Why I Make you leave your own house

Jul 31

The one day of the project when being kicked out is the gift.

I try to go over this at the beginning of a project-at the contract.

I try to go over this at the beginning of a project-at the contract. I know towards the end of the project, clients can have fatigue. But, the best part is coming. And to make the best possible experience, you need to go.

It feels odd to make this request-ok demand to clients. After a long construction and renovation, they are anxious to get moved in already. I get it. But, there are some really practical reasons that we do this. First up, it’s a bit like seeing sausage made.

Clients are often so excited and can’t wait to see the product coming into the house. I just want to make sure the first look is everything they could hope. Viewing individual items can be a challenge. I find seeing things with out full context, really is a disservice. This is especially true for people who have a hard time envisioning. Clients really need to see the finished product in total.

I wish there was a way for clients not to see paint color until the final installation. Here’s why: many times when the wall color goes on, clients (and painters!) are hyper focused on the color of the wall. I get it, it can be overwhelming, particularly with a deep saturated or really bright color. But, when you get all of the pieces into the room, it looks amazing. And if you had viewed a photo of the finished room, you wouldn’t be hyper focused on the wall color but how the overall room felt

Here’s what installation day actually looks like. Boxes to the ceiling. Steamers running. Art leaning against every wall, waiting. Two hundred small adjustments — the picture light debated by half an inch, the rug shifted three times, the lamp that was right in the plan and wrong in the corner until it found the other corner. It’s hours of a room looking worse before it looks finished, and it is absolutely not a spectator sport.

Here’s a partial list of things that happen while you’re away: the sofa arrives with the wrong-side chaise and gets solved by two phone calls and a furniture dolly before you’ve had a second to think about what’s happening in your home.

The art gets laid out on the floor, walked past, reconsidered, and hung an inch lower than the plan said — because plans are made in elevation and rooms are experienced by people, and the difference between those two things is an inch. The bed gets made three times: once to make it, once to photograph it, once because I fixed a corner probably nobody else would ever notice. I notice. That’s rather the point of me.

If you watch it happen, something is spent that you can’t get back: you’ll never see the room. You’ll see the process. Every time you look at the console, some part of you will remember it half-wrapped in a moving blanket. The room will be beautiful, and it will also be a little bit backstage, forever.

We make sure everything arrives in perfect condition. And if there is an issue, we get it resolved, repaired or replaced. Although, we generally don’t like those surprises and make sure that those are resolved at the receiver-long before install day.

Accessorizing is another part that kind of happens on the job. We bring way more than we will actually need. We have a general idea of what is needed, have chosen focal points like artwork, and have a general idea. But, we allow space to move things around and see what actually works. It’s difficult to do that with a client there.

Quality Control for a Feeling

What I want instead — what the whole project has been building toward — is for you to walk in once, and it’s done. Candles lit. Flowers in vases. The drawer pulls wiped of fingerprints. The room at it’s best. I want you to carry that memory-not the chaos of boxes and blankets and tool kits.

People assume the reveal is theater — the design-show moment, the big ta-da. It’s the opposite. Every decision across months of work was made for this day. That first moment when you are home.

The Thirty Seconds That Justify Everything

Think about weddings and that first look. That first walk-in lasts about thirty seconds, and it’s the whole reason I do this. I love making homes that people love to come home to.

You get exactly one first impression of your own finished home. I’m protecting it. So yes — leave. A day at the spa. A weekend getaway.

And for the first time, it will be yours.

(Also, and I say this with love: nobody needs to witness me on a ladder hanging precariously while placing a piece of artwork.(Some things stay between me and the installer.)

No pitch today. But if something in this essay sounded like your house, the door is here: Essenza Ora. One hour. Bring the almost.

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