I Got This Very Wrong…

The mistake I made in my first house — and what it cost me

Our first house was a two-story colonial on the east side of Cleveland. If you're not local, you should know that this part of town is full of history and full of century homes — grand old things with leaded glass and back staircases and stories.

Ours was not one of those. Ours was small and charming enough to have real character, but it came out of a neighborhood built in the late 1950s by one builder working from a handful of floor plans. He'd do the same layout in a few different styles. Same word, different fonts.

For someone whose whole thing is spaces that feel one-of-one, this was maddening. I'd walk into a neighbor's house and know exactly where their kitchen was.

And then there was the flipper.

We bought from someone who had "updated" the house, which meant we spent the next several years quietly un-flipping it — putting back the character that had been stripped out and covered in the same gray-brown everything that was on every listing that year. We did it, and honestly we did it well. But it took about five years before the house felt finished.

Five years. Which turns out to be the whole point of this post.

The actual mistake

I made a lot of small mistakes in that house. That's how you learn, and I'd rather have learned them on my own dime than a client's.

But the big one, the one underneath all the others, was this: I spent real money on real pieces before I knew what I wanted the house to be.

I was impatient. I thought I knew. I didn't know.

Here's what that looked like in practice.

Exhibit A: The very modern living room

Dillon moved in coming from a sleek, downtown, borderline-Bond-villain bachelor apartment. I like cozy. Soft, layered, a little feminine, a lot of texture.

So I did what I think a lot of people do when two lives merge into one house — I overcorrected. I tried so hard to make the space feel like ours that I designed a room that wasn't really either of us. Everything was hard-edged and a little cold, filled out with whatever aggressively modern thing HomeGoods was selling that season.

It looked fine. It photographed fine. It felt like nobody.

We changed it not long after, and I was left with a pile of decor I had no use for and no idea what to do with — bought with money I'd rather have put toward one good piece.

Living with someone means blending two points of view, and that part is real. But blending isn't the same as abandoning your own instincts and hoping the compromise looks like a style. It doesn't. It looks like a compromise.

Exhibit B: The matching bedroom set

I bought a bedroom set. A matching one. Bed, nightstands, dresser, the whole coordinated family portrait.

I know.

In my defense, it was about seven years ago, and I'm proud to report those days are firmly behind me. But the room ended up reading like a boho camping lodge, which is not a genre, and it was the result of me chasing "new" instead of following my gut.

A few years later Dillon went out of town for work and I redid the entire room while he was gone. New bed, new nightstands, new paint, new lighting. All of it.

(He is going to laugh when he reads this, because a work trip remains my favorite project window. There is nothing like an empty house and a one-week runway.)

That room became one of my favorite things I've ever done. But I paid for it twice — once for the version I bought in a hurry, and once for the version I actually wanted.

Exhibit C: Beige. So much beige.

I love a neutral. Neutrals are the foundation of most of what I do and I will defend them to anyone.

But that house was aggressively beige. It was the thing at the time, and I leaned all the way in. Shoji White. Then Shiitake. Warm, safe, extremely of-the-moment, and after a while the whole house started to read like one long uninterrupted sigh.

So I painted again. And eventually I landed somewhere I never would have picked at the start — Pewter Tankard, deep and green and a little moody, and Urbane Bronze, which is nearly black in the evening and completely different at 8am.

That's the part I think about now. It wasn't that the first colors were bad. It's that I had to live in the house for a few years before I knew I wanted depth. No sample board was going to tell me that. Only time in the room was going to tell me.

Three rounds of paint is not a design decision. It's an impatience tax. But the fourth round was the first one that was actually mine.

What it actually cost

The furniture I resold at a loss. The decor that sat in a bin in the basement for two years before I gave up on it. The paint, over and over. The bedroom set I replaced piece by piece.

I've never added it up and I don't intend to.

But the more expensive thing wasn't the money. It was that for the first few years, I lived in a house that didn't feel like mine — because I kept trying to shortcut my way to a finished room instead of letting the house tell me what it wanted to be.

The one thing that survived

My sectional.

Before we moved in together, I was sofa shopping ahead of the move and Dillon suggested I look at West Elm — that's where he'd found his, and he loved it. So I went on, found the Haven sectional, fell for it immediately, and proudly sent him the screenshot.

He called me. "Um. Did you buy the same couch on purpose?"

Same sofa. Different fabric. I had no idea. We still laugh about it.

That sofa has moved with us. It's the only thing from that era that made it, and I've thought a lot about why — because it certainly wasn't a more careful purchase than the rest. I bought it fast, like everything else.

It survived because it has a story attached to it.

What I'd tell you now

Live in the room first. Sit in it at 7am and at 9pm. Notice where the light lands, where you actually put your coffee down, which corner nobody ever walks through. That information is free and it is better than any inspiration photo.

Buy the thing that solves the whole room, not the empty corner. An empty corner is not an emergency. A bad chair bought to fill it is a five-year problem.

Nothing has to match. The matching set is a shortcut that promises cohesion and delivers a hotel room.

And be patient with the blending. If you're merging two lives under one roof, that resolution takes time, and it will not happen because you bought a coffee table you both mildly tolerate.

Here's the thing I only realized while writing this: that house is where my love of curation came from. Collecting slowly. Choosing things that are special, that are one-of-one, that carry a story you can tell at a dinner party ten years later. That's the center of how I work now, and I always assumed it was something I'd learned in the industry.

It wasn't. It came from a small colonial on the east side and a sofa I accidentally bought twice.

The house took five years. It should have. The version of me who wanted it done in eight months paid a lot of money to find that out.

So now, when a client tells me they want to wait on the dining room until they've lived with the kitchen through a season — I tell them that's the smartest thing they've said all week.

Designing For The Way You Actually Live

There is a moment in every design project when I ask a client a question that has nothing to do with paint colors or furniture layouts:

HOW DO YOU ACTUALLY LIVE HERE?

Not how you wish you lived. Not how a perfectly styled room looks online. But the real, everyday version; slow mornings, busy evenings, muddy paws, impromptu dinners, quiet cups of coffee, family movie nights, and the occasional pile of laundry that didn’t quite make it upstairs.

Great design doesn’t begin with trends. It begins with life.

START WITH FUNCTION, ALWAYS

Every room should earn its keep. Before we talk about aesthetics, we talk about purpose. Is this living room meant for entertaining, or is it where you decompress at the end of the day? Does your dining room host large gatherings, or is it more often used for homework and weeknight meals?

Function doesn’t limit beauty… It enhances it. When a space supports how you move through it, how you gather, and how you rest, it naturally feels better to be in.

HOW DO YOU SPEND YOUR TIME?

Your home should reflect your rhythms. If weekends mean hosting friends, comfortable seating and durable materials matter. If your evenings are quieter, layered lighting and cozy textures take priority. If you work from home, your space should energize you during the day and allow you to mentally “clock out” at night.

Designing well means paying attention to the moments that make up your life, and designing for those moments first.

WHO LIVES HERE?

Homes are personal because people are personal. A household with young children has different needs than a couple whose kids are grown. Pets change how we think about materials, layouts, and longevity. High-traffic areas require finishes that wear beautifully, not delicately.

A well-designed home doesn’t fight your lifestyle, it supports it effortlessly.

PLACE MATTERS

Where you live should influence how your home feels. A historic home in the Northeast calls for a different sensibility than a coastal retreat or a city residence. Climate, architecture, and surroundings all play a role in shaping spaces that feel grounded and intentional.

When design responds to place, it feels timeless rather than imposed.

BEAUTY THAT LASTS

Designing for the way you live also means thinking long-term. Choosing pieces that age well, layouts that adapt, and materials that patina rather than perish. A home should evolve with you, never feel precious or untouchable.

The most beautiful interiors are the ones that are lived in, loved, and layered over time.

THE GOAL

At Mackenzie Marx Interiors, the goal is never to create a house that looks good for a moment. It’s to create a home that feels right for years, one that reflects who you are, how you live, and where you’re headed.

Because the best design isn’t just something you see.
It’s something you live in, every single day.

Why Neutral Doesn’t Have to Mean Boring

Neutral interiors have gotten a bad reputation; and honestly, I get why. Somewhere along the way, neutral became synonymous with flat, forgettable, or overly safe. Beige for the sake of beige. Rooms that photograph well but don’t necessarily feel like anything at all.

But when done thoughtfully, neutrals are anything but boring. In fact, they can be some of the most soulful, layered, and enduring spaces you’ll ever step into.

At Mackenzie Marx Interiors, we see neutral design not as a lack of color, but as an invitation to go deeper.

NEUTRAL IS A FOUNDATION, NOT A FINISH LINE

A neutral palette sets the stage. It allows materials, textures, and craftsmanship to take the lead. Instead of relying on bold color to create interest, neutral spaces ask you to pay attention to the quiet details; the grain of the wood, the softness of a woven textile, the patina of aged stone or metal.

This is where timelessness lives.

When the bones of a room are strong, neutrals don’t fade into the background, they elevate everything around them.

TEXTURE IS WHERE THE MAGIC HAPPENS

The difference between a neutral room that feels flat and one that feels layered comes down to texture. Think linen paired with velvet. Plaster walls alongside polished stone. A chunky wool rug grounding a room filled with tailored upholstery.

These contrasts create depth and movement without overwhelming the space. They invite you in. They make a room feel lived-in rather than staged.

Neutral design, at its best, is tactile. It’s meant to be experienced, not just seen.

DEPTH OVER TREND

We’re not interested in neutrals that feel disposable or trend-driven. True neutral design has nuance, warm undertones, subtle variation, and a sense of restraint that allows a space to evolve gracefully over time.

Instead of chasing what’s popular online, we focus on palettes that feel personal and enduring. Colors with weight. Finishes that age beautifully. Pieces that feel collected rather than curated all at once.

This is how neutral spaces gain character not overnight, but slowly, intentionally.

LET THE SPACE TELL A STORY

Some of the most compelling neutral interiors are rooted in the client themselves. Their travels. Their habits. The way they want to feel when they come home.

A neutral backdrop allows those stories to surface. A vintage chair passed down through family. Artwork collected over years. Objects that don’t shout for attention but quietly hold meaning.

Neutral doesn’t mean anonymous. When done well, it’s deeply personal.

QUIET CONFIDENCE

Neutral interiors don’t need to announce themselves to make an impact. Their strength lies in certainty knowing when to let a material speak, when to allow space to breathe, and when to stop before a room feels overworked.

This kind of confidence comes from intentional choices: editing rather than adding, investing in pieces that hold their own, and trusting that a space doesn’t need excess to feel complete. The result is an environment that feels effortless yet considered; calm without being sparse, elevated without feeling untouchable.

Neutral design, when done with purpose, has a way of settling in and staying with you. It doesn’t demand attention. It earns it.

Why the Best Homes Are Designed Before They’re Built

There is a moment in every custom home project where excitement quietly turns into overwhelm.

Floor plans are approved, timelines are moving, and suddenly you’re being asked to make hundreds, if not thousands of decisions you didn’t even know existed. Door profiles. Window trim. Electrical layouts. Cabinet depths. Tile transitions. Finish schedules. And all of it feels urgent, permanent, and expensive.

This is where the difference between a house and a well-designed home is made.

A BUILDER BUILDS.
AN ARCHITECT PLANS.
A DESIGNER CONNECTS IT ALL.

A builder’s role is to execute. An architect’s role is to ensure structure, flow, and code compliance. Both are essential. But neither is responsible for the lived-in experience of your home; the way it feels to move through it, to wake up in it, to host in it, or to grow into it over time.

That responsibility belongs to the designer.

An interior designer is the throughline between vision and reality. The person looking at the big picture while also obsessing over the details you won’t realize matters until it’s too late to change them.

DESIGN IS A DECISION MANAGEMENT

Custom homes are defined by decisions, millions of them.

A designer doesn’t just help you choose things. They help you:

• Prioritize decisions in the right order

• Understand how one choice affects ten others

• Filter options so you’re not paralyzed by endless possibilities

• Make confident selections rooted in your lifestyle, not trends

Without this guidance, many homeowners default to rushed decisions or “safe” choices that don’t truly reflect them; often leading to regret, revisions, or costly changes during construction.

PREVENTING MISTAKES BEFORE THEY EXIST

One of the most valuable roles a designer plays happens quietly, behind the scenes.

Designers think several steps ahead:

• How will these finishes age together over time?

• Does this layout actually support how you live day-to-day?

• Are proportions correct once furniture, lighting, and art are introduced?

• Will this decision feel intentional, or accidental once the home is complete?

By addressing these questions early, designers help prevent mistakes that are expensive, disruptive, or impossible to undo once walls are up and materials are installed.

A CLEAR VISION FROM START TO FINISH

Custom homes can lose their way.

With multiple trades involved and decisions happening in phases, it’s easy for the original vision to become diluted. A designer holds that vision steady; from the first conversation to the final install, ensuring that every choice supports a cohesive, elevated result.

This isn’t about over-designing. It’s about intention.
About making sure nothing feels like an afterthought.
About creating a home that feels layered, personal, and complete.

THE RESULTS: A HOME THAT FEELS CONSIDERED, NOT COMPLICATED

The best homes don’t just look beautiful. They feel effortless.

That ease comes from planning before construction begins, by someone whose sole focus is your experience of the space. Someone who can translate your ideas into decisions, your preferences into a clear direction, and your investment into a home that truly reflects you.

Because the most successful custom homes aren’t just built well.

They’re designed… long before the first foundation is poured.

What Luxury Actually Means in Interior Design

Hint: It’s Not Just Price

Luxury has become a slippery word.

Somewhere along the way, it was reduced to a price tag, a logo, or whatever happens to be trending on social media that week. But real luxury – the kind that endures, the kind you feel when you walk into a space – has very little to do with excess, and everything to do with intention.

At Mackenzie Marx Interiors, we believe luxury is quiet. Thoughtful. Personal. It’s layered, lived-in, and deeply rooted in how a space supports the life unfolding inside it.

So what does luxury actually mean in interior design?

Let’s talk about it.

LUXURY MEANS MATERIALS THAT AGE GRACEFULLY

True luxury starts with what something is made of, not how loudly it announces itself.

Natural materials tell a story over time. Stone that softens and patinas. Wood that deepens in tone with use. Metals that wear gently instead of peeling or fading. These are materials that don’t demand perfection; they reward living.

There’s a confidence in choosing finishes that grow more beautiful with age. It’s the opposite of disposable design, and the very definition of quiet opulence.

LUXURY IS DEPTH, NOT DRAMA

Luxury doesn’t rely on shock value.

It lives in nuance: layered neutrals, moody undertones, colors that reveal themselves slowly depending on the light or time of day. A palette with depth feels grounding and sophisticated because it’s not trying to impress at first glance, it’s meant to be experienced over time.

The most elevated spaces are often the ones that feel calm, intentional, and quietly compelling rather than overtly “designed.”

LUXURY IS PERSONAL, NOT PERFORMATIVE

If everyone is doing it, it’s probably not luxury.

Design rooted solely in trends rarely feels authentic. True luxury reflects the individual, their history, their routines, their preferences, their sense of comfort. It’s choosing pieces because they resonate, not because they’re circulating online.

A well-designed space should feel like a visual autobiography, not a showroom.

LUXURY IS CRAFTSMANSHIP YOU CAN FEEL

There is an undeniable difference between something that is mass-produced and something that is thoughtfully made.

Luxury is in the weight of a drawer pull, the way upholstery is tailored, the subtle imperfections that signal a human hand. It’s in the details you don’t always notice immediately, but would absolutely miss if they weren’t there.

Craftsmanship doesn’t shout. It whispers.

LUXURY IS HOW A SPACE MAKES YOU FEEL

Above all else, luxury is experiential.

It’s the ease of moving through a room that works effortlessly. The comfort of a chair that invites you to stay longer. The familiarity of a space that feels both elevated and entirely yours.

Luxury is not about impressing guests, it’s about how a home supports your everyday life in a way that feels intentional, warm, and quietly refined.

A FINAL NOTE

Luxury isn’t about having more.
It’s about choosing better.

Better materials. Better craftsmanship. Better alignment with who you are and how you live. When design is rooted in intention rather than excess, it transcends trends and becomes timeless.

And that, in our view, is what luxury truly means.

A Love Letter to Timeless Design

Timeless design is not about resisting change, it’s about choosing what endures.

At its core, timelessness is a feeling. It’s the quiet confidence of a space that doesn’t need to announce itself, the kind of room that feels grounded the moment you walk in. It isn’t trend-driven or performative. It’s personal, layered, and deeply considered.

MATERIALS THAT TELL A STORY

Natural materials are the foundation of spaces that age beautifully. Stone that softens with time. Wood that deepens in tone as it’s lived with. Metals that develop patina rather than wear out. These are materials that don’t demand perfection, they invite it to evolve.

There’s something honest about finishes that show their history. A softened edge, a worn surface, a subtle change in color. These details create warmth and character that simply can’t be replicated with something overly polished or disposable. Timeless design embraces this evolution, understanding that a home should feel better five, ten, twenty years from now; not frozen in a moment.

A PALETTE WITH DEPTH

Color plays a quiet but powerful role in creating longevity. Timeless spaces favor palettes with nuance; tones that feel rich rather than reactive. Warm whites, layered neutrals, moody hues, and colors drawn from nature itself create a sense of depth and calm.

These are palettes that shift beautifully with the light, that feel different in the morning than they do at dusk. They don’t rely on contrast for impact; they rely on balance. Depth over drama. Subtlety over shock value.

DESIGNING FOR YOU, NOT THE ALGORITHM

Perhaps the most important element of timeless design is individuality. A space should reflect the people who live in it; their history, their travels, their sensibilities, not just what happens to be circulating online.

Trends move quickly, but personal taste has staying power. When you choose pieces that resonate with you; art that feels meaningful, furniture that invites you to linger, objects that hold memory you create a home that feels authentic. These choices age well because they were never trying to impress anyone else to begin with.

THE BEAUTY OF RESTRAINT

Timeless design doesn’t chase novelty. It curates thoughtfully, edits carefully, and allows a home to breathe. It values craftsmanship over excess, intention over accumulation. Every element has a reason for being there and room to shine.

This is design that feels lived in, not staged. Elevated, but never precious. Collected, not curated for likes.

In a world that moves quickly, timeless design asks us to slow down. To choose materials that last, colors that ground us, and spaces that feel like home now and for years to come.