From Paris to New York to Tel Aviv: why I design homes for the person you’re becoming not the one you are now

Have you ever walked into your own home and thought: “this doesn’t match my life anymore but I don’t know what does?”
Most people don’t hire me because they want a beautiful home. They hire me because they’ve outgrown their life and their house is the evidence.

What no one tells you is that redesigning a home isn’t about cushions and paint. It’s about identity. It forces you to answer questions like:

who am I becoming?
what do I no longer tolerate?
if my home reflected the life I actually want, what would disappear? What would stay?

My work isn’t decoration, it’s translation

I don’t ask clients what style they like. I ask them what they’re avoiding.
Because spaces don’t lie. They expose what we postpone: divorce papers on a counter, unopened art still in bubble wrap, the guest room no one uses anymore, not because people don’t visit but because the warmth and connection in the home faded long ago.

One of my clients in Hudson Yards a successful tech founder, called me, not because she needed furniture, but because she said: “My house feels like my old life and I’m tired of living inside who I used to be”.
We removed the bulky, dark furniture her parents insisted she keep. We left one thing: her grandmother’s brass candlesticks. Everything else was replaced with light: linen, pale oak, contemporary Israeli art that felt raw and unfinished, just like she did.
Two months after we completed it, she told me she ended her relationship, started dating women and hosted her first Shabbat dinner in years. That is interior design.

Paris gave me discipline, New York gave me speed, Tel Aviv gave me SOUL

Paris taught me refinement: symmetry, restraint, how to let silence be luxurious.
New York taught me efficiency: how to furnish an empty penthouse in a day because the client flies in tomorrow.
Tel Aviv and Haifa taught me truth: homes don’t need perfection; they need honesty, unfinished stone, windows that open to the Mediterranean air and space for real life: messy, loud and layered.

Most people don’t need another sofa, They need permission to change

If your home feels like a past version of yourself, that’s not an aesthetic issue, it’s a psychological one.
And if you’re reading this thinking, “She’s talking about me…” - then yes, I probably am.