People often ask me when I first knew I wanted to be a designer. Truthfully? I wasn’t one of those kids who always had a plan. In my senior year of high school, I had narrowed it down to three very different careers: surgeon, chef, or jewelry designer. But looking back, the signs were always there.
I remember coming home from elementary school and sketching floor plans for hours. They weren’t to scale, one plan featured an entire room for cats, but they were vivid. One space stands out clearly in my mind a room inspired by vanilla ice cream with raspberry and chocolate sauce. It had fluffy white shag rugs, creamy neutral sofas, rich chocolate leather chairs, and pillows in the most perfect framboise hue. To this day, I would love to bring that room to life. If you’re someone who dreams in dessert tones, let’s talk. I’m your girl.
In third grade, my design obsession found an outlet in an art project: a shoebox diorama of a room. I was completely in my element. I scoured the house for miniature props thread spools became tables, toothpaste caps turned into cups, and fabric scraps were transformed into bedding. I handed in my project… then went home and built a shoebox mansion for a kingdom of fairy royalty. Thank you, Mrs. Pallotti, for that spark!
Around that same time, my mom started bringing home old magazines from the exchange at work. I poured over Martha Stewart Living and Real Simple like they were sacred texts. I was folding napkins into swans and creating egg-shell centerpieces while other kids were playing video games. I’ll never forget how devastated I was when Martha Stewart went to jail. My family teased me for weeks, but I held firm. I still stand by a great tablescape.
My passion for interiors wasn’t just shaped by fantasy or creativity. It was grounded in real life, too. My parents built the log cabin I grew up in, deep in the woods. It’s beautiful, but they moved in before it was finished. We had subfloors, no interior doors, and plenty of exposed framework. I spent my whole childhood mentally redesigning that house. I think that’s what trained my eye. I was always imagining what could be.
When I turned 13, I was finally allowed to paint over the mint green walls in my bedroom; complete with stenciled bears. I almost went for a wild mix of purple-blue and lime green (it was the 2000s, after all), but instead I chose a soft, warm cream. It’s still that color to this day. That year, I also got my first real piece of furniture, a carved mahogany dresser that once belonged to the daughter of the Jell-O empire. It’s still in my family and will soon live in our own primary bedroom. That dresser taught me what I now bring to every space I design: that one well-loved piece can make a room feel layered, timeless, and truly yours.