The Invisible Work Behind a Beautiful Room

Interior design is having a strange moment.

On the one hand, it has never been more visible. Design is everywhere: renovation reels, trend forecasts, quick tips, before-and-after transformations. The interiors world is more accessible than ever, and that is not a bad thing.

But interior design is also increasingly misunderstood. In some corners, it has been reduced to something decorative, surface-level, even frivolous. A set of cushions, a fresh coat of paint, a perfectly styled shelf… and I keep wondering if this is an identity crisis for the profession, or whether we, as designers, are blurring the lines ourselves.

Because interior design is not just aesthetic. It is not simply making a room look nice. At its best, it sits at the intersection of spatial strategy, architectural collaboration, technical detailing, procurement, project coordination, budget control, sustainability planning, and behavioural psychology. It’s about how people move through a space, how they use it, and how it supports them.

This is design in the truest sense, not decoration.

Tony Liu's bedroom photographed by Chris Mottalini | https://www.farrow-ball.com/us/the-chromologist/a-brooklyn-colour-story-for-tony-liu-of-diet-prada

So why does the public-facing version often feel so far away from the work designers actually do?

The problem is not styling. The problem is what styling has come to represent. Styling matters. Atmosphere matters. Art matters. The finishing layers of a space are what make it feel human, and they are often the difference between a room that functions and a room that feels lived in.

But styling is only one part of the work.

The issue is that interior design is now often represented almost entirely through the final image: the polished reveal, the wide-angle photograph, the “after”.

And the more we only show the outcome, the more people assume the outcome is the job.

It becomes easy to believe the designer’s role is simply to arrive at the end, move a few objects around, and make everything look effortless.

In reality, the effortless feeling is the result of complex decisions.

The invisible work is the work

The most valuable part of interior design happens long before the furniture arrives. It lives in the planning, the coordination, the problem-solving, and the judgement calls. Take layout, for example. Often the room everyone assumes will work simply doesn’t. The circulation is wrong, the seating doesn’t support how people actually live, or the proportions make the space feel unsettled. A designer might move a doorway, rotate the dining table, adjust the scale of built-in storage, or rework a kitchen so the worktop run finally makes sense.

Then there are constraints. Every project has them. A budget, a structural limitation, an awkward ceiling height, a planning restriction, or a building that refuses to behave. This is where the work becomes design rather than decoration: finding the solution that respects the constraints without sacrificing the integrity of the space.

The technical layer is equally defining. Lighting plans, electrical positioning, joinery detailing, materials specification, floor transitions, paint finishes. These are the decisions that create cohesion, even when the palette is simple.

Then comes procurement. A word that sounds dull until you have lived through a project without it. Sourcing, lead times, trade pricing, delivery coordination, checking finishes, managing substitutions, and keeping the project moving when a supplier delays or discontinues a product.

And above all, there is coordination. Liaising with trades, communicating with architects, keeping the schedule realistic, protecting the client from stress, and making sure the design intent survives contact with reality.

This is the professional work of interior design. It is not always photogenic. But it is where the value lies.

Perception shapes value, and value shapes fees

This is where the conversation becomes uncomfortable, but important.

If interior design is perceived as surface-level, it will be valued as surface-level. And when something is valued that way, people do not pay properly for it. They do not build realistic timelines around it. They do not respect the expertise behind it.

The designer is treated as a taste assistant rather than a professional.

Many designers feel this tension. We are asked to take responsibility for big outcomes, but we are not always given the authority, budget, or trust that should come with that responsibility. Over time, that leads to blurred boundaries and burnout.

Are designers reinforcing the problem?

Here is the harder question. Are we contributing to our own undervaluing?

In many cases, yes. Not intentionally, but structurally.

Social media rewards the reveal. Websites reward the portfolio shot. The algorithm does not reward a lighting plan. It does not reward a procurement spreadsheet. It does not reward a discussion about circulation, budget targeting, or technical detailing.

So we adapt. We show what performs. We show the polished results. We show the beauty.

And in doing so, we risk training our audience to believe that the beauty is the whole job.

The outcome gets shared. The thinking disappears.

What should we be showing instead?

This does not mean we all need to start posting technical drawings and expecting clients to get excited about them. Most people do not want to see the entire process. They want to feel confident that you understand it.

Designers can do more to make the work legible.

We can show:

• layout iterations and the reasoning behind them

• before photos with honest commentary on constraints

• the decision-making process, not just the result

• the trade-offs between budget and longevity

• how a room is designed for daily life, not for a photograph

• the coordination behind a smooth delivery

• the details that make a space feel effortless

Even small glimpses of this shift perception. They help clients understand what they are paying for; because the outcome is the proof, but the process is the value.

A final thought

Interior design is not just the finishing layer. It is a discipline that sits between architecture, psychology, logistics, and aesthetics. It is technical, creative, and deeply human.

Beautiful rooms matter. But what matters more is that they work. That they support people. That they stand up to real life.

And if the profession wants to be valued properly, we have to start telling the fuller story of what we do. Not only what it looks like at the end, but what it took to get there. 

Ultimately, this is why working with a designer should feel supportive. The goal is not just a beautiful result, but a process that protects your time, budget, and peace of mind.