Interior Designer

I start with a proper site visit and a structured questionnaire before I sketch anything, covering how the client actually lives in the space, not just the look they want. I ask about daily routines, storage habits, who else uses the room, and any constraints like a pet, a home office, or a piece of furniture they refuse to part with, because those details shape the plan more than a Pinterest board does. From there I put together a mood board in a shared folder alongside rough bubble diagrams showing how the zones relate to each other, so we agree on layout before anyone sees a finish or a fabric. I present two or three concept directions rather than one, each with a rough budget range attached, so the client is choosing between real options instead of approving or rejecting a single idea. Once we've picked a direction I move into a full floor plan in AutoCAD with furniture layouts to scale, and I walk the client through it room by room rather than emailing a PDF and hoping they read it properly. Nothing goes to procurement until that plan is signed off in writing.

I keep my portfolio down to the projects that show range and process, not just the most photogenic. Twelve strong projects beat thirty repetitive ones, and I make sure the mix covers different budgets and property types, because a client with a small flat wants to see that I can work with real constraints, not just a five-bedroom renovation with an unlimited budget. For each project I include before shots, the floor plan, and two or three finished images, since showing the transformation matters more than a single hero photo. I also keep a short case study for my strongest three projects covering the brief, the challenge, and how I solved it, because clients hiring for a specific problem, a tricky layout or a tight timeline, respond to that more than a gallery. I review the whole portfolio twice a year and I'll pull a project that felt current at the time but now reads dated next to recent work, even a client favourite. It's hosted on my own site rather than only social media, since a scrolling feed doesn't let a prospective client see the full arc of a project.

I build budget and structural limitations into the brief from day one, rather than raising them only after a client has fallen in love with an idea we can't deliver. If a client wants to move a wall that turns out to be load-bearing, I explain the structural engineer cost and the timeline impact clearly, then offer an alternative that gets close to the same open feel, maybe a wide steel-framed opening instead of full removal, so they still get most of what they wanted. On budget, I build a rough cost plan alongside the concept stage, split by category: joinery, furniture, lighting, finishes, so a client can see where their money is actually going and choose where to spend more or less. I'll be direct if a request isn't realistic for the budget rather than letting them find out at the quoting stage, because that erodes trust fast. Most clients don't actually want the most expensive version of everything, they want to know their money went to the choices that matter most to them, and my job is helping them see which choices those are.

What keeps me in this work is watching a client walk into a finished space they couldn't picture from a floor plan and seeing it actually change how they use their home. That moment hasn't changed since I started, but my approach has, because trends and materials move fast and I'd be doing clients a disservice if I kept designing the same way I did five years ago. I follow a handful of designers whose material choices I admire and I'll research a technique or a supplier I haven't used before specifically to learn it, like working with a joiner who does bespoke veneer work, rather than sticking to what's familiar. I go to at least one trade show a year, usually for furniture or lighting, to see materials in person rather than only on a supplier's website, because texture and scale never come across properly on screen. I also ask past clients for honest feedback a few months after they've lived in the space, not just at handover, since that tells me what actually worked day to day rather than what looked good on delivery day.

A residential client asked me to cut roughly thirty percent from the budget partway through a kitchen and living room renovation, after a change in their financial circumstances. Rather than trimming a bit from every line item, which usually leaves a project looking compromised everywhere, I went back to the original brief and identified the two or three elements the client cared about most, in this case the kitchen island and the lighting design, and protected those fully. I found the savings elsewhere: switching a bespoke joinery unit to a high-quality modular system I could specify to look custom, and reworking the flooring choice from natural stone to a porcelain that reads almost identically once it's laid. I presented the revised plan with both versions side by side so the client could see exactly what changed and why, rather than just a lower number. They ended up happier with some of the alternatives than the originals, and the project still reads as a considered, high-end space rather than a scaled-back one. I built a 'protect versus flex' list into every concept now, before a budget cut ever happens.

A client wanted an open shelving unit installed directly above a hob in a small galley kitchen, which is a fire risk and also impractical since grease and heat would ruin anything stored there within months. I didn't just say no. I explained the specific risk, referencing the building regulations clearance requirement above a cooking surface, and I brought in a couple of alternative options: a closed cabinet with a pull-down mechanism at the same height, or moving the open shelving to the adjacent wall where it would still give the visual lightness they wanted. I also showed them a photo from a previous project using the pull-down option so they could see it wasn't a downgrade, just a different solution to the same goal. They went with the closed cabinet in the end and told me afterwards they appreciated that I pushed back rather than just building what they'd asked for and letting them find the problem later. I've learned that clients usually don't mind being told no, as long as you show them you understood what they actually wanted and found another way to get there.

During a bathroom renovation, the tiler laid a herringbone pattern at the wrong orientation relative to the room's longest wall, which completely changed how the space read once you walked in, flattening a layout I'd specifically designed to draw the eye toward the window. I caught it on a site visit before grouting, which mattered, because it meant we could still fix it without a full re-tile. I walked the tiler through my original setting-out drawing on site rather than just saying it was wrong, since it turned out the drawing hadn't made the orientation as explicit as I'd assumed, and that was partly on me. We agreed to relay the affected wall before grouting locked it in, and I stayed on site for the reset to confirm the orientation matched before I left. I also started adding a small orientation arrow directly onto every setting-out drawing after that, not just a written note, because it removes any ambiguity on site. The relationship with that tiler was fine afterwards. Handled early and without blame, this kind of thing rarely damages a working relationship, but leaving it until the final walkthrough would have meant a much more expensive fix.

I start with an accurate survey, either my own measurements or an architect's drawing if one exists, because working from an inaccurate base plan causes problems much later that are expensive to fix. From there I block out the fixed elements first: doors, windows, structural walls, and services like plumbing stacks, since those constrain everything else. I then work through circulation before furniture, sketching how someone actually moves through the space day to day, because a beautiful layout that forces awkward movement around a dining table gets reworked within a year. Only once circulation makes sense do I bring in furniture and zoning, usually with scaled paper cutouts first for a quick client conversation, before I commit anything to AutoCAD. I build the full plan to scale with dimensioned furniture and clearances, cross-checking against building regulations for things like minimum corridor widths or door swing clearances where relevant. I always test the plan against at least two or three real-life scenarios, like a dinner party for eight or a child doing homework at the kitchen table, rather than just checking it looks balanced on paper, because a plan that only works empty isn't actually finished.

I work primarily in AutoCAD for technical drawings and construction documentation, since it's still what most contractors and building control expect to receive, and SketchUp for 3D massing and client-facing visuals, because clients read a 3D walkthrough far more easily than a 2D plan. I'll build a rough SketchUp model early, even before the plan is fully locked, so a client can understand scale and proportion in a way a floor plan alone doesn't communicate. For anything involving a full renovation or new build I bring in Revit if the project needs coordination with an architect or structural engineer, since working in BIM keeps everyone on the same model rather than reconciling separate drawings later. I keep FF&E schedules in a spreadsheet linked to my plans, tracking supplier, lead time, and cost per item, because losing track of a twelve-week lead time on a light fixture is the kind of mistake that derails an install date. For presentations I'll render key views in SketchUp or export to a simple walkthrough, but I never let the software replace an actual conversation with the client about the plan.

I build a procurement schedule at the same time as the concept, not after it's approved, because lead times drive the whole programme more than almost anything else on a project. Upholstered furniture and bespoke joinery are usually the longest lead items, sometimes twelve to sixteen weeks, so I confirm those specifications and place orders early even if finishes like paint or smaller decorative items are still being finalised. I keep a shortlist of trade suppliers I trust for quality and reliability rather than sourcing everything fresh on each project, though I'll bring in a new supplier when a client's brief calls for something specific I haven't sourced before. For budget, I quote a primary option and a lower-cost alternative for anything expensive, so if costs run over elsewhere I have a pre-approved fallback rather than a last-minute scramble that compromises the design. I track everything in a live spreadsheet the client can see, showing status, cost, and expected delivery, so nobody is surprised close to install week. The biggest mistake I see less experienced designers make is treating sourcing as a task for after the design is finished, when it should run in parallel from day one.