Confessions of a Girl Who Wants a Designer Life
Okay, I’ll admit. The idea of a “designer life” sounds pretty superficial at first. You may have an image of glistening Manhattan sparkling in the background as manicured hands clasp numerous crisp paper shopping bags, their crinkling accompanying the sound of shiny stiletto heels clicking obnoxiously down the street. A beautiful yet shallow existence that we can’t help but simultaneously admire (and resent).
But let me take you out of this scene-as someone who has never been particularly impressed by luxury or exclusivity for their own sake, the term means something much more personal to me. When I think about a life that feels beautiful or inspiring, it always feels very considered and committed to the details. To paying attention. To choosing what you absorb and what surrounds you with a little more care than whatever happens to be most available at the moment.
And yet, how often do we really think about how we want our lives to feel? Not in a big, existential way. But in the consistent, day-to-day sense. The tone. The pace. The references we’re absorbing without noticing. I’ve been thinking of how it would feel to approach life more in the way someone would a work of art. Conceptually.
Like music, books, films, fashion, and every other creative medium, life has endless possibilities for expression. And the appeal of designers, I believe largely comes down to appreciating taste. The confidence of deliberate choices. There’s something deeply satisfying about intention and we tend to love things that have meaning behind them. When things are placed without much thought, they tend to fade into the background, easily forgotten. But time, care, and curation are always felt, even if no one can quite articulate why. The process itself is rarely glamorous. Taste takes time. It’s built slowly, through experience. There are no shortcuts for it, no matter how tempting it is to try on aesthetics like a hat in a store, you can tell the difference between style that’s developed as the result of a pinterest search and a lifestyle actually lived.
There was a period when I looked around my own life and it felt oddly flat. Not bad, just disconnected. My head was full of ideas and inspiration, but my reality didn’t quite reflect them. I realized that many of my decisions were being made quickly. Whatever was good enough. Whatever was popular. Whatever felt safest, or simply familiar. Habits, more than choices.
One evening, sitting on my couch, I found myself watching a fancy haute couture designer speak about their work (a favourite pajama cladden pastime of mine). But as I absently munched on popcorn I realized what struck me wasn’t the glamour. It was the effort. Exhausting, obsessive effort. The kind most people would probably dismiss as excessive and unnecessary. But that’s the thing about art. It doesn’t have to exist. And yet, when it does, the result is unmistakable. It makes you feel something. And that feeling lingers.
The longer I watched, the more I noticed how carefully everything was considered. Materials chosen painstakingly. Concepts revised again and again. Details obsessed over until they felt just right. There was no settling. No rushing. It made me think about direction differently. About how perspective can turn piles of fabric into a story with a clear point of view. And somewhere in that realization, I started wondering why that level of care so rarely extends beyond the things we formally label as art.
Nothing dramatic followed. There was no overnight transformation, no sudden overhaul of my life. But after that my attention shifted. I began thinking less in terms of quick fixes and more in terms of direction. Less about collecting pieces and more about developing an eye. Learning what resonates. Letting things take longer. Trusting that taste forms through involvement, not urgency. And I’ve found that even though the results aren’t as instantly gratifying, they become far more meaningful.
So for now, I’m less interested in a final look and more interested in the process. Like many things in life, the journey ends up being far more interesting than the outcome. Collecting references. Talking about art. Watching films that linger in our hearts longer than we think they will and letting taste take its time. No shopping bags required. Just a life that’s slowly being fitted, adjusted, and well worn in.
