If you look at media portrayals of interior designers’ outfits, you’ll find two extremes: a quietly chic neutral ensemble or something more in the Iris Apfel vein, complete with outrageous statement jewelry and bold patterns in tropical hues. When she was first starting out, San Francisco designer Noz Nozawa leaned into the former. “The designers I’d seen on TV wore a uniform of black and white, so that’s what I adopted,” she says. “It felt like an easy way to dress when I didn’t have a ton of confidence yet. You’re not going to offend anyone if you’re wearing black.”
Two years into running her own firm, Nozawa had a breakthrough moment when she realized she should start dressing in a way that conveyed her personality and maximalist design sensibilities—colorful prints, mixed metals, layered jewelry, striking silhouettes and characterful textures. “I was stomping around in high heels thinking that would help me get taken seriously, and I was finally like, ‘This is goofy! I’m a business owner. I can dress how I want.’”
The way that designers present themselves can communicate a lot about their taste and vibe, giving clients a hint of what it might be like to work together. Personal style is a facet of the interior design industry that has become heightened in the age of social media, when a designer’s brand identity is under more scrutiny, and when designers themselves have become ever more intertwined with their businesses.
Dressing For the Job
In generations past, a designer’s portfolio and wardrobe weren’t necessarily of a kind. Sister Parish, for example, was usually photographed in simple navy or black ensembles, often with a strand of pearls draped around her neck. Mario Buatta was the “Prince of Chintz,” but he never wore the stuff—more often, he went for a dark suit in a conservative cut. There was a buttoned-up quality expected of professionals in prior decades that has faded away, leaving more leeway for decorators to use their wardrobe as an extension of their design style.
Portland, Oregon–based designer Max Humphrey is a case in point. Known for his Americana-inspired interiors, Humphrey readily acknowledges that he picks clothing that looks like his interiors, favoring plaids, denim and outdoorsy motifs. “It’s always surprising to me when you watch a fashion show [featuring] bold, crazy clothes and then the designer comes out at the end in a black T-shirt,” he says. “There is a value in having a single brand identity. It’s like a calling card.” His aesthetic throughline has helped him land several licensed collections, with brands like Sunbrella and Chasing Paper, lines that he promotes while wearing cuffed jeans, sneakers and a fedora, driving home the visual association he wants to be known for. “I dress the way my interiors look and that’s true to me,” he says. “I think it sets the expectation, in a way. I’m casual and my design process is casual—if a client wants a really formal experience, they can take one look at me in that first meeting and probably know that’s not what they’re going to get.”
It’s an approach that works particularly well for Humphrey’s Portland clientele, who often work for companies like Nike, Adidas or Columbia Sportswear. “Clients here wouldn’t expect you to show up in a suit and tie—not that I own one,” says the designer. “These are often clients that work in casual apparel, so I’m not going to come to a meeting looking like I work at a bank.” (That said, there are still style choices he takes into consideration before showing up to a client’s house. “I’m not going to wear New Balance sneakers to a Nike executive’s house,” he says.)
Other designers prefer some separation between their work and their wardrobe. “I like things that are very tailored and high quality [in both apparel and furnishings], but I’ll go highly decorative in a room in a way that I don’t typically go for in my clothing,” says New York designer Wesley Moon. When he was first starting out, Moon had a navy blue jacket he wore to every initial client meeting. “I used to care a lot more about the impression my clothing made, because I didn’t have the portfolio to back me up. I wouldn’t even wear jeans in the office. Now I would never wear a jacket—I’m much more casual about it.”
Like Nozawa, Moon felt more comfortable dropping his unofficial dress code once his design career was more established—and sees that dynamic play out among other designers too. “It is a different scenario when you have the work behind you. Peter Marino is the perfect example,” he says, referring to the iconic New York designer’s biker-inspired uniform of head-to-toe leather, down to his jewelry. “No one cares how Peter Marino looks because his work is amazing and everybody knows it. But if a new designer showed up to a Park Avenue apartment dressed like Peter Marino, they probably wouldn’t be getting that job, right?”
Connection Builder
Some designers’ outfits are so striking that they’ve become a lead generator in themselves. St. Petersburg, Florida–based designer Lisa Gilmore, who favors vibrant colors and statement headbands and turbans, says that she is often stopped throughout her day by people complimenting her style or asking where she bought a particular piece. “It can be an icebreaker, and it helps to get me out of my shell and gives me a chance to plug my business when I might not have otherwise. I can say, ‘Oh, thank you. I’m an interior designer and I like a lot of color.’ It’s a natural chance to talk about your aesthetic.”
Humphrey feels similarly, noting that clothes can offer another way to connect with clients. “Particularly with dude clients that might not be as comfortable talking about chairs and sofas, they can say something about my sneakers or the watch I’m wearing, and it starts a dialogue,” says the designer. “It’s a simple way to connect and build that rapport.”
If fashion can help designers land jobs simply by being stylish in public, then the flip side of that is the pressure to present a polished image, even when you’re off the clock. “We’ve all had that moment when we run out for errands on a Sunday and bump into a client,” says Nicole Roe, a designer based in Lakeland, Florida. “While they know we’re human, they are also hiring us to design not just their space but to create a lifestyle. I do believe that I should embody the lifestyle I create for my clients. It naturally integrates with my personal life, and I’m comfortable with that.”
Sarah Eilers, co-founder of the Houston-based firm Lucas Eilers, points out that though fashion has evolved, the importance of first impressions has not. “People’s first idea of you is based largely on what you’re wearing,” she says. She recalls one initial meeting where she and a prospective client had on the same David Yurman bracelet. “Our business is so visual, and if a client identifies with you, even if that’s just based on liking your jewelry, it gives them the confidence to know that you have a similar level of attention to detail and taste, that you both have an appreciation for beautiful things. It’s an important way that clients can connect with you.”
A Personal Statement
As workwear has gotten less formal over the years, new avenues for personal expression have opened up. For Eilers and her partner, Sandra Lucas, who founded their firm in 1995, the biggest change they’ve made in their work attire over the years is their footwear. “Tennis shoes have become my very best friend,” says Lucas. “I used to have to keep different shoes to wear to job sites versus client meetings, but now, even if I’m wearing a Carolina Herrera dress, I have Chloé tennis shoes I pair with it on a regular basis.” Still, they’ve drawn the line at some trends toward informality. “No Lululemon in the office,” says Eilers. “The client can come to the meeting looking like they came from Pilates, but our staff can’t. It’s important to still be professional because you never know when a client is going to drop in.”
For Nozawa, a love of accessories blossomed during the pandemic when Zoom calls meant that her outfit couldn’t be seen in its entirety. Since then, she has parlayed that passion into several jobs designing jewelry stores and, ultimately, the creation of a jewelry-inspired lighting collection for Corbett Lighting. Her style has evolved along with her design career, and she has begun to shop for clothes in a similar way to sourcing her interiors, mixing vintage finds with higher-end pieces and focusing on quality and sustainability. “I realized early on that it takes some integrity to tell my clients, ‘You can’t buy fast furniture,’ and if I’m saying that, I probably shouldn’t show up wearing head-to-toe H&M. I can’t say, ‘I got these shoes on Temu.’ I want to be in alignment with my values.” That said, she believes that ultimately, her work speaks volumes more than her look—and believes that should be the case for all designers, whether they’re into fashion or not. “The wisdom that I developed over time as a designer is that how you look and how you present yourself does not have to represent how you design or what you like about design,” she says. “You could actually just be a person who is incredibly talented and reliably gifted at this particular field of work—and then you’re just a person who wears clothes.”
In short, whether you enjoy the art of getting dressed or prefer to simplify the ritual so you can move on to the aesthetic realm you’re truly passionate about, there’s no one way to approach your style as a designer. But know that it will make an impression regardless. If you can approach your wardrobe in a way that evokes confidence, so much the better. “I love dressing up—I spend time planning my outfits,” says Gilmore. “To me, it reaffirms my seat at the table. I feel like, if I were to show up in yoga pants and a T-shirt, there’s no way I’d be showing up as my best self. I think it leads to a better client relationship. They see my enthusiasm and my confidence and they’re like, ‘OK, yeah, let’s paint the room raspberry red! I trust you.’”
