Great property. Tricky house.
Step inside our 1990s fixer upper.
This week, I’m taking you inside our new home for the first time—and all the highs and lows that come with buying a house sight-unseen. My gut feeling, our designer’s hot take, and… an impromptu cameo from our neighbor, who also gives an assessment. Plus, the feisty (and zippy) dish I recently whipped up with my mom.
Over on the Chat: Riffing on our 1990s time capsule of a home, what was the best (and worst) decade for home design? Tell us why. Back it up with photos! Toss in your strongest opinions!
Just before we got married, in 2002, Tad and I bought the Brooklyn Heights apartment where we still live, moved in, and promptly embarked on our first of many renovations. There was a lot we didn’t know about each other; some of it would take decades to glean. Tad hadn’t really seen me “in action” yet.
You see, I have a problem in that my appearance belies my personality. I can come across as diffident, even demure. This has hurt me professionally, when people assume I’m a shrinking violet—not leader material. Anyone who lives or works with me, though, soon learns that when I’m focused on a project or business, I’m assertive and implacable.
During that first reno, Tad started calling me “Pajama Boss.” Because before I got dressed in the morning, I’d be up walking the contractor through my list of questions and issues, pointing at places his painters had missed and staring him down when he tried to excuse shoddy work.
Once our bid was accepted on the Ojai house, it was all systems go for Pajama Boss. I began divvy-ing up the to-dos. Tad would handle getting an inspection set up, secure insurance in a fire and earthquake zone, and tackle other fun topics like water softeners. I’d called on industry friends, pored over the AD100 list, and studied design Instagram to put together a list of 25+ architects, interior designers, and landscape architects in the L.A. area. It was time to whittle that down.
As post-pandemic life began to take hold, we’d gradually learned that our timing was terrible for achieving the primary goals in a house search: finding well-designed homes (they’d already been snapped up), getting a good deal (the early pandemic frenzy drove up prices), and renovating on a budget (supply-chain challenges and inflation killed that hope). On the bright side, though, architects and designers were starting to free up.
We had 10 days to get the house inspected and to decide if we’d move forward or back out. Buying a home so far away encourages discipline and efficiency: every trip to Ojai would be expensive and time consuming. We weren’t going to travel 2,500 miles just for the inspection. We were also going to make as much progress as possible on planning a renovation. Our kids were 18 months from going to college; we’d have to hustle if we wanted a new nest by then.
Friends introduced us to our top architect pick. I cold-emailed the interior designer who was far and away our favorite. (I’d later realize that they’d worked together on a house project that I thought was brilliant.) We did Zooms with them, then made a plan to meet in Ojai the following week. We went out for two days with a plan to see the house for the first time, have it inspected, and meet the architect, designer, and a potential contractor on site. Sleep and food were secondary.
I hadn’t felt giddiness in years, but as Tad and I rounded the curve on our street and approached the house, I felt its fast-beating tingles flush through me. The house we pulled up to was far from our ideal style, but that didn’t matter. It was a gateway to a better future. I’d been creatively stifled and worn down from the pandemic’s churn on my business. This house was my chance to renew.