After more than a decade practicing interior design across the Midwest, I’ve come to see interior design in Chicago, Illinois as its own discipline. The city has a way of exposing weak planning fast—through old buildings, demanding clients, weather that punishes bad material choices, and construction logistics that don’t forgive guesswork. If you’ve only designed in newer markets, Chicago will humble you.
One of my first major projects here was a renovation in a vintage walk-up on the North Side. The client wanted clean, modern lines but didn’t want to lose the building’s character. On site, we discovered the floors sloped just enough that standard cabinetry would visually drift if installed without adjustment. I remember standing there with a level and realizing that what looked perfect in drawings would feel wrong in person. We reworked proportions, adjusted reveals, and custom-fit pieces that weren’t part of the original plan. That kind of decision-making doesn’t come from theory—it comes from being in the room when things don’t line up.
I’m NCIDQ-certified and trained in both residential and commercial interiors, but Chicago taught me quickly that credentials don’t protect you from bad assumptions. I once inherited a project where a previous designer specified finishes better suited to a mild climate. Within months, wood movement and moisture issues started showing up. Correcting it cost the homeowner several thousand dollars and a lot of frustration. Since then, I’m conservative about materials here. If something can’t tolerate humidity swings, salt, or heavy daily use, I won’t recommend it—no matter how good it looks in a sample.
Another lesson Chicago drives home is how people actually live. I worked with a family in a high-rise who initially wanted a pristine, gallery-like living space. I’d seen that story before. Winter boots, wet coats, guests packed into small elevators—it all takes a toll. I pushed for durable upholstery, forgiving finishes, and storage that could handle real life. A year later, they told me the space still looked good and felt easy to maintain. That’s always the goal: design that holds up after the excitement fades.
Mistakes I see repeatedly tend to follow the same pattern. Designers underestimate condo board rules, ignore delivery constraints, or design rooms that photograph beautifully but function poorly. In Chicago, you have to think about elevator reservations, limited staging space, and trades working within tight time windows. Miss one of those details, and the project slows down fast.
The designers who succeed here aren’t just creative—they’re practical, decisive, and comfortable pushing back when something won’t work. Chicago doesn’t reward overpromising. It rewards experience, adaptability, and a willingness to design for the way spaces are actually used, season after season.