Old House Whispers

I recently caught up with Haskell Harris for her Substack, Gander. Haskell and I first met more than a decade ago while working in the fashion industry, and I’ve loved watching both of our careers evolve in the years since (she wrote a book!).

We spoke about the early days of Sanford Collective, my approach to designing kitchens and baths, and the role materials, lighting, and proportion play in creating homes that feel lasting and lived in. Since only part of our conversation made it into the published piece, I thought I’d share a bit more of the thinking behind those ideas here.

On starting my business:

I came to interiors somewhat indirectly. I spent over a decade in fashion in New York, working in brand and communications, and that experience really shaped how I think about design. I was constantly observing how a point of view gets expressed across every layer, not just in a single moment, but in the full identity.

My time working at Tibi was especially formative. I’ve always thought of Amy Smilovic as a true authority on proportion, she has even built an entire framework around it (get her book if you don’t already have it!). I had a front row seat to that way of thinking for years. The brand was in a period of transition, moving away from a more expected, feminine identity that defined much of the contemporary market at the time. There was a real rigor in how everything was considered, scale, proportion, color, and how a woman actually lives in her clothes day to day. Whether she is running up subway stairs, on the sidelines of a soccer game, or in a boardroom, the clothing had to work. Being part of that process felt like a kind of masterclass, and it has stayed with me.

I took a lot of those learnings into a personal endeavor when we moved out of the city and bought a dutch colonial farmhouse. That experience shifted everything. It forced me to think about how spaces are actually used, not just how they look. That balance between utility and atmosphere became really important to me. I’ve never believed that comfort and style are at odds, whether in fashion or at home. The goal is always to create spaces that feel purposeful and authentic, and that genuinely support the way people live.  

We moved to South Carolina during Covid, which offered an unexpected (in the best way possible) reset for my career. I spent the better of a year researching and building relationships with vendors and immersing myself in construction. I wanted to understand the process fully and to be fluent on a job site, not just conceptually but practically.

I try to create spaces that feel grounded and intuitive, where materials, proportion, and the interplay of color and light are doing most of the work. I’m always adjusting, adding a bit of tension, softening something else, trying to find that balance where a space has a point of view without feeling overly done. The spaces I love most have a quiet narrative to them. You can't always name what it is, but you feel it the moment you walk in. That's what I'm always chasing.

I’m about four years into this career pivot, and I’ve learned a lot along the way. I feel so lucky to work on homes rich in history in a place whose fabric is woven with it.

On our historic captain's house scullery & kitchen:

We limited interventions to only what was necessary during the renovation of this historic captain’s house on Sullivan’s Island. Original beadboard that swathed the walls and ceilings were preserved, floors left untouched, and only two or three walls were moved across the entire home. It was enough to make the house live comfortably in the present without erasing the details that made it special.

The former kitchen and laundry, once divided by a wall, became a single generous back-of-house kitchen. It now handles all the tasks the showpiece main kitchen doesn’t. The starting point was all of the functions the clients wanted in the space: two dishwashers, a warming drawer, a sink, pantry storage and a powder room. Because this space also serves as a secondary entrance and is visible from the dining room, rear foyer and main kitchen, it needed to feel as much of a design moment as it is hardworking. Dishes get washed here. Guests arrive here. The house runs here.

The addition dates to the 1940s or ’50s and lacked the original architectural details found elsewhere in the house, so the palette and materials were the opportunities to bring that same sense of character. With the windows and footprint fixed, it quickly became clear that the design direction had to bring in color, pattern, and movement. And even though it was a utilitarian space, it needed to be just as elevated as the other spaces. Original beadboard was kept where it existed and added where it was missing. The tired linoleum was replaced with a durable slate-and-marble checkerboard floor, and the cabinetry mixes white oak with a rust‑colored paint inspired by the color of the sky when the sun makes its exit at the end of the day.

I think this space reflects the kind of work I like to do: making the everyday beautiful, and finding ways to bring in color and pattern that feel considered without ever feeling overdone.

Lighting: this topic is a can of worms; I could talk about it all day!

Let’s get the hot topic out of the way first: recessed can lights. I am famously fussy about them. Electrician’s hate to see me coming. My belief is that recessed lights belong only in utilitarian spaces. Kitchens, a scullery, a laundry room, occasionally a bathroom (yes, always in showers). When I use them, they are no larger than four inches in diameter, always on dimmers, and set to a cozy 2700 K. If you’re working with drywall, I’ll always prefer a mud‑in fixture because it disappears a bit more than the rimmed version. Overhead lighting can be so harsh but also necessary when washing dishes, unloading a dishwasher, etc.

Lighting is something I obsess over. I’ll happily pair an Ikea fixture with something Urban Electric or a vintage finds alongside a retail piece from Pottery Barn. There’s no hierarchy for me as long as it feels right for the room. In builder‑grade houses, lighting often feels like an afterthought, but to me it’s the jewelry of the space, especially when the room isn’t heavily layered with wall coverings or window treatments.

I source high and low and mix eras and finishes, my intent is to end up with lights that feel collected rather than prescribed. It’s less about the price tag and more about whether a fixture adds character, gives off the right light, and works with the other materials in the room.

In most rooms I aim for three sources: a ceiling fixture for the main light fixture, a wall sconce / library light, and then a lamp (floor or table). The goal is to create a dynamic environment while giving you control over the atmosphere. And I like to mix my finishes, materials, and styles to keep things from feeling flat. My goal is always for the lighting to quietly support the architecture.

One of my favorite “party tricks” with lighting is to take a basic big‑box fixture and give it a little surgery. My local go‑to for this is Momeier; they’re the wizards who help me pull it off. This rattan light from Pottery Barn is the perfect example. It came with a very plain downrod which felt undersized so I swapped it out for a pair of brass chains. Suddenly that off‑the‑shelf piece transformed. It’s the same idea as taking a basic jean jacket and adding your grandmother’s brooch. Little hacks I learned from my fashion days that I translate to the interior’s world 😊