The Psychology of the Home

A home should hold more than furniture — it should hold you

Welcome to the Frère et Sœur journal. This blog isn’t about trends. It isn’t about perfectly staged rooms or the latest colour palettes. It’s about something slower, deeper, and more lasting: the emotional life of our interiors.

As a sibling-founded design studio, Frère et Sœur exists to make interior design more personal. Our work begins not with floorplans or finishes, but with a conversation. Who are you? What stories live in the furniture you keep, the artwork you hang, the spaces where you start and end each day? What feelings do you associate with a certain lamp, a certain scent, a certain chair? Our approach blends tradition with soul, intuition with method — rooted in the belief that your home should feel unmistakably yours.

This blog is an extension of that belief. It’s a place where we can pause and reflect on what a home means. Each piece will explore a different facet of this question: how the spaces we inhabit shape, support, and sometimes challenge who we are. From the small rituals of daily life to the deeper psychology of comfort and memory, we’ll explore how design can support our inner world. Not perfectly. Not rigidly. But with soul.

So we begin, as all good homes do, with the foundation. Not of bricks and mortar, but of mind and emotion: the psychology of the home.

The modern home, for all its functions, is still one of the most underexamined environments in our emotional lives. We talk about ergonomics in the office. We reflect endlessly on our relationships and habits. But the spaces where we live, sleep, and gather — where our children grow up, where we make coffee, grieve, rest, hope — are often overlooked as active participants in our wellbeing.

And yet, psychologists have long known that our surroundings influence how we feel. Clutter, for example, has been shown to increase cortisol levels. Natural light supports our circadian rhythms and mental clarity. Familiar smells trigger memories, while sound — or its absence — can dramatically shift our sense of safety or stress. Every element of our environment has a role to play in our inner life.

But beyond these environmental effects lies something even more powerful: the symbolic and psychological dimension of the home. In design, we speak often of style. But what if we started with meaning?

For many of us, the objects we keep in our homes are not just things — they are extensions of ourselves. A well-worn chair may remind us of a grandparent. A painting, of a place we once loved. A chipped bowl, of someone we lost. We hold on to these things not because they match, but because they matter. And in that meaning lies the true heart of design.

When we design homes, then, we are not only arranging space. We are curating identity. Creating a kind of everyday theatre in which we rehearse and reaffirm who we are. This is why design matters so much more than people sometimes admit. It’s not frivolous. It’s not superficial. At its best, it is a quiet, daily affirmation of our values, our stories, and our sense of self.

This is especially important in times of transition — a new baby, a divorce, a change of job, a loss. Our external space often becomes a barometer of our internal shifts. Clients will often tell us they feel unsettled at home but can't say why. And more often than not, it turns out the space is out of sync with their life. The nursery that hasn’t yet become a toddler’s room. The guest room turned office that still feels like neither. The absence of a dining table, because family dinners have quietly disappeared. These aren’t just design choices; they’re emotional signposts.

Understanding this gives us a richer way to think about design. Instead of asking, "Does this look good?" we might ask, "What does this say?" or "How does this feel?" When a home is designed with this kind of psychological awareness, it becomes more than functional. It becomes nourishing.

At Frère et Sœur, we often begin projects by creating a kind of emotional profile of a space. We talk to our clients not just about budgets and timelines, but about music, memories, favourite places, things they miss, scents they love, people they admire. From this, we begin to understand the shape of their inner world — and we use design to reflect and support it.

For instance, a client who grew up in the south of France might not need a Provençal kitchen replica. But they might benefit from warm stone textures, herbs on the windowsill, linen blinds that let the morning light filter through. Another who has been through a difficult year might need softness — curves instead of corners, wool instead of leather, rhythm instead of symmetry. These aren’t aesthetic choices. They are psychological ones.

We also think deeply about function as ritual. How you move through a space affects how you move through your day. Where do you drink your morning coffee? Where do you go when you feel overwhelmed? Where do you read, talk, sit, think, stop? Designing a home around these moments doesn’t just support habits — it shapes identity.

Ultimately, home should be the most forgiving place in the world. A place that doesn’t demand anything of you. A place that remembers you, quietly. That reflects who you are and who you are becoming.

This is the beginning of a wider conversation. In this blog, we’ll continue to explore the themes that matter to us: nostalgia, comfort, creativity, confidence, silence. We’ll ask how design can be an ally to our emotional lives, and how interiors can tell truer, kinder stories.

Because in the end, good design isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. About creating a space that feels like exhaling.

We’re glad you’re here.