How an Interior Designer Learns to Read Your Taste
One of the first things a client will often tell me is that they don’t know what their style is.
Sometimes they say it apologetically. As though they should have done more research, learnt the right language or arrived at our first meeting with a perfectly edited collection of images.
They shouldn’t.
Most people don’t think in terms of tonal layering, visual weight or material contrast. They know that a room doesn’t feel right. They know what they’ve grown tired of. They may know that they want something calmer, warmer or more grown-up—even if they cannot explain what any of that looks like yet.
That is enough to begin.
Understanding a client’s taste is rarely about asking them to choose a style from a list. It is a process of questions, observation and instinct. Of noticing what brings an immediate response—and what doesn’t.
I’m not looking for a style label
Words such as contemporary, traditional and eclectic can be useful. But they can also mean completely different things to different people.
One person’s neutral is soft, layered and full of texture. Another’s is crisp and minimal. Bold might mean a deep-painted room to one client and a patterned cushion to another.
Even two people living in the same house can use the same word and be picturing entirely different rooms.
So I don’t need a client to name their style. I ask how they want the house to feel. How they live. Which rooms they use and which they avoid. Whether they are naturally drawn to pattern or feel safer without it. Whether they want the house to soothe them, energise them or make friends walk in and say wow.
Sometimes they know immediately. Sometimes they don’t quite understand what I’m asking.
That is useful too.
The point of the questions isn’t to test anyone’s knowledge. It is to begin a conversation and notice where the energy is.
Reactions often tell me more than answers
I listen to what a client says. But I also watch how they respond.
They may say that a fabric is nice while their body language says something much less convincing. They may dismiss one image quickly, then keep returning to another without knowing why. They may become more animated when we talk about a particular colour, material or atmosphere.
An immediate dislike can be as revealing as enthusiasm. Sometimes more so.
If everything feels a little polite or noncommittal, I might introduce a bolder idea deliberately. Not because I expect it to be the answer, and certainly not to push the client into something uncomfortable. I use it to gauge the reaction.
Does the idea create excitement? Relief? Alarm? Does the client like one part of it but not another?
A stronger suggestion can make the edges of someone’s taste much clearer. Once I know where those edges are, I can begin to work confidently within them—and occasionally stretch them in exactly the right place.
What you own is not always what you like
I always look at what is already in the house. The pieces a client has kept, what has moved with them and what they instinctively place somewhere important.
But I never assume that an existing choice represents their taste.
I once asked a client why they had chosen their yellow sofa. It was a noticeable piece and could easily have been taken as evidence that they loved strong colour.
They admitted that they hated it.
That one answer changed the reading of the room. The sofa wasn’t a clue to what they wanted more of. It was something they had been living around.
There are all sorts of reasons things end up in our homes. A previous trend. A hurried purchase. Something inherited. A compromise between partners. A decision made for a different house or a different stage of life.
The useful question is not simply, What do you have? It is, Why did you choose it—and how do you feel about it now?
That is often where the truth appears.
Research can help. It can also confuse things.
Clients often feel they haven’t researched enough. In reality, more images don’t always create more clarity.
Online, we see the same rooms, colours and furniture repeated until familiarity begins to look like preference. A client may think they like something because it is current, beautifully photographed and everywhere. That does not necessarily mean they want to live with it.
Equally, their research may only have shown them a fraction of what is possible.
Part of my role is to widen that frame. To introduce a material, maker, layout or colour that they would never have known to search for. Then to read the response and edit again.
The aim is not to collect more inspiration. It is to understand which ideas have a genuine hold on the client—and which are simply passing through.
When two people describe different homes
Couples rarely arrive with perfectly aligned language or taste.
One may ask for colour while the other wants neutral. One wants the house to feel impressive; the other wants it to feel comfortable. It can sound like a disagreement when, underneath, they may be asking for qualities that can coexist.
This is where listening closely matters.
“Neutral” may really mean calm. “Colour” may mean character. “Minimal” may mean less clutter rather than an empty room. Once I understand the feeling behind the word, the apparent opposition often softens.
The answer is not usually to divide the room down the middle or let one person win. It is to find the shared thread neither has quite articulated yet.
That might be a restrained base with moments of richer colour. A room with clean lines but tactile, comfortable materials. Something composed enough for entertaining and relaxed enough for everyday family life.
The design becomes the translation.
Taste becomes clearer when you feel understood
There can be embarrassment in not knowing. Clients worry that they will say the wrong thing, choose badly or be judged for what they already own.
There is no wrong answer in those early conversations.
The yellow sofa someone hates is useful. The image they reject immediately is useful. The object they cannot explain but would never part with may be the most useful thing in the room.
My job is to pay attention to all of it. To see the pattern across the words, reactions, possessions and contradictions. Then turn that pattern into a design direction that feels coherent and personal.
After twenty-four years designing spaces, I trust that process. Not because I decide what a client ought to like, but because I know how to keep looking until we find what feels true.
You don’t need to arrive knowing your style.
You only need to be open to discovering it.