How Young Huh Translates Mood Into Deeply Meaningful Interiors
The venerated designer unpacks her instinct-driven process for conjuring exuberant and sophisticated homes shaped by how each client truly lives
When Young Huh came of age in suburban Detroit as the daughter of Korean immigrants, a career in interiors did not factor into her plan. Her parents encouraged a conventional path, leading to earning a law degree from Fordham University and passing the bar. “It wasn’t until I bought my first home in Scarsdale that something shifted,” she tells Galerie. Faced with a blank slate of rooms that demanded tough design decisions and finding herself at an impasse, she started studying how color, scale, and material could transform one’s experience of everyday life. Something clicked. She soon enrolled at Parsons, secured a design internship, and committed to an entirely new professional path. “I quickly realized,” she recalls, “that this is what I wanted to do.”
Trusting her instinct paid off, and today Huh confidently stands among the design industry’s most venerated talents. Since founding her namesake New York studio in 2007, she has amassed a robust portfolio across residential and hospitality interiors that masterfully balance classical references with a fresh sensibility and a poised command of pattern and color. Projects over the years have ranged from airy Park Avenue penthouses to downtown Manhattan duplexes and a townhouse that conjures the spirit of The Royal Tenenbaums. A particular breakthrough arrived at the 2019 Kips Bay Decorator Show House, where she transformed the attic into a bohemian artist’s retreat coated in graphic Baroque wall coverings, catapulting her to even greater visibility and soon attracting clients like Idina Menzel and Zooey Deschanel.
No two of Huh’s projects look alike, owing largely to the close conversations she conducts with clients in order to fully understand how they define harmony and dynamism in their own lives. “I realized that most people struggle to articulate their style,” she says. “They know what they respond to, but they can’t always express it.” Narrowing down a desired mood, she explains, “helps uncover what someone is really drawn to on an emotional level.”
Huh painstakingly translates those insights into deeply considered settings that support how her clients live and make them feel totally at ease—an approach that crystallized over years of practice. Her first monograph, A Mood, a Thought, a Feeling (Rizzoli), distills her process into a framework designed to guide both clients and readers through their own design process. The book opens with “A Mood,” exploring how atmosphere can inform design, from serene rooms intended for reading to lively spaces tailored for conversation. “A Thought” unpacks the process behind three recent residences. “A Feeling” turns inward, documenting Huh’s own home, a historic 1820s upstate New York farmhouse with dazzling pattern-filled rooms and postcard-ready gardens.
Below, in an interview edited for length and clarity, Huh reflects on lessons learned from her first Scarsdale home and explains how her mood-driven approach empowers clients to make bold decisions around color and material.
“I have always had an affinity for gardens, for homes, for beauty. But I grew up in an immigrant family that experienced war, and my parents encouraged me to pursue something practical. I studied English, then went to law school, and followed a path that felt responsible. It wasn’t until I finished and bought my first home that something shifted. I became deeply curious about interiors and wanted to understand how rooms come together, how they work. I enrolled at Parsons, took on an internship, and very quickly realized this was what I truly wanted to do.
That first house in Scarsdale taught me about scale in a very real way. You look at small swatches and samples, and try to imagine how they will translate into something immersive. I began to understand how powerful scale can be, how color can transform a room, and how subtle gestures can sit alongside dramatic ones. I tried everything. Black concrete floors in the kitchen, an oversized mirror in the living room. Some experiments worked beautifully. Others did not, and I redid them. That process gave me confidence. Interior design is a trade, and you build skill through repetition. You try something, it works, and you trust yourself more the next time.
Over time, I developed a framework that guides my approach, which became the foundation for my book, A Mood, a Thought, a Feeling. I wanted to talk about all the different moods we try to create and how I use that as a thought-starter. I realized most people struggle to articulate their style and explain what’s in their heart. They know what they respond to, but can’t always express it. The idea of mood became a way in. It helps uncover what someone is really drawn to on an emotional level. When a client says they want a country kitchen, that can mean a million different things. So I ask them how they want to feel. That question opens everything up.
People often arrive focused on surface decisions like paint color. They ask whether something should be blue, green, or red. They feel overwhelmed before the process has even begun. When we slow down and talk about feeling, the conversation becomes much clearer. Do you want to feel calm? What does calm mean to you? What does a calm kitchen look like? For some people, it’s having shiny pots displayed and perfectly ordered utensils. Others want absolutely no clutter. For another, it might be warmth expressed through a deep green or a soft off-white. It’s so different for everyone. Once we understand that underlying philosophical desire, the decisions about materials and color follow naturally. That part is actually the easier piece.
There is a relationship that develops in this process. At the beginning, you sense a connection. As you get to know each other—and you do get to know each other—you learn what resonates and what doesn’t. Perhaps they don’t like spiky patterns. You begin to understand the nuances of a person’s taste, their habits, how they live. That knowledge allows the work to become more personal and more precise.
For me, the most enduring interiors are rooted in personality. They reflect someone’s most authentic self. That’s what separates a home from a showroom. A showroom can be beautiful, polished, even glamorous and fun. But when you peek into someone’s home, you should see how they live, how they entertain, what matters to them. Many of my clients share a natural sense of hospitality and welcome. They want to invite people into their homes.
My own home gave me the opportunity to push ideas further. Clients can hesitate when it comes to strong color or bold decisions. At home, I allowed myself complete freedom. I wanted to show that you can wrap a room in wallpaper from floor to ceiling and still create something warm, inviting, and peaceful. What’s great about doing your own home is being free to pursue your deepest desires as a designer—and try really wild ideas and show they can be successful.
As my firm approaches 20 years, what has shifted most is my sense of confidence. With that experience comes a kind of peace, but you’re still young and vibrant and interested in the new. Projects can present real challenges such as unexpected structural issues and tight timelines with significant budgets. Sometimes it feels like so much is at stake, but you learn to navigate those moments with clarity and calm. Having experienced so much, you guide your clients and your team through uncertainty. That perspective only comes with time.
At the same time, curiosity remains essential. I need new ideas, new artists, new ways of working. That’s what keeps the practice vital. I find the future exciting—even tools like AI have a place in the studio. They can handle repetitive tasks and free up time for more creative thinking. They do not replace human instinct or judgment, but they open new possibilities. That sense of forward movement is what makes this work so engaging.”