If You Know You Know
Design Cliques
“What is quality? Quality design must have a sense of authenticity. My work is not cutting edge, it is not supposed to be, but sometimes, the middle of the road is the most dangerous place to walk.” — David Collins
The world of interior design is incredibly competitive, as, despite its artistic overtones, there is an awful lot of money to be made by those that reach the top. Unlike other industries, such as finance or law, being largely visual, work product is in plain sight and accordingly, it’s much easier to compare an contrast. As a result there is, inevitably, a great deal of judgment, criticism and one-upmanship. Of course, it’s all a matter of taste and what one person likes another loathes, and even if one looks at the design greats, those in the design hall of fame, styles diverge wildly; for e.g. those that like Andrée Putman’s (1925-2013) understated and eclectic interiors are unlikely to be attracted to the neo-Baroque excess of Jacques Garcia (b. 1947). Indeed the more one understands and appreciates design, the more one is drawn to a very particular style, tastes change, or arguably, are refined, and certain items, or designers, lose their appeal entirely. (This is no different with clients, as a home is incredibly personal, and different people have different ideas with regards what is comfortable, or practical, or aesthetically pleasing — it becomes even more difficult when it becomes apparent a couple’s tastes diverge wildly.) Any visual practice will result in criticism and this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, after all, when training as an architect or interior designer “crits” are an incredibly important and formative part of training; it’s very easy to miss the wood for the trees and sometimes an external voice can be incredibly useful. However increasingly, in part due to trial by media, people are afraid to speak out, to dissect, analyse and comment for fear of it being taken the wrong way. This doesn’t mean “naming and shaming”, which by and large is unnecessary when discussing for e.g. wider trends, fads, or fashions within the industry, but, one shouldn’t fear having a voice. The general consensus is that the traditional advertising model for magazines doesn’t really work anymore and in an attempt to lure readers, editors are, understandably, under a lot of pressure to find new material; as a result about 85% to 90% of published interiors are simply not very good. What makes the design world interesting is that your 85% and another person’s 85% and my 85% are entirely different. It’s very easy to point to the work of Jean-Michel Frank (1895-1941) or Axel Vervoordt (b. 1947) as a superlative example of good design, but it’s often more interesting to look at the work of lesser known designers, asking what makes them interesting and in turn, how that defines your personal taste. One thing is certain, that outside the pages of glossy magazines and inside offices around the globe, designers are not afraid to say what they do and don’t like, and such strong views result in various design cliques, each of which think their own particular aesthetic is superior to all others.
An interior in Antwerp, Belgium by Axel Vervoordt, image c/o Vendome
Design Cognoscenti
This bracket of the design world, by and large, tends to encompass those named designers at the top of their game who are approached by clients who admire, and desire, what is usually, a very particular aesthetic style. Their interiors will, inevitably, have been seen in numerous publications and, most likely, in at least one, if not two, linen bound monographs. (In recent years such tomes have become a coffee table staple for those with an appreciation of design, or, a status symbol for those that want to assure dinner party guests that they know all the right names in design — which, nevertheless, comes as a welcome change from fashion, as I’m sure everyone grew tired of seeing the same monotone Tom Ford catalogue in every other interior.) As a result of such mass media saturation, and universal admiration, clients will want, to employ a somewhat hackneyed phrase, exactly what it says on the tin, i.e. their own version of the style for which their chosen designer is best known; it’s highly unlikely for e.g. that anyone would approach Vincent Van Duysen (b. 1962) or Pierre Yovanovitch (b. 1965) if looking for something akin to Nancy Lancaster’s Yellow Drawing room — sans crouching black figures, as highlighted by Asad Syrkett in his first letter as Editor in Chief of Elle Decor — and even less likely the designer would agree to do it (“First of all, I need to get a sense of where I am, then who owns the space,” Florentine architect and interior grandee Michele Bonan has said of his working process. “If I don’t like it, I won’t accept the job”).
Those clients operating with this particularly rarefied world are also unlikely to have any set budget, which is a necessity when commissioning the pinnacle of craftsmen such as Rinck, Lesage and Atelier Saint Jacques. Prices can escalate rapidly and it’s not at all unusual for clients to spend upwards of a quarter of a million on a pair of curtains or a rug (one AD1OO designer is known to have commissioned a bespoke hand-embroidered-headboard that cost well in excess of £1m). Such interiors are after all a Gesamtkunstwerk (“total work of art”) where fixtures and fittings are made to the same exacting standards as the court of Louis XIV, if not, in actuality, more so. Such interiors, often deceptively simple, are near impossible to achieve for mere mortals (for e.g. in Kim Kardashian’s Monastic Hidden Hills mansion designer Axel Vervoord and architect Claudio Silvestrin (b. 1954) had eight prototype versions of her mortuary-slab-chic bathroom sink made so as to ensure it drained correctly, and with absolutely no splash back, heaven forbid), and often require constant and continued maintenance. Of course, these interiors are much like couture clothing, and whilst they may very well resemble the familiar, they occupy something of a rarefied world, without the same constraints or practical considerations as us mere mortals.
Designer most likely to say: “It was commissioned by the Shah of Iran.”
Client most likely to say: “Take whatever you like from my art storage.”
A house in the Hampton’s designed by Joseph D’Urso, image c/o Vendome
Luxury Interiors
Encompassing a broad range of outfits — everything from property developers to high end interiors firms — such companies deal with the 0.1% who often demand extreme discretion and an overall aesthetic that fits their international jet set lifestyle (though still often considerably more conservative, in a design sense, than those in the previous bracket, with client’s easily spooked by anything that they haven’t seen before on multiple occasions and in multiple locations). Whilst end product is therefore less avant-garde than the elegant flights of fantasy conjured up by the “design cognoscenti” (for e.g. the copper leaf ceiling and Rudolf Stingel–designed carpets seen in the London home of Swiss art collector and patron Maja Hoffmann — as designed by India Mahdavi (b. 1962)) they will still, inevitably, be largely bespoke and designers will use suppliers and makers at the very top of their game. However, within this bracket the quality of the overall design will vary dramatically; even wealthier clients who want “craftsmanship” and “originality” are often shocked by the cost of such interiors and are prepared to settle for an approximation of their desired “look”. This might often involve an initial design intent being value engineered to within an inch of its life with for e.g. the majority of the cabinetry and joinery etc. being factory manufactured, laser cut spray painted MDF. Ignoring the negative environmental impact of such fabrication, the overall result tends to be cold, flat and lacking in any real patina or sense of human touch that gives a newly created interior any real, palpable atmosphere (interiors by designers such as for e.g. Atelier AM and Jacques Grange (b. 1944) demonstrate perfectly how skilled craftsman and makers can imbue an interior with a sense of solidity and warmth).
Such work is often very much dependent on the skill of a designer and their knowledge of makers and manufacturers — indeed knowing where to cut costs and where to spend big bucks is a skill many lack and is, quite frankly, worth its weight in gold. Similarly such interiors can often be lazy, lifting profiles, bathroom vanities, panelling details etc. from other designers and shoehorning them together in order to achieve a solid and stylish (if not at all original) interior. Indeed if one scans the majority of newly refurbished homes for sale in London’s most desirable postcodes, they all share the same palette of calacatta oro, chevron parquet and statement chandeliers. Within this sector there are of course those designers who push the boundaries of stayed luxury, providing clients with the contemporary equivalent of an eighteenth century hôtel particulier, with rooms clad in bronze and stucco stone; sadly however they are few and far between and often underappreciated by firms that favour a tick box approach to design, e.g. a cookie cutter reproduction of the bread and butter style for which they have become widely known.
Designer most likely to say: “In the bathrooms we’re thinking bookmatched marble.”
Client most likely to say: “Send any queries to my assistant.”
Bloomingdale’s model room (1972) designed by Barbara D’Arcy, with undulating walls made of sprayed foam, image c/o Vendome
Too Cool for School
These are those designers that channel the zeitgeist (as well as those that think they do), usually with a carefully curated Instagram feed of “inspirational” interiors — most of which are taken from rare out of print books — along with obscure prototype furniture and the occasional selfie wearing an edgy mix of pieces gifted by designers who are all, naturally, close personal friends (as well as Issey Miyake, Charvet and #newbottega). For those at the very peak their stories, similarly, will detail numerous soirees at the homes of those trustafarians whose interiors they’ve decorated with an eye wateringly expensive amalgam of mid-century furniture, art and ceramics (by the likes of Pierre Chareau (1883-1850), Georges Jouve (1910-1964) and Mathieu Matégot (1910-2001)). They will inevitably look down on those designers working in the luxury sector as producing bland, identikit interiors for the stooges of capitalism, yet look up to the “design cognoscenti” who occupy a rarefied and untouchable stratosphere —universally admired for having genuine talent and originality. Both here and across the pond in the States such designers and decorators will often live an inexplicably luxurious lifestyle, with constant features and interviews in magazines, in which they will criticise the banality of the design world at large whilst plugging collaborations with artists and furniture makers operating within the same circles. Essentially image is everything, however superficial, and there will usually be a PR agency behind them carefully curating their public persona and ensuring they’re included in all the right lists and at all the right places.
Whilst there are exceptions, often such designers will have received very little in the way of formal training and rely on editorially eye catching style over substance. Overall aesthetics will vary wildly, but usually fall roughly into three categories: those who are heavily influenced by Rose Uniacke and the Wabi-sabi styling’s of Axel Vervoordt, who will fabricate largely monotone interiors, with venetian plaster walls, artfully placed Korean moon jars and black and white photography; the mid-century stalwarts, with an extensive library of design references that lead to elegantly appointed interiors resembling any one of The Row stores; and those that favour an excess of colour, as well as quirky murals, brutalist furniture, Alexandre Noll (1890-1970) and anything categorized as either postmodernist or ironic. Ordinarily, those designers who go on to develop a real client base will stray further and further into the mainstream of design, agreeing to profitable collaborations with established retailers and moving out of “up and coming” areas and into more affluent postcodes, whilst at weekends taking an Uber Lux to their old haunts and posing up a storm. There are of course those young and talented designers who operate somewhere on the periphery who might one day, dependent on the right PR and opportunities, make it into the pantheon of the greats.
Designer most likely to say: “Did you see my interview in AnOther magazine?”
Client most likely to say: “I want Perriand dining chairs.”
An interior by Greg Jordan who in the 1990s resuscitated traditional decorating techniques, , image c/o Vendome
Home Counties
“You can’t go far wrong with rush matting and William Morris wallpaper” — the battle cry of those interior designers that favour a more traditional approach. Client’s as a pre-requisite will have homes in both town and country and the majority will have met either through family ties, pheasant shoots, or weekends in the Cotswolds. Indeed a very large number of such decorators will have founded their company following the refurbishment of their own Fulham townhouse or Home Counties bolt hole. Such interiors will necessarily rely very heavily on upholstery, with prints, patterns and textiles aplenty. There will inevitably be flagstones in the hallway, an abundance of cushions and a carafe on every nightstand. Slow and steady wins the race so to speak and clients will want tried and tested classic style; indeed one is unlikely to find anything more avant-garde than a Fornasetti cabinet (safe ground having seen Ben Pentreath’s much publicized interior) or Giacometti-esque Vaughan light fitting. Furniture will be formal and correct, laid out for comfort and practicality, whilst kitchens will be shaker chic (ideally Plain English, with a larder cupboard, budget dependent), solid and lacking in ostentation, painted a soothing shade of Farrow & Ball. In the city such extravagances as a boiling water tap, or Sub-Zero fridge are permitted, though both may raise eyebrows (and might very well have featured on one of Nicky Haslam’s tea towels, or “drying cloths” as he would probably have them called).
Colefax and Fowler still rule the roost as the ultimate designers of choice, but Soane Britain co-founder Lulu Lytle is surely en vogue following the 11 Downing Street décor scandal, with Boris Johnson and his partner Carrie Symonds publicly pilloried for spending taxpayers money on the chintz-covered, scallop-edged refurbishment of their grace-and-favour flat (a far cry from the Cameron’s and their fake, cut-price Arco Lamp). Indeed in recent years we’ve seen the rise and rise of the “Soane” ranger, a group of affluent individuals prepared to spend upwards of £11,000 on a brass “Owl Lantern”, welded by Sheffield silversmiths, naturally, or a “Stag Table”, forged by a blacksmiths on the Welsh borders (Prince Charles is purportedly a fan, and perhaps less expected, given the fabled Jed Johnson was his previous decorator of choice, so too is the snake-hipped frontman of the Rolling Stones Mick Jagger). Essentially, by and large, one can expect the expected, though in recent years a few new designers have broken into the sector, catering for a younger clientele of bankers and lawyers who like to think they’re shaking things up with bolder, graphic prints, and the occasional inclusion of inoffensive mid-century furniture and lighting (though nothing quite as outré as Royère (1902-1981) or Prouvé (1901-1984)). Of course the bare bones will still adhere to classic King’s Road precedents — as to create an interior without such requisites as curtain poles and valances would be a bit like decorator and dealer Robert Kime not specifying a rug in a room.
Designer most likely to say: “Let’s meet at Chelsea Harbour.”
Client most likely to say: “I’ve pulled some interiors I like from House and Garden.”