Finding My Way Into Sustainable Interior Design (And Why It’s Nothing Like Regular Design Work)

I’ve been an urban planner for over a decade now, focused mostly on how we move around cities and where we put buildings. But about three years ago, I stumbled into something completely different when my neighbor Sarah knocked on my door looking frustrated and a little desperate.

She’d just finished this massive home renovation – gutted the whole place, worked with some high-end interior designer, spent probably sixty grand on finishes and furniture. The house looked incredible, like something straight out of Architectural Digest. But there was a problem. Her eight-year-old kept getting headaches. Her husband’s allergies, which had never been that bad, suddenly got terrible. And Sarah herself couldn’t sleep, said the house smelled “weird” but couldn’t figure out what it was.

She knew I worked in city planning and dealt with building stuff, so she wondered if I might have ideas about what was going wrong. Honestly, my first thought was that this wasn’t really my area – I mean, I know about zoning codes and street design, not interior decorating. But I was curious, and Sarah seemed really stressed about it.

So I went over there with my little air quality meter that I use sometimes for work. The VOC readings were through the roof. I started poking around, asking about what materials they’d used, when things were installed, whether they’d tested anything beforehand. Turns out the designer had picked everything based on how it looked and maybe cost, but hadn’t thought much about what was actually in this stuff.

The beautiful wide-plank flooring? Laminate with formaldehyde off-gassing like crazy. Those gorgeous custom kitchen cabinets? Particleboard with urea-formaldehyde binders, sealed with a finish that was still releasing chemicals months after installation. Even the paint, which was technically “low-VOC,” had been applied over old layers that were getting heated up by the new recessed lighting and releasing God knows what into the air.

I spent the next few weeks helping Sarah figure out which materials were the worst offenders and what they could replace without redoing the entire renovation. It was like detective work, honestly. We had to research manufacturers, dig up technical spec sheets, sometimes even contact companies directly to get straight answers about what was actually in their products.

The whole experience got me thinking about this huge disconnect I was seeing. Here’s Sarah, who cares about the environment, drives a Prius, buys organic food, recycles religiously. But she’d just filled her house with materials that were making her family sick and probably aren’t great for the planet either. And it wasn’t because she didn’t care – it was because nobody in the process had given her information about these impacts.

Her designer was talented and well-intentioned, but had been trained to think about color, proportion, style, maybe durability and cost. Indoor air quality? Material sourcing? Lifecycle environmental impact? Those weren’t part of the conversation. And why would they be? Traditional interior design education barely touches on this stuff.

But here’s the thing – from my planning background, I knew that buildings account for a massive chunk of energy use and carbon emissions. And people spend something like 90% of their time indoors. So the materials we choose for interior spaces, the ones we’re constantly touching and breathing around, they matter enormously for both environmental and health outcomes.

I started digging deeper into this intersection between interior design and building performance. Took some design courses at Seattle Central College to understand the basics of space planning and color theory and all that. But I also spent a lot of time researching materials, reading studies about indoor air quality, talking to manufacturers about their products.

You know what’s frustrating? Most of the “green” interior products are marketed in completely useless ways. Everything’s “eco-friendly” or “sustainable” or “natural” without any explanation of what that actually means. Bamboo flooring sounds environmental, right? But if it’s held together with toxic adhesives and shipped from China, maybe it’s not the best choice. Meanwhile, some synthetic materials that sound terrible are actually incredibly durable, completely non-toxic, and produced locally with renewable energy.

I started keeping notes on what I was learning, partly for myself and partly because other people were asking similar questions. Sarah referred a friend who was dealing with similar issues after a kitchen remodel. That friend referred someone else who was building a new house and wanted to avoid these problems from the start. Before I knew it, I was regularly consulting on interior material selection.

Each project taught me something new. A client with multiple chemical sensitivities showed me how even tiny amounts of off-gassing could trigger reactions – we had to find furniture and finishes that were essentially emission-free. A family with twin toddlers needed everything to be not just non-toxic but also incredibly durable and easy to clean. An older couple taught me about how material choices could impact accessibility as people age.

What became clear was how connected everything is. The flooring choice affects acoustics, which impacts stress levels and sleep quality. Window treatments influence natural lighting patterns, which affect mood and energy use. Furniture materials and placement impact air circulation, which affects both comfort and indoor air quality. You can’t just optimize one thing without thinking about all the others.

Some traditional design practices actually make perfect sense from a building performance perspective, even though designers might not realize why. Those heavy curtains that create a “cozy” feeling? They’re providing thermal mass and sound absorption. The preference for natural materials in bedrooms? Many of them do regulate humidity better than synthetics. Even aesthetic choices, like using lighter colors in south-facing rooms, can reduce cooling loads.

But I also found design trends that actively work against building performance. All those decorative pillows and layered textiles that look great in magazines? They’re dust and moisture collectors that can seriously impact indoor air quality. Open shelving creates massive surface area for dust accumulation. Large area rugs over hard flooring can trap moisture and create mold problems, especially in our damp Seattle climate.

The approach I’ve developed starts with building performance requirements, then works backward to design solutions that meet both functional and aesthetic needs. Instead of choosing materials based purely on appearance, I evaluate them across multiple criteria: health impacts, environmental footprint, durability, maintenance requirements, and yes, how they look too.

For flooring, I consider off-gassing potential, thermal properties, acoustic performance, slip resistance, cleanability, and lifecycle cost, not just color and pattern. For furniture, I look at frame materials, adhesives, finishes, fabric treatments, and manufacturing location. For lighting, I evaluate energy efficiency, color rendering, dimming capability, and how different light spectrums affect circadian rhythms.

This process takes way longer than traditional interior design. And it’s definitely more expensive upfront. But the results are spaces that actually support human health and environmental goals simultaneously. Clients report better sleep, fewer respiratory issues, more comfortable temperatures year-round, and lower utility bills. Their homes age better too because materials were selected for long-term performance rather than just initial appearance.

The business side has been tricky to figure out. Most people expect interior designers to work quickly and focus primarily on making things look good. My process involves extensive research, sometimes material testing, definitely a lot more technical analysis than typical design projects.

I’ve learned to be upfront about this different approach during initial consultations. I explain that sustainable interior design isn’t about buying products with eco-labels, it’s about understanding how material choices interact with building systems and human health. Some potential clients decide this sounds too complicated. Others are excited to find someone who approaches interiors scientifically rather than following trends.

The clients who do hire me tend to be people dealing with health issues, families with young children, or homeowners who’ve already invested in high-performance building systems and want interiors that support rather than undermine those investments. They understand that spending more time and money upfront on research leads to better long-term outcomes.

What keeps me motivated is seeing the measurable difference this approach makes. One client with severe asthma was able to stop using her rescue inhaler after we replaced problematic materials in her bedroom. A family with an autistic child found that improved acoustics and lighting significantly reduced meltdowns and improved everyone’s sleep. These aren’t theoretical benefits – they’re real improvements in people’s daily lives.

The field is growing, slowly but steadily. More designers are getting interested in material health. More manufacturers are providing better technical information. Building codes are starting to address indoor air quality more seriously. Green building programs are beginning to include interior finish requirements.

For anyone considering this career path, my advice is to build real technical knowledge, not just familiarity with marketing terms. Understand basic building science, material chemistry, and environmental lifecycle assessment. Learn to read technical data sheets and ask manufacturers hard questions. And be prepared for a longer, more complex design process than traditional interior design – but one that creates genuinely healthier, more sustainable spaces.

It’s definitely not the career path I expected when I started urban planning, but it’s become incredibly rewarding work that connects my technical background with direct impact on people’s daily lives.