The Things That Last
Three generations of designing women in my family, an old textile house, and what I keep relearning about good design.
If you’ve been reading me for a while, you know I have a thing.
Sarah wanted choices that felt lasting. My whole Paris list was really about pieces that never stop being right. I keep circling the same idea from different rooms, and apparently I’m still not finished with it.
This week it spilled over onto the work side.
I wrote a piece for Studio Intelligence Co., my design intelligence project, the place where I’m supposed to sound composed and professional. It started as a clean essay about why the most current idea in luxury design right now is also the oldest one. Then my mother walked into it. Then my grandmother. Then Brunschwig, where Mom sent me to learn the trade before she’d let me come home to the family business. (Mom didn’t do gap years. She did apprenticeships.)
By the end it was less a trend essay and more a love letter to three generations of women who taught me that a well-made room doesn’t expire.
So I’m bringing it over here, where the personal things live, because honestly it was personal the whole time.
If you’ve ever held onto something old simply because it was too good to let go, you already understand the whole argument. Here it is.