A Field Guide to Interior Design Personalities:
A tongue-in-cheek guide to the beautiful, chaotic, and often hilarious ways we tell the world who we are—or at least, who we want to be
Welcome, design-savvy and/or perpetually confused homeowners, to another journey into the heart of domestic darkness.
You’ve scrolled through Pinterest. You’ve watched the home reno shows. You’ve stood in the paint aisle, paralyzed by the 4,000 shades of white, each with a name like "Whisper of a Cloud's Dream" or "Slightly Annoyed Dove."
But what do these carefully curated aesthetics truly mean? A home isn't just a place to live; it's a personality test you force upon unsuspecting guests.
So, grab your most judgmental coffee mug, and let's diagnose some of the most common—and not-so-common—design pathologies.
Part 1: The Usual Suspects (You Know These People)
1. Hamptons Coastal
The Vibe: You're the protagonist in a Nancy Meyers film, and you've just inherited a beachfront property after a minor emotional crisis.
The Uniform: White. All of it. White sofas, white walls, white linen curtains that billow majestically even when the windows are closed. This is accented by the occasional navy blue stripe, a wicker basket you can't put anything in, and a decorative piece of coral that cost more than your car.
The Diagnosis: The owner lives in a state of constant, low-grade anxiety about spills. They own 47 throw pillows for a two-seater sofa, none of which are meant for human contact. Their greatest fear is a guest arriving with a glass of red wine and a cavalier attitude.
2. Mid-Century Modern (MCM)
The Vibe: You’ve watched every season of Mad Men and believe you would have been a "creative" in the 1960s, despite the fact you currently struggle to write a coherent email.
The Uniform: Teak, walnut, and furniture with legs so skinny they look like they'd collapse under the weight of a strong opinion. A sunburst clock is mandatory. The colour palette is mustard yellow, avocado green, and burnt orange—colours that look great in theory and like a retirement home in practice.
The Diagnosis: The owner will corner you at a party to explain the difference between an authentic Eames lounge chair and a "mere replica." Their vinyl collection is more for display than for listening, and their primary hobby is dusting their spindly-legged credenza.
3. Parisian Salon
The Vibe: "Oh, this old thing? I just threw it together."
The Uniform: A gigantic, ornate, gilded mirror leaning "casually" against a wall with artfully peeling paint. Herringbone floors, a velvet settee in a jewel tone, and a crystal chandelier that looks like it was salvaged from a palace after a revolution.
The Diagnosis: The "effortless chic" on display required more strategic planning than the D-Day landings. This person owns one singular, perfect croissant for breakfast and somehow never gets crumbs on their antique chaise lounge. They practice looking wistfully out of their own windows.
4. Boho (Bohemian Rhapsody)
The Vibe: You just got back from a spiritual retreat in Bali (or, more likely, a weekend yoga workshop in a nearby suburb).
The Uniform: A jungle of houseplants, 90% of which are on the brink of death. Macrame wall hangings, rattan everything (chairs, light fixtures, your very soul), and floor cushions that guarantee a numb posterior. The air smells faintly of sage and desperation.
The Diagnosis: This person believes pampas grass is a personality trait. They use words like "vibe" and "energy" unironically and are one bad day away from packing it all in to live in a yurt. Their home is a beautiful, Instagrammable fire hazard.
5. Japandi
The Vibe: The intense, monastic lovechild of a Scandinavian minimalist and a Japanese Zen master.
The Uniform: Light wood, clean lines, and a profound emptiness. There are precisely three bowls in the kitchen cabinet because "anything more is clutter." The only art is a single, gnarled branch in a vase, representing the beautiful imperfection of existence (wabi-sabi, darling).
The Diagnosis: The owner is either the most serene person on Earth or a neurotic neat-freak who twitches every time you place a coaster 2mm off-center. They find joy in folding their socks and probably meditate to the sound of a single water droplet. Do not bring children here. Or fun.
Part 2: The Deep Cuts (For the Theatrically Inclined)
6. Steampunk
The Vibe: What people in the 1880s thought the future would look like after reading too much Jules Verne.
The Uniform: Cogs. Gears. Pipes that go nowhere. Brass, copper, and mahogany. The light switches are all elaborate levers, and the coffee machine requires you to turn three cranks and monitor a pressure gauge.
The Diagnosis: This person owns goggles they have never used for a practical purpose and probably refers to their car as a "horseless carriage." Their home is an escape room where the only puzzle is "How do I turn on the television?"
7. Post-Modern Punk
The Vibe: Anarchy in the UK, but with a mortgage.
The Uniform: A safety pin holding up a priceless painting. A graffiti-splattered concrete wall inside the house. Furniture that looks like it was designed during an argument. Think exposed wiring, jagged edges, and a colour palette of neon pink, stark black, and "disappointment."
The Diagnosis: They believe comfort is a bourgeois construct. They’ll lecture you on deconstructionism while you sit on a chair made of rebar and doubt. Is that a sculpture, or did someone just forget to finish building the wall? The answer is yes.
Part 3: The Styles I Just Invented (But Probably Exist)
8. Aggressively Wholesome Farmhouse
The Vibe: Joanna Gaines has been held hostage and forced to decorate at gunpoint by a tyrannical suburban mum.
The Uniform: Shiplap on every conceivable surface, including the ceiling and possibly the dog. Every item is distressed to look like it survived a barn fire. The house is littered with signs featuring single, commanding words: "GATHER." "EAT." "BLESS." "LIVE. LAUGH. LOVE. (OR ELSE)."
The Diagnosis: The owner’s hospitality is a competitive sport. They will force-feed you a perfectly baked scone from a mason jar while telling you how they "just whipped it up." Their home is less a cosy retreat and more a gentle, persistent threat to be more grateful.
9. Feral Academia
The Vibe: A direct contrast to the curated "Dark Academia." This is what an academic’s house actually looks like.
The Uniform: Towering, unstable ziggurats of books that have become structural elements. Half-empty mugs containing fossilized coffee. A wilting ivy plant that represents the owner’s dwindling hope for tenure. The primary decor piece is a laptop with 37 tabs open, surrounded by a constellation of toast crumbs.
The Diagnosis: This person is brilliant, but they can't find a clean spoon. They are waging a losing war against entropy. The aesthetic is "controlled avalanche of intellectual debris." Don't ask what's in the dusty globes or under the piles of unmarked papers. It’s better not to know.
So, there you have it. A guide to the beautiful, chaotic, and often hilarious ways we tell the world who we are—or at least, who we want to be. Next time you walk into a friend’s house, take a look around. Their decor is telling you everything you need to know.
Go forth and judge. I know I will.
Love, Penelope xx
Chief Anti-Beigification Decor Anarchist