How to Evaluate a Floor Plan: new builds or potential new homes

What an interior designer actually looks for — and the floor plan mistakes that drive clients crazy once they're living there.

I've been reviewing floor plans for over fourteen years. New builds, gut renovations, weekend houses, primary residences, apartments the size of a large walk-in closet. And every single time a client sends me a PDF with the subject line "what do you think?" — I do the same thing. I visualize walking throughout it, front to back. Then I ask myself whether the flow FEELS good, feels right, with zero frustrating moments.

The First Thing I Check: Flow

Good flow isn't a vibe. It's not subjective. It's something that years and years of experience will teach you (and these lessons often come from seeing bad flow in action and taking note)

What I do - I read the floor plan like I am walking through the space in my head. Front door. Kitchen. Where do you put your bag down? Where do you land when you get home from school pickup? Where does your partner decompress at the end of the day? Where does the morning light come in?

If I have to think hard about any of that — the plan has a problem.

What I'm checking: Are the kitchen and bathrooms positioned as well as they could be? Is storage being maximized, especially in smaller homes? And does the whole thing feel uncomplicated — like the proportions make sense and nothing is fighting for space?

The floor plan is the story of how our clients live. If the story doesn't flow, nothing else matters — not the finishes, not the furniture plan, not the most beautifully chosen color palette in the world.

The Most Common Floor Plan Mistake

No entry moment.

If you know me, you KNOW I'm a fan of the entry moment (for reference, see this WSJ article i was quoted in).

This is one of the most common floor plan mistakes I see — and it's almost always invisible on paper. Modern plans are so focused on the open-concept kitchen-living-dining fantasy that they completely ignore the front door. There's nowhere to hang a coat. No console to throw your keys on. No visual moment that says: you're home now.

Clients always say the same thing after they move in: "I don't know why, but this bothers me every single day."

I know why. Because your home lacks a decompression zone. The space to transition from outside world to inside world is psychologically very important.

An entry moment doesn't have to be grand — it can be a small dedicated wall, a built-in, even just the intention of space. But it needs to exist. A powder room tucked right off the front door? Also on my list of things I almost always flag. You want a little privacy there. Not a door that swings open during dinner parties- EEK.

What an Interior Designer Sees That Architects Sometimes Miss

To be clear: the architects we work with are incredible. They think about structure, about natural light, about airflow. They are doing something I absolutely cannot do. What designers bring is a different kind of review.

When everything is possible - no existing walls, no mechanical constraints - the question becomes: will this space actually work for the life being lived in it?

Where are you parking? How often are you cooking? Do you have kids? Dogs? Giraffes? Does anyone work from home, and is that near the ktichen? Where do you want to sit to watch a movie - and does that room have the right proportions for that? Does someone in your house need a quiet, dark room to think? (Spoiler: most people do. Not every room should be flooded with light- there is nothing wrong with a DARK ROOM - we call it cozy)

This is especially true for the LA rebuild projects we're seeing so much of right now - when you're starting from scratch, anything is possible. Which means every decision matters more, not less. I'm thinking through the 95% of your life - the Tuesday night dinners, the Sunday mornings, the sick days, not the two big dinner parties you throw a year.

If You're Evaluating a Floor Plan Right Now

Here's the most useful thing I can tell you: compare the room sizes to a space you already know.

Your current kitchen, your bedroom, a room in a hotel you loved. Put those dimensions in your head and then look at the plan. Scale on paper is genuinely deceiving  -- rooms that look generous can feel cramped once you're in them with furniture. Rooms that look tiny can feel perfect if they're well-proportioned.

And think about your actual life, not your aspirational life. Your home should work beautifully for the everyday. And that is what I ask for in a floor plan. If you're reviewing a floor plan and want a designer's eye, reach out via our design questionnaire here.