“I’d probably focus less on making everything ‘match’ and more on how the materials feel together over time.”
That’s such a key shift. I used to obsess over matching marble veins and hardware finishes, but honestly, it’s exhausting and never quite perfect. There’s a certain richness that comes from letting things age and mix naturally. Even high-end homes benefit from a bit of lived-in character—patina on brass, a scuff on hardwood. It’s like the space tells its own story, rather than just showing off. And hey, the orange filler mishap? We’ve all got one of those lurking somewhere...
Letting materials do their thing over time just makes sense, especially if you’re thinking long-term. I used to get hung up on matching wood grains or making sure every fixture was the same finish, but honestly, it’s not sustainable—either for your sanity or the environment. Some of the best spaces I’ve seen use reclaimed wood with all its quirks, or even mix in recycled steel that’s already got some wear. That kind of approach not only cuts down on waste but also means you’re not constantly chasing perfection.
And yeah, the patina on brass or the inevitable dings in a floor end up looking intentional after a while. It’s almost like the building gets better with age if you let it. I do think there’s a balance, though. Sometimes mismatched materials can feel chaotic if there’s no underlying logic—like, if you just throw stuff together without considering durability or how they’ll react over time, it can backfire. But if you’re thoughtful about it, the imperfections tell a better story than any showroom ever could.
BUILDING BASE STRUCTURES—WHAT IF YOU HAD TO START OVER?
I totally get what you mean about letting materials age and just embracing the quirks. I used to obsess over every little scratch or mismatch, but then I visited this old villa in Tuscany—nothing matched, but everything felt intentional. The floors had these wild knots and the brass handles were all tarnished in different ways, but it just worked. It actually made me rethink my own place.
When I renovated my kitchen last year, I decided to keep the original beams, even though they’re a bit warped and have some old nail holes. At first, I worried it’d look sloppy, but now those imperfections are my favorite part. There’s something about seeing the history in the materials that makes the space feel alive.
That said, I do think there’s a fine line between character and chaos. I’ve seen places where the “mix and match” thing goes a little too far and it just feels...confusing? Like, if you’re not careful, it can end up looking like a salvage yard instead of a home. But when it’s done thoughtfully, those little flaws really do tell a story.
BUILDING BASE STRUCTURES—WHAT IF YOU HAD TO START OVER?
That’s the trick, isn’t it? There’s a big difference between intentional patina and just plain neglect. I’ve seen projects where people try to “force” character with mismatched materials, but it ends up looking haphazard. If you’re starting over, I think it helps to pick a few elements to highlight—like those beams—and keep the rest cohesive. Otherwise, the story gets lost in the noise.
BUILDING BASE STRUCTURES—WHAT IF YOU HAD TO START OVER?
Totally get what you mean about the difference between “patina” and just, well, stuff looking tired. I’ve always thought less is more when it comes to base structure—like, if you want exposed beams or reclaimed wood, make those the stars and let everything else kind of fade into the background. I tried mixing too many textures once and honestly, it just felt chaotic, not intentional. You can still get a space with soul without making it look like a salvage yard exploded.
