He Wants to Make Your Living Room Great Again. Don't Let Him!
Critiquing the hypothetical interior design career of Donald J. Trump.
The No-Vanilla Manifesto
Your home should have a personality. Preferably yours.
So, Donald Trump Thinks He’s an Interior Designer.
Let's talk about the gilded cage and the audacity of gold leaf.
Alright, gather ‘round, my fearless design disciples. Pour yourself something strong—a neat whiskey, a kombucha that could strip paint, whatever—because we need to talk.
There’s a rumor floating through the ether, a terrifying hypothetical that has crawled out of some fever dream.
What if Donald Trump, the man of… well, the man of much… decided to pivot? What if he hung up his political hat and picked up a Pantone swatch book? What if he fancied himself an interior designer?
My initial reaction was a full-body shudder. The kind you get when a client shows you a Pinterest board full of inspirational quotes stenciled on reclaimed barn wood.
But then I realized: this is a design lesson. This is the ultimate "what not to do." This is the Patron Saint of More Is More, and we must study him to vaccinate ourselves against his aesthetic.
So, let's step into the Mar-a-Lago of the mind and explore the tenets of what I can only call Maximum Trumpism.
The Design Philosophy: An Unholy Trinity of Gold, Glass, and Ego
Forget Hygge. Forget Wabi-Sabi. Forget balanced, biophilic, human-centric design. The Trumpian design philosophy would be built on one principle: overwhelm.
It's not about creating a home; it's about building a fortress of perceived success that bludgeons you into submission the moment you walk through the door.
Here’s what he would design:
1. The Great Room Becomes The "Greatest" Room.
Scale wouldn't just be important; it would be the only thing that's important. Everything would be "tremendous."
The sofa would be a gargantuan, 14-foot sectional in white leather (or maybe gold velour), so deep you'd need a search party to retrieve a dropped remote.
The coffee table would be a slab of marble the size of a Fiat, polished to a terrifyingly high gloss. And on that table? A single, very large, very expensive book, probably about himself.
The fireplace would be a floor-to-ceiling marble monstrosity, flanked by two chairs that look like thrones, making anyone who sits in them look like a toddler at the grown-ups' table.
2. The Relentless Gleam of "Luxury."
His material palette is painfully simple: if it shines, it's in. Gold leaf wouldn't be an accent; it would be a primary finish.
On the cornice/crown molding, the chair legs, the light switches, the taps/faucets, the toilet paper holder. It’s the design equivalent of shouting.
Mirrors everywhere, not to create a sense of space, but to constantly reflect the owner’s image and the sheer amount of stuff in the room.
Polished brass, high-gloss lacquer, crystal chandeliers that look like they're on steroids. The goal isn’t textural richness; it's to create a glare so intense you need sunglasses indoors.
3. Branding Ãœber Alles.
You think a monogram on a towel is chic? Amateur hour. In a Trump-designed home, the family crest (real or, more likely, invented last Tuesday) would be everywhere.
Woven into the custom carpet. Carved into the back of the dining chairs. Etched into the glass of the shower door.
It’s not a home, it’s a Hard Rock Cafe for one person’s ego. The art? A 10-foot-tall, hyper-realistic portrait of the client looking powerful, probably pointing at something off-canvas.
But is it Stylish? Is it Functional?
Let’s be brutally honest.
Is it stylish? No. Not in the slightest. Style implies a point of view, a curation, a sense of restraint. Style is the quiet confidence of a perfect cashmere throw on a beautifully worn leather chair.
Maximum Trumpism is the performative insecurity of a fake Rolex. It’s confusing wealth with taste. It’s a scream for validation.
It’s the aesthetic of a lottery winner who has a panic attack at the Ferrari dealership and just buys everything.
Is it functional? Absolutely not. And that's the hilarious part. Design, at its core, is problem-solving.
How do we live better, more comfortably, more beautifully in a space? Trump’s approach is problem-creation.
Comfort? Those throne-like chairs are miserable to sit in. That white leather sofa is a nightmare for anyone with kids, pets, or a glass of red wine.
Lighting? It’s not layered; it’s an assault. A single, massive chandelier on a dimmer that goes from "interrogation room" to "off."
Flow? The furniture is too big for the rooms, creating awkward pathways. You don't live in the space; you navigate it like an obstacle course.
Maintenance? Imagine the staff required to polish that much brass and dust those ornate carvings. A home shouldn't be a full-time job for a housekeeping army.
The Client Consultation We All Dread
I can just hear the initial client meeting now:
Client: "So, we were thinking something calm, modern, with lots of natural light..."
Designer Trump: "Wrong. Sad. Very low energy. What you need is power. We’re going to get you the best marble. The most beautiful, believe me. We're going to knock down this wall—it's a terrible wall, a disaster—and we're putting in columns. Big, beautiful, golden columns. Everyone will say you have the best columns. We’re going to make this living room great again."
In the world of Maximum Trumpism, the client's needs are irrelevant. The home isn't for them. It's for the people they want to impress, intimidate, or vanquish. It’s not a sanctuary; it's a weapon.
So, let this be our lesson. The next time you're tempted to add just one more gilded thing, to choose the shiny option over the soulful one, to prioritize impressing others over your own comfort, stop. Take a breath. And whisper to yourself: "Don't build the gilded cage."
Because true style, my friends, knows when to stop. It has nothing to prove.
Stay bold. Stay authentic. And for the love of all that is holy, stay away from the gold spray paint.
Love, Penelope xx
Chief Anti-Vanilla Goddess
A Necessary & Slightly Sarcastic Disclaimer: Let the record show that the preceding analysis is a purely hypothetical and satirical exploration. No political figures were harmed in the making of this post, though several design principles were mercilessly dragged through the mud. As they should be. All in the name of saving the world from bad taste.
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