White. Always White.
I went to see The Devil Wears Prada sequel last night. And it took me straight back.
Back to the editorial meetings, the press shows, the gifts arriving at the office, the advertisers wining and dining us. Back to the monthly gathering where you'd pitch your shoot ideas and your editor would either give you the green light or look at you as though you'd suggested something entirely beneath her. "Florals? For spring? Ground-breaking." Back to the life of a magazine stylist — part set designer, part forecaster, part removal man, part tea maker. We were tastemakers. The original influencers, though nobody called it that then. We decided what was in. We shaped what people bought, what the shops stocked, what the world looked like that season.
It was exciting. It was relentless. And it was, in the most affectionate possible way, completely mad.
When I bought my first flat — thirty-five years ago now — I knew one thing. I wanted it all white.
Not because white was having a moment. Not because my editor had told me it was the next big thing. But because after days spent immersed in every possible look, every style, every trend competing for attention, I needed somewhere that asked nothing of me. Somewhere calm. Somewhere that felt like mine rather than like a mood board.
White gave me that. It gave me sanctuary.
But it gave me something else too. As a stylist you fall in love constantly — with a style, a reference, a way of doing things — and then three months later you fall in love with something completely different. That was the job. Embrace the new, champion the next thing, stay curious and changeable. White understood all of that. It just waited patiently while I worked it all out, holding whatever I brought home, making space for every new enthusiasm without ever complaining or clashing.
I was young. I was still building my collections, still discovering my taste. White gave me the blank canvas to do that without committing to anything I might later regret.
Thirty-five years on I still come back to white. Not because I haven't found anything better. But because nothing else does what white does.
The way it holds light. The way it makes everything you put against it look more itself — more considered, more beautiful, more present. The way a white room can feel completely alive when it is layered with texture and warmth and the things you love, and completely calm at the same time. That combination — alive and calm together — is rare. White is the only backdrop I have ever found that achieves it consistently.
That is what the guide is really about. Not just which white to choose — but how to use it in a way that makes your home feel genuinely beautiful and genuinely yours. Warm, personal and full of life.
I have spent thirty-five years thinking about white. This guide is where I've put all of it. Decorating with White is out this week. Forty pages. Four complete palettes. Everything I know about creating a white home that feels warm, personal and full of life. |
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