Inside Phoebe Hollond’s joyful west London home

Interior designer Phoebe Hollond has a knack for creating characterful interiors rooted in equal parts practicality and playfulness. Her route into design was far from straightforward: after studying philosophy at King’s College London and working in advertising, she found her way to Beata Heuman’s studio. That experience became the springboard for Studio Hollond, her own interiors practice, which has since expanded beyond residential projects to include a growing collection of wallpapers, textiles and, most recently, wall lights. 

Influenced by European architecture with a hefty dose of English eccentricity, Phoebe has quickly made a name for herself as one of House & Garden’s Rising Stars. Refreshingly pragmatic in her approach, she has a wealth of clever, achievable ideas for bringing depth, warmth and personality back into homes that have lost their original character. We caught up with Phoebe at her sunny end-of-terrace townhouse for an in-depth house tour, where every room showcases her signature mix of colour, pattern and thoughtful design details.

I did a diploma at KLC and then got really lucky. Beata Heuman had only just set up her studio, and I’d seen her first published project on the front cover of House & Garden. It was this pink drawing room and I loved it; all the colours and how wild it was. It felt so freeing to see.

I went onto Facebook and realised we had a mutual friend. I called her asking if she was looking for anyone. She said she was, so I went in for an interview and she offered me the job on the spot. I worked with her for a while and then eventually left to set up on my own.

From a young age, I’d always lived in quite wild houses. I come from a big family, so there was a lot of chaos with lots of siblings. There are four of us in total. And then there were three Labradors as well. It was always hectic and fun, and every room was painted a different colour. It felt like this magical world. I think that’s what drew me to wanting to create homes for other people; the idea that, no matter what’s happening outside, you can have a space that belongs to you and your family, where you can feel completely happy.

I think it’s definitely evolved and become more mature. Back then, I was going through a phase where my approach wasn’t especially sophisticated. I loved the idea of full-blown leopard-print rooms everywhere, so it was all very wacky and probably geared towards a younger market. Now, because I’m designing homes for people in their late 30s and 40s, often with children and very hectic lives, I’ve become more restrained in my approach to colour and pattern.

So much. I learnt a huge amount about designing furniture because so much of what she does is bespoke. Every home is unique, all the joinery is custom-made, and many of the pieces are designed in the studio specifically for each project. Obviously there are antiques as well, but I think that understanding of how to create completely individual spaces was probably the biggest thing I took away.

I’ve got a bit of an obsession with trellis. I’ve always hated the sharpness of an open recess, so I wanted to soften it somehow. You often see people adding panelling in those spaces, but I thought panelling would feel too formal. I wanted something more inside-outside, more English garden.

The builder really didn’t want to do these partitions. He kept saying, “You’re crazy, just leave it completely open.” But I felt that if we were going for a more European feel, each space needed its own purpose and identity. Oddly, even though the divisions make it more enclosed, it actually feels bigger because every area has meaning.

So many people run the kitchen all the way down the extension, but unless you’ve got a massive family, you often don’t need that much kitchen. Breaking things up creates intimacy and makes spaces feel much cozier. Everyone wants that “outside in” feeling, but realistically that’s only enjoyable for about three months of the year in England. In summer, of course I want everything open, but for the rest of the year I want it to feel warm and enclosed.

It was made in Italy by a company called the Italian Lighting Center. It arrived completely flat-packed though, like an IKEA puzzle. We genuinely had no idea how it fitted together and still have leftover pieces under the stairs. I don’t think we assembled it properly, but hopefully no one can tell.

I don’t think there should be rules. If something feels right, it works. So here, for example, you’ve got an antique Nepalese rug, English chairs upholstered in French fabric, and a contemporary table I designed in Murano-style glass. None of it technically belongs together, but I don’t think provenance matters if the overall feeling is right.

When we bought this house it had almost no character at all. The cornicing had been removed, the skirting was really basic, and the floors were just covered in old carpet. I’d say the first thing is interesting flooring; oak, parquet, stone, anything with texture and depth. Then architectural detailing: cornicing, skirting, architraves. Those details create the bones of a home. Even if a house starts off characterless, you can build that feeling through architectural finishes and hard materials. And then on a decorative level, things like beautiful tiles, interesting handles, thoughtful hardware; all those smaller details add personality.

It’s antique Versailles flooring from France, and honestly it was a stroke of luck. Because this is effectively a basement, I felt it needed dramatic architectural elements to distract from that feeling of being underground. The floor does that. Your eye goes straight to it, and together with the trellis above, you almost forget you’re below ground level.

Earlier in my career I wanted colour absolutely everywhere. Every wall, every piece of woodwork, every sofa. But as my aesthetic has evolved, I’ve become more restrained. Now I like using softer, off-white walls as a backdrop and introducing colour in pops, through lighting, textiles, rugs, art and furniture. It gives the room space to breathe.

I think warmth is probably the constant. No matter what room it is, even bathrooms,I want it to feel cozy and emotionally warm, not just functional. We had this window put in [the utility room], which I found at Frome Reclamation Yard, because there was nothing here before.

I think the role of the interior designer has changed quite a lot. For example, I can do all the drawings, the joinery, bathrooms, lighting and electrics, so clients often realise they don’t necessarily need separate people for every stage.

I’ve just finished a project near Ravenscourt Park for this amazing couple in their mid-forties with two daughters. Initially they came to me saying they didn’t want to go as colourful as some of my work, but over the course of the year-and-a-half-long process things evolved.

It really becomes a journey of getting to know each other and almost becoming friends. There’s also an element of education on both sides. I learn about their personalities and quirks, and they become more immersed in the world of interior design. 

The best part of this job is creating a home that genuinely improves the way a family lives together. That’s the real joy of it.