0f The Uni0n, a quarterly update on my art and design obsessions, internet grails, and musings. Today, I’m excited to share recent saves from new-to-me artists, 5 secondhand art pieces under $500, the material search term I’m hammering into eBay, my emotional support scarf, and a spectacular XL Nick Rose piece I’m selling out of my studio.

Recent Saves

It’s free to follow artists. Here’s what I’ve saved recently:

Search terms

Chrome has been feeling a little tired to me, but I love the contemporary slice it cuts through a stuffy tableau. I’ve found cast aluminum to be a worthy successor; it keeps the coolness of chrome, with the added soul of texture and patina.

I encourage you not to skip over metals because of a few dings or rust; all it takes is two minutes and a little elbow grease to bring a special piece back to life. Here are a few vintage cast aluminum pieces that you could polish right up:

• Contemporary cast aluminum side table (obsessed!!)

• Cast aluminum centerpiece bowl

• Aluminum incense holder

And trust me, it takes two minutes. Proof: I’m loving my new dining table centerpiece vase. It’s kind of massive, which is great (even necessary) for a table so big. The vase arrived pretty beat up with signs of corrosion that were thankfully no match for my Bar Keeper’s Friend (IYKYK). This is the before:

And here’s the after:

It’s little silk/linen scarf season!

I posted this video of me unwrapping my new Donald Sultan piece from Studio Ysasi, and got nearly as many comments about my little scarf as I did about the piece. That’s just my emotional support $28 silk/linen scarf from Etsy! I have multiple colors, and I’ve bought them as gifts for multiple friends. The weight is so functional: provides a little warmth around the neck in transitional weather, and light enough to toss over your shoulders on a summer night.

5 Under $500

Now for the part I probably shouldn’t give away, but always do anyway: 5 pieces under $500 I’d buy immediately if I had an ounce of wall space. Starting at $47:

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I thought about exposed brick walls, a lofted bedroom, a pencil tucked into a messy bun. Then I thought about what kind of job it would take to get me there. I pictured myself as Jenna Rink pitching to Poise and saved every MetroCard from my visits to the city. I think I just wanted my job to be New York.

Yesterday, I hit 20,000 subscribers on Substack. I feel closer to my childhood dreams than ever: all that’s left is headlining a show at Radio City and owning a vanity like Molly’s in Uptown Girls, and little me might be satisfied. While adult me’s goals have expanded, I want to take this milestone, the 20,000 of you, as an opportunity to reflect on the path that led me here.

This isn’t a roadmap for a creative career. Every time I found myself on the proverbial ladder, I jumped off. I labeled it laziness, indecision, fear of hard work. Now when I play the supercut of every job in my head, the clips start to build toward something.

Roll the tape:

Every Job I’ve Ever Had

Or, how I got here:

1. Babysitter

I was a 12 year old girl in the suburbs, so of course I babysat. I was not particularly good at it. I don’t like playing pretend, I raided pantries and snooped. I did enjoy singing the kids to sleep.

I did not have any repeat customers.

2. Scorekeeper

In high school, I’d man the scoreboards at rec league basketball games. Many, many parents yelled at me. Sometimes, when there was a high school game in the adjacent gym, I had to fill in as the mascot :(

3. Stylist, Lucky Brand Jeans

Senior year, I landed the role of “stylist” at Lucky Brand Jeans at the mall. I pretty much thought Anna Wintour would be banging down my door imminently.

All my coworkers were musicians (this was Nashville), and my manager legitimately had pipes like Aretha. Eventually they gave up on teaching me how to fold the jeans perfectly and let me work the sales floor. Anna Wintour did not call, but I “enjoyed” Jack on the rocks (gross) at the Cheesecake Factory after shifts, thanks to the fake ID I bought from a Belmont student.

4. Literally any creative job I could get

I was a menace in college. I saw no reason why I shouldn’t apply to every graphic designer role (zero experience), every muralist gig (never painted one), every “cool” restaurant in Ann Arbor. I ended up with about 30 odd jobs, including designing merch for Chance the Rapper’s campus show. He posted wearing it and I saw G-d.

Most notably, I taught a photography course at a local men’s prison. We brought in cameras and the men practiced shooting us and each other. Because I had to explain aperture and shutter speed, it became a crash course for me, too. We made collages out of their portraits and I edited them into a video to show in class.

5. Intern, HUMAN

Donald Trump’s candidacy loomed when I was in art school, and my work took a turn for the political. I shot photo stories on The Flint Water Crisis and cold-emailed them to a director named Jonathan. Jonathan started HUMAN, “a storytelling company,” with an office in DUMBO. He invited me to come intern with him for the summer.

I was astonished at how much creative agency Jonathan gave me while at HUMAN. I edited footage for the Bernie Sanders campaign, essentially teaching myself Premiere Pro in the process. I spent hours illustrating keywords from voiceover clips to overlay onto the films.

I returned to my senior year feeling like a real creative professional. And I’d spent the summer going on dates with the lead singer of a then-popular band, so you can imagine my level of delusion.

My senior thesis was a film about sexual assault in college football. I’m too embarrassed to show it to you now, though it was well received. I won an award for it (!!!) and moved to LA, certain I’d land a job just like HUMAN— where my mark was encouraged on everything I touched.

6. Client services coordinator, Arcade Edit

After two months of unemployment and sheer panic in Los Angeles, I cried tears of relief when I got the job as the Client Services Coordinator at Arcade Edit. Arcade was a post-production house I heard of after assisting on music video shoots for Freenjoy. Freenjoy/Arcade worked on Kendrick Lamar’s Humble music video, which I did and do consider high art. At Arcade, I worked most nights and weekends cleaning dishes, making sure the clients had their coffee bean of choice, fluffing pillows.

I was eager to climb the ranks. I surreptitiously started showing my portfolio to senior editors around the office, and one in particular went to bat for me. This led to my promotion to:

7. Vault coordinator, Arcade Edit

“The Vault” was a windowless closet that I shared with two dudes, stacked floor to ceiling with hard drives. After a few months, my skin turned grey. I had zero time for freelance work. I once deleted footage from both the main drive and the backup, and was nearly fired.

If I stayed another 18 months, I might’ve been promoted to Assistant Editor. Eight years after that, if I was lucky, I might’ve been promoted to Senior Editor. I didn’t have ten years to spare. I covertly went to interview at a hotel on the beach, and quit Arcade Edit. Multiple editors, blue beneath the eyes, told me: good for you. Get out while you can.

8. Front Desk, The Rose Hotel

The Rose Hotel sat just off the Venice Beach Boardwalk. It was a favorite of celebrities who considered themselves “chill”, and owned by two major fashion photographers. The more present owner was lewd, British, and always on something. I worked night shifts alone.

When my one-year anniversary rolled around, I kicked myself for staying in a dead-end job that long. In retrospect, it was exactly what I needed to be doing. I wrote through notebooks on those night shifts, and my days were free for freelance gigs. I worked on the Beto campaign and various music videos as an editor, and obsessed over my apartment.

The aforementioned owner even let me be the “inventory manager,” which meant an extra day’s pay for swinging by the basement and counting how many Aesop bottles we still had.

He let me take a few months off to go home to Nashville and record an EP, which I played in the lobby when I returned to work. I stayed for two years.

9. Showroom editor, Glossier

While working at the Rose, I also worked part time at Glossier. Pink jumpsuit and all.

10. The lost years

On March 13th, 2020 I put out my first EP. I had a California tour planned and was booking rehearsal spaces with a band. We all know what happened next. The tour was cancelled, the Rose Hotel shuttered. I turned 25, then 26 alone.

The EP flopped, despite a few meager Instagram Live performances. I couldn’t get a job to save my life; I applied to hundreds. I filed for unemployment. My health insurance was so bad I went to a shady dermatologist who left a 2-inch scar on my skin.

My family worried about me from across the country. I couldn’t get out of bed. I had a cockroach infestation I was ignoring.

Salvation came in the form of an email from Jonathan, my former boss at HUMAN. He had relocated to a compound in New Mexico, and wanted me to come out and assist him on a few projects. I was on a plane three days later.

11. Video editor, HUMAN

All I can say is thank G-d. Don’t get me wrong— I was worked hard at HUMAN. Extremely late nights and high stakes; we were working on the 2020 presidential election. I lived in a barn and shared a bathroom with 2-3 guys at any given time. The nearest grocery store was a Walmart nearly an hour away, and I didn’t have a car. We often lost hot water. At that time, I was so hungry for work that I barely noticed.

I directed and edited work for the Biden campaign, and drove through the night to shoot Navajo Nation riding on horseback to the polls. I started getting some good coverage; Michelle Obama posted some of my photos on Instagram, The Washington Post reached out for an interview.

The campaign ended (Biden won, btw), and my tenure in New Mexico came to a close.

12. Stylist, Rachel Comey

A friend in New York needed a sublet in LA, so I offered to apartment swap. I got a job as a stylist at Rachel Comey in SoHo, one of my favorite designers to this day. They kitted me out with my “uniform,” AKA thousands of dollars worth of Rachel Comey garb. I went home and hungrily ripped off the tags, performed a fashion show for my sister. A week later, I got a call from Jonathan that he wanted me back in New Mexico for a big campaign. It was a huge opportunity, and I felt I had to take it.

My manager at Rachel Comey was understandably furious. I later heard that they make store employees wait for 6 weeks before getting their uniforms now. My bad.

While back in New Mexico, I received an email from a producer at ad agency TBWA\Chiat\Day. My former coworker from The Vault (see: job 7) had recommended me for an in-house director role. A salaried job in New York City. Health insurance. The word Director. A miracle.

They offered me the job, I tried to negotiate my salary, they were like “lol no,” I didn’t care, I moved to New York. Officially.

I thought: I made it.

13. Director, TBWA\Chiat\Day

At TBWA\Chiat\Day, I directed commercials. I started off strong: major campaigns, celebrity shoots, a few Cannes Lions. I’ll tell you the truth, though— I was happier at The Rose.

While at Chiat, I moved into my miraculous apartment. I spent 3 years obsessing over it. Recovering from a minor surgery one afternoon, I decided to post a video of the apartment on TikTok for the first time. Why not?

It got traction. I kept posting. I gained a small following, and started booking consultations between shoot days and meetings at my “real job”. I started holding Office Hours from 8-9AM, before I had to go to the office in midtown. I launched a Substack. I sent photos to Architectural Digest, and they came to see it. The article came out in May 2024, and I quit my job two months later.

14. This

Now I write on Substack, take private art and design clients, and make “content” on TikTok and IG. My niche is interior design and art.

If you’ve made it this far, you’ll notice that interior design was hardly central to any job I’ve had up to this point. It’s true, I didn’t formally work in interior design before doing this— but I was working on it constantly. Even while kicking myself that I didn’t have enough time outside of work to pursue my creative passions (photography, video editing, songwriting, painting), I was working on my apartment. It came so naturally that it didn’t feel like passion. I’m not “passionate” about blinking, I just do it.

I wasn’t working on my place in a vacuum: I was bringing in art by people I met on set, absorbed the minimalism of The Rose, the polish of Glossier. Each role became a new badge on my metaphorical design vest. One day I looked down, and realized how decorated that vest had become.

To many more badges I’ll understand later.

Thank you for being here,

Talia

I’ll be at eBay’s The NYC Edit Market selling pieces that made my design-freak heart stop. Think: my beloved Aalto stool, the handmade Turkish rug of my dreams, a carved stone sculpture, and my personal favorite, a 1975 Louise Nevelson serigraph on silver foil. But wait– there’s more.

This whole thing started with me curating my own edit of eBay finds (and some of my personal items) for The NYC Edit, a guide to what New York is buying and selling on the platform. The natural next step is for me to step up to the plate and sell even more pieces from my own collection, which eBay makes super easy. When choosing what to sell, I focused on the core tenet of Studio Curatorial: proof of work. Some pieces show the work more literally, see: the textured brushstrokes of Lisa Lightman’s Flowers Spring (can’t believe I’m selling this):

Others are a bit more abstract. You might not see the work it took me to become obsessed with Arne Jacobson (that college essay on Nordic minimalism, that schlep to the Brooklyn Museum just to see a coffee pot, those hours on eBay finding just the one), but I do, and it culminated in this perfect stainless steel pitcher:

All this and more at The NYC Edit Market happening April 17-19 at 589 Broome Street. I’ll be there, too, on Saturday, April 18th between 12-5pm. Wanna come?

One catch: you’ve got to play ball, too. Entry to The NYC Edit Market means bringing something of your own to sell on eBay. I might be saying goodbye to my Tracey Emin Paintings book, but only because I trust it’ll come back to me as good city shopping karma. Bring something you’re ready to part with, offer it up to the higher powers of New York City shopping, and see what they hand back.

See you there,

Talia

Subscribe now

Visit The NYC Edit Market:

• Dates: April 17–19, 2026

• Hours: 11am-7pm

• Location: 489 Broome St., New York, NY 10013

I hear this one a lot in my consulting sessions: “I’m really good at knowing what I like, but I can never actually make it happen in my space.” Clients show me beautiful mood boards, then look around their actual homes like the gap between the two is insurmountable. That’s when analysis paralysis kicks in and you end up buying the sad Wayfair dining chairs because screw it. There’s an ocean between the mood board and the home, and you can’t walk on water.

What you need isn’t divine intervention. What you need is design principles.

Design principles act as a gutter guard to keep you in your lane and focused. Once established, they nudge you in the right direction at every intersection; but they have to come from you.

The seed of your design principles lives in your mood board. Assemble your reference images, and close-read them for the following five traits:

1. Contrast level

Are the tones in the spaces you love stark, or more tonal and soft? Are the blacks a true black, punchy and graphic against the whites? Then you’re looking at a high contrast space.

On the other hand, are you seeing a lot of variations of a similar tone existing in harmony? Low contrast.

Clock the contrast level as your first design principle.

2. Color temp

Do your reference images feature predominantly warm or cool spaces? If you’re seeing a lot of warm-toned woods* (with reddish/orange undertones) or yellow-y metals (gold, brass, copper), you might be looking at a warm toned space.

*Don’t know if your wood is warm, cool, or neutral? I reference this guide from the Amish Furniture Factory more than I care to admit:

Or, does the wood tend to have a more grey or blue undertone, like a birch or an ash? Is the hardware silvery, like chrome or nickel or pewter? Are you seeing blues and grays, perhaps? You’re likely looking at a cool-toned space

Once color temperature is established, you’ll have a north star for your hardware and paint choices.

3. Finish hierarchy

Admittedly, this one covers a lot. “Finish” refers to the texture or surface quality of a material: organic vs. polished, matte vs. glossy, patinated vs. pristine, etc. When studying your reference images, try to infer the hierarchy of the finishes. Is it:

1. Homogenous: all (or almost all) the finishes in the space are the same. Examples: all the surfaces have a matte finish

   

2. Dominant + supporting: perhaps 70% of the space is raw, natural material, and 30% is reflective and pristine.

   

3. Mix: maybe the charm of the space is that there is no dominant finish, and it’s a spunky salad of matte, glossy, honed, polished, antiqued, natural, etc.

Establishing a finish hierarchy will guide your surface and texture decisions moving forward.

4. Shape language

Are we looking at predominantly angular or curved shapes? Notice the legs of the tables; are they splayed in that mid-century way, or straight up and down? Are the forms ornate, or more restrained?

Defining a shape language will help with countless decisions: sofa shape, light fixture form, oval vs rectangle coffee table, etc.

5. Scale/proportion

Scale is the unsung hero of setting a vibe. Imagine a platform bed in a soaring loft, perhaps with two little table lamps on the floor on each side of the bed, and a sweet framed postcard framed just above the bed’s pillows. Love it.

Now add a waist-height credenza against the wall. You blew it!! The whole fun of the space was playing with the scale of the platform bed against the soaring ceilings! Get that thing out of there and find me a long, low bench immediately!!

Anyways,

Proportion and scale will serve as your final design principle for this exercise.

Now let’s do some examples!

Let’s start with my bedroom, why not? If this is on your mood board, you can glean the following design principles from the above images:

1. Contrast: Low. This room is very tonal, and the colors all look soft next to each other.

2. Color temperature: Warm (reds, warm woods, brass and wrought iron hardware)

3. Finish hierarchy: Homogenous. Almost every surface is textured, patinated, and natural.

4. Shape language: Ornamental and curved. Few sharp angles.

5. Proportion/scale: Intimate and compressed.

Now when you’re deciding whether to put a baby pink duvet in your navy-walled room, you can recall your low contrast design principle and opt for a baby blue instead. And perhaps instead of the oversized Noguchi globe pendant, you’ll go for a more intimate piece with natural, wrought iron hardware. You see?

1. Contrast: High. The blacks are deep and the whites pop.

2. Color temperature: Neutral/warm. I’m leaning warm because the walls are more cream than optic white or gray.

3. Finish hierarchy: Dominant + supplemental. The majority of the finishes are plush and textured (sofas, Moroccan rug, oil painting), contrasted by a few punches of polish (table lamp, glossy wall).

4. Shape language: Curved edges, straight legs.

5. Proportion/scale: Monumental. Low slung accent chairs contrast a massive painting.

1. Contrast: Low. See how all the colors look like cousins? Earthy greens, yellows, creams with not much pop.

2. Color temperature: Warm. The woods are orange-y and the whites lean butter yellow.

3. Finish hierarchy: Mixed. I see natural wood, polished sconces, matte paint, and a reflective table.

4. Shape language: Biomorphic.

5. Proportion/scale: Grounded; predominantly low-slung, chunky shapes contrasted by one very light and airy piece (the hanging sculpture).

So: assemble your inspo photos. Find the through lines. Write your five design principles, and stick to them.

Don’t buy the sad Wayfair chairs.

Xo,

Talia

Welcome to Part II of It’s Free To Follow Artists. I dove into this in Part I, but if you’re going to be giving hours of your day to your IG feed, you might as well flood it with art. Here are some artists, designer, and galleries I follow that keep me living in Art World, instead of Lab Diamonds Peptide Stacking Eyebrow Tutorial Amanda and West (??)…..World.

Cristina De Miguel

Spanish artist Cristina De Miguel works across scale, ranging from letter-sized sketches on paper to to oversized canvas works. I have a soft spot for the ripped-from-the-sketchbook glimpses she offers on her IG.

Holly Vera Mills

Holly is a young artist working in London, most recently showing at Galerie C in Paris.

Eric N. Mack

Eric started out as as a painter, but is gaining traction for his site-specific installations made with found material. I love that he posts his early sketches for his installation work.

Danny Cremers

Is it crazy to say “these vases have so much energy”?

Shane Gabier

NYC-based, modernist-inspired, and bringing bookends back to the forefront of conversation. You can also find his work at the great Spartan Shop.

Edward Fella

Uninhibited, mixed-media, and peinture-poesie heavy— this is my kind of guy. I’ve been following and admiring for years.

Takamasa Nakamura

Japanese studio Takamasa Nakamura sources Japanese antiques and also seems to create their own line, although their website is characteristically opaque (the “about section reads only: “The incarnations of long time and moment”).

Patrick Caroll

You can file Patrick under “artists I sincerely regret not investing in when I first discovered them in 2018” (never mind the fact that I wasn’t making rent).

Cathleen Clarke

Chicago-born, NYC-based, hallucinogenic and muliebral.

Thibault Tourmente

Thibault works from the way-south of France, and seems to be deeply ingrained in the local zine scene, with ties to the Independent Paper Librarie, an artist-run publisher syndicate. Miraculously, you can purchase one his art books at Printed Matter.

Grover Rad

Clothes that feel like art; based out of LA with a clear early-JPG influence.

Madeline Coven

Half artist/half furniture designer, with an emphasis on rare textured materials like pewter and cuttlefish bone. Most recently showing at Jacqueline Sullivan Gallery.

Vince Skelly

California based and making exactly the kind of work I want to see coming out of some guy’s Claremont garage.

Thank you for being here,

Talia

eBay asked me to curate a list of gems on their platform, and my fingers double-knotted and tied into a bow flying across the keyboard to type “yes omg i thought you’d never ask.” I, along with an esteemed group of New York design heads, got to pick a theme for TheNYC Edit (and sell some of our own pieces as well). I kept circling back to the same thought: New York is drowning in “good design”. Maybe it’s time to come up for air.

There’s no shortage of perfectly designed spaces in NYC. Boutique hotels with a statement chrome chair and a burl table in the lobby. Buzzy restaurants lit by paper wrapped sconces. Designer stores with solid color rugs so vast you feel like you could dive right in.

There’s a reason these spaces compel even the most jaded, well-heeled patrons to quick-draw their iPhones; it’s good design! And it requires the distillation of many talented designers’ ideas to serve up an aesthetic shortcut for discerning consumption. But in that distillation, the ink-smudged hand of the designer is clouded by mass appeal.

I’m no economist, but I’ve heard a thing or two about supply and demand. The supply of “good design” has exploded, and for those of us paying attention, it’s decreased the demand, or the desire, for perfectly styled spaces. Too much feels copy/pasted– hence a hankering for something un-copy/pasteable.

You know what you can’t copy/paste? The work. Head down, balled-up-paper in the wastebasket, calloused hand work. It certainly ain’t perfect. Honest creative work is messy and one-of-one, and when you walk into an artist’s space, it’s in the air. It’s also in the charcoal smudges on the table, the apron strewn over the pottery stool, and the first draft push-pinned to the wall. This work is the backbone of New York flavor, behind the glossy fronts that are hogging the spotlight. Artists built New York. Well, artists and Robert Moses.

The New York artist became a victim of its own success, and now the supply is dwindling. I figured I could match that inverse demand through my eBay edit. Give the people what they’re missing: artistry with rough edges. eBay is rife of these kinds of pieces because it’s not catering to any specific niche: it is a multiverse of rabbit holes and treasure troves. You forge your own path on eBay; it doesn’t steer you.

I wrote recently about Studio Curatorial in The NYC Edit– a design ethos marked by proof of work. Each piece in this edit from eBay was chosen for its proximity to artistry and the work it entails. I included one-of-one pencil sketches ripped from the sketchbook, handmade jewelry with proof of the maker’s hand (hello, 1960s Georg Jensen necklace), and pieces from the studios of some of my favorite New York artists, like Donald Sultan. And because selling on eBay is so simple, I even included some of my own work.

These days, my creative work looks a lot like research. Allergic to the “perfection” that Pinterest provides, I’m finding inspiration the old fashioned way: pouring over dusty art books and slide film. I included a lot of that in my edit as well: books and references discovered on eBay that, yes, take a little more work than a few savvy search terms because it’s the kind of browsing where you stumble on something unexpectedly right. But trust me, it’s so worth it.

Thank you for being here,

Talia

A good lamp is like a good perfume*: even when you don’t need another, you can always make room for one more. Perhaps your vanity could use a little extra warmth, or that barren corner of your living room would look more intentional with a vintage table lamp perched atop an Aalto stool (on sale here, though I do love the walnut color).

A good lamp should:

• Cast an inviting, diffused glow

• Hold it’s own as a design object in daylight

• Make you forget your overhead lights exist

I’ve sourced many hundreds of lamps for clients at this point, and I consistently return to a select group of bangers and inspo. Consider this a living archive: 101+ good lamps.

I’ve organized them into four categories: vintage, new, and artisan-made, plus collector’s picks for paid subscribers. Prices start at $29 and climb into the thousands for the handmade treasures; I think about these less as lighting and more as sculpture that happens to glow.

*Quick perfume tangent: Real ones know I’m an Escentric Molecules head. They just sent me Molecule 01 + Champaca which immediately became my new everyday fragrance. I also just learned that Liis made a candle version of Bo (a cultish vanilla for people who don’t do vanilla). Adding to cart along with these $30 Santa Maria Novella incense papers (hostess gift) and Profumo D’ambiente (Talia gift).

Anyways! Lamps:

New

A few classics, a few punching-above-their-weight Big Box Stores, and some smaller, niche NYC brands.

Prices starting at $54.99:

1. Apex Table Lamp (sale: $108) 2. Farolito lamp ($130) 3. Slate table lamp ($239) 4. PH80 portable lamp (sale: $582) 5. Hoop table lamp ($307)

6. 1227 Desk Lamp ($320) 7. Linen table lamp ($359) 8. Topo Black Floor Lamp ($530) 9. Basica Minica ($476) 10. Rondo table lamp ($54.99)

11. Nelson Ball Lamp (sale: $461) 12. Cone table lamp (€599) 13. Hay paper cube lamp (sale: $124) 14. Metal table lamp ($79) 15. Wood base + rattan shade ($69.99) 16. La Marie White Table Lamp ($298) 17. Cube table lamp ($129) 18. Clam Table Lamp (€429) 19. John Timberland Stoneware lamp ($99) 20. The Moon Floor Lamp (€1,499)

21. Strikha table lamp ($2,570) 22. Pose portable lamp (sale: $372) 23. La Luna ($1,390) 24. Shiku table lamp ($155) 25. Luna ($1,775)

26. Green ceramic with rattan shade ($399) 27. AD Floor lamp (€649) 28. Dusk table lamp (€429) 29. Trudy table lamp ($66) 30. Kira Floor Lamp ($498) 31. Battini lamp ($350) 32. Cho table lamp ($475) 33. VL Studio Table/Floor (sale: $629)

Vintage

Here you’ll see a lot of my personal design catnip: 1970s metals, Danish stoneware, Japanese paper, Brutalist ceramics, and perv-y (in a good way) 80s Postmodern.

Prices starting at $105:

34. Dimmable light screen/divider ($593) 35. Vintage light sculpture in plexiglass 36. Prototype table lamp ($745) 37. MCM Floor Lamp ($625) 38. Green marble table lamp ($584) 39. Murano Glass Table Lamp ($395) 40.Copper and rice paper lamp ($400) 41. Japanese art nouveau lamp ($225)

42. 1970s Metal spotlight lamp ($270) 43. 1970s dried flower lamp ($298) 44. Danish stoneware floor lamp ($472) 45. Knapstruck ceramic table lamps ($585) 46. French serpent lamp ($259) 47. Antique Japanese pair ($377) 48. Brutalist stoneware lamp ($243) 49. Japanese articulating desk lamp ($129)

50. Handmade Steel Floor Lamp ($650) 51. Japanese paper Harusame ($190) 52. 1960s Swedish stoneware lamp ($283) 53. Japanese solid ice cube lamp ($105) 54. 1980s ikea wall lamp ($303) 55. Danish ceramic table lamp ($359) 56. 1960s desk lamp ($195) 57. Wood base orb lamp ($299) 58. Mid century wood base table lamp ($125) 59. Iron table lamp with parchment shade ($695)

60. Antique bronze lamp heavy patina($150) 61. Swiss swing arm lamp ($398) 62. 1990s crinkle lamp ($489) 63. Bauhaus aluminum lamp ($395) 64. French silver table lamp ($981) 65. French industrial table lamp ($425) 66. Marbled opal glass table lamp ($695) 67. 1910s Art Nouveau table lamp ($596) 68.Column floor lamp ($857) 69. 1980s postmodern lamp ($249)

Artisan-made

This is where light becomes sculpture. I mean, you can spend $7000 on a sofa or you could lug home some $200 well-loved Ikea Ektorp and nestle it under the glow of this handmade, antique lace floor lamp by Launa Lanay. Your back might hurt, but you’ve earned my respect.

Prices starting at $110

70. Kinship ($6,880) 71. Ophelia chandelier ($900) 72. Handmade stoneware lamp ($110) 73. La Equinita ($1000) 74. Kawa table lamp 04 ($1200) 75. Kawa table lamp ($2,200) 76. Antonia Table Lamp ($1825) 77. Zero floor lamp ($735) 78. Nova pinhole sconce ($315)

79. Varinia Table Lamp ($1,650) 80. Hammered steel lamp ($1,250) 81. Rock from Pennsylvania 82. Handmade ceramic table lamp ($315) 83. String table lamp ($2,100) 84. “Frame” Brut ($842) 85. Talis table lamp ($2,150) (85) 86. Lucie Lamp ($3,200) 87. Rock from Montauk 88. Swans in Love ($4,800)

89. Jacob Table Lamp ($1,950) 90. Iron Table Lamp ($303) 91. Blob table lamp ($1,450) 92. Souvenir Low Table Lamp ($1,650) 93. Ipoli Table Lamp ($820) 94. Brushed Cobalt Table Lamp ($1,550) 95. HM9 Tripod table light ($670) 96. Souvenir floor lamp ($7,800) 97. Ruth Lamp 98. Ipoli 11 Table Lamp ($1,090) 99. Feels Like Home table lamp ($1,200) 100. Handmade terracotta lamp ($199) (101. SHY3 Herman Table Lamp ($770)

Collector’s picks

And for the grand finale, the collector’s picks. I won’t say I saved the best for last, but these are the especially rare steals and exceptional design (can you tell I love a wood veneer shade?) that I had to keep behind a metaphorical velvet rope.

Prices starting at $33.41

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Last July, I found myself in Santa Monica consulting on the rebuild of a client’s home after the Palisades fires. It was a big swing— this client found me online, liked my style, asked if I could travel for a consultation, and, not seeing why not, I agreed.

It was a bigger project than I had hitherto endeavored, and despite having a legitimate perspective to share, a part of me felt like I was pulling a fast one— like I had just finessed a free trip to California under the guise of legitimacy.

While in town, I grabbed dinner with a friend who I lost touch with after moving across the country, and her mother. When I lived in LA and had a close friendship with this gal, I wasn’t working in interiors at all beyond obsessing over my own apartment and being most of my friend’s go-to person to text when they were decorating. Meanwhile, I was calling myself a director-editor-photographer-songwriter and working dozens of odd jobs.

When I explained the reason for my trip, and provided the context that I had recently started posting online about design and taking clients, the mom offhandedly remarked something that has echoed in my head since:

“Your generation is so funny. You just say that you are something, and then…”

She gestured her hands wildly and shook her head, as if to say, “and then nothing.” Was it rude? For sure. Was she right? Absolutely.

I’m not an interior designer. For one thing, I don’t have an interior design degree or any certification in the field. I don’t work in SketchUp, or send strict renderings. My sketches are, shall we say, peppered with abstraction. For that reason, I’m careful to dance around the word in my content: I’ve said I’m an “interior design expert”, an “art and design consultant”, or sometimes just a “design freak.”

I skirt the title for three reasons: one, the fear of being called out as a fraud. Two, I’ve grown wary of multiple hyphens. Writer-designer-director-photographer-songwriter sounds so much less legitimate than any one of those things alone. If I call myself an interior designer now, I’m adding another hyphen. When I inevitably pursue another obsession down the line, yet another. It’s starting to feel embarrassing. The internet wants me to niche down. My shame does, too.

The third reason? I don’t want to be an interior designer.

You just say that you are something, and then…

I love interior design and architecture. You know when Carrie said she used to buy Vogue instead of dinner because “I just felt it fed me more”? That was me with El Croquis. My obsession, bolstered by my arts education, has resulted in, I believe, meaningful insight that I share with clients. But saying I’m an interior designer feels wrong, like mistaking the trees for the forest.

When Architectural Digest interviewed me in November 2024, I panicked and said I was a commercial director, as that was what was paying the bills at that very moment, but I hate seeing that in print. The next year, when they came back for a video tour, I just went with “artist”, which felt broader. But what if someone showed up asking for gallery credentials? After all, when I started posting on TikTok, I made my own portfolio website private to avoid muddying the interior design message. A little voice warns me that someone, someday, will start spamming my interior design content with images of my old experimental short films, my buried Spotify artist profile, the weird commercials I directed, and call me a fraud. She’s not even an interior designer! She just says that she is something, and then…

My friend’s mom assigned this trait to my generation. Admittedly, I think I have an acute case. Her generation (you guessed it—Baby Boomers), would get the appropriate degree, follow it with an apprenticeship, and spend a decade as an associate before claiming their rightful throne as an interior designer. On one hand, social media has democratized these types of roles. On the other, it’s diluted them. I don’t want to contribute to the hollowing out of these once-meaningful titles. I believe in the work, I believe in earning it.

If there were an advanced degree in a creative life, lord knows I’d be studying for the GRE, lord knows I’d still be searching for proof. I’d read any text or take any test to prove to myself what I am. Unfortunately for me, I’ve chosen a career path that just doesn’t work that way.

Your generation is so funny. You just say that you are something...

And then?

And then?

And then?

Thank you for being here,

Talia