Latest / Style Edit: Fashion, beauty & personal style / The First Step Home: Designing Entryways That Feel Like a Hug | Style Edit
Transcript
- You know that exact second when you unlock your front door and the weight of the entire world just… drops off your shoulders? Let’s talk about how to build that feeling into the very first square inch of your home. I want you to close your eyes for a second. I’m serious, pause whatever you’re doing. Picture the moment you walk in after a long day. Maybe it was raining, or maybe the sun was beating down on your neck because you forgot your hat again—classic me. You turn the key, push the door open, and there it is. That immediate sensory shift. The air smells different. The light is softer. Your shoes hit the floor with a specific thud that says, 'Okay, Eva Perry is here. I can finally exhale.' But here’s the thing we often overlook. We spend thousands on the living room rug, the perfect sofa, the lighting that makes us look like we have our life together for Instagram. And then we rush through the entryway like it’s just a hallway we need to traverse quickly to get to the good stuff. It’s not just a hallway. It’s the stage set for your evening. It’s the threshold between the public mask you wear at work and the private self you are at home. If that space feels cluttered, cold, or chaotic, it carries that energy into the rest of your house. It’s like walking into a restaurant where the hostess looks stressed and the table is sticky. You don’t relax, do you? You stay on guard. So today, let’s redesign that first five feet of your home to be a warm welcome, not a hurdle. Let’s be real for a second. Most entryways fail because they try to do too much. They become dumping grounds for every bag, coat, shoe, and random piece of mail that has ever crossed your threshold. I see it all the time in my vintage studio. Clients bring me these beautiful, curated spaces, but their entryway looks like a thrift store had a bad day. It’s exhausting to look at. And if your entryway is exhausting, your brain stays in fight-or-flight mode. You aren’t relaxing; you’re scanning for tripping hazards or trying to mentally file away the chaos. We need to simplify. Start by asking yourself what actually needs to live here. Do you really need three coat racks? Probably not. One beautiful, sturdy hook or a sleek rack that holds your daily essentials is enough. Think about texture here. I love using a woven basket for bags—it contains the shape but lets the fabric breathe. Or a tray made of stone or wood for keys and coins. These small tactile objects matter. When you put your keys down, they should feel intentional, not lost in a pile. This isn’t about minimalism for the sake of looking clean on social media. It’s about creating a designated place for everything so your mind doesn’t have to hold onto the stress of 'where did I leave my wallet?' when you’re trying to decompress. Curation over accumulation. Always. Now, let’s talk about light. Because this is where most of us go wrong. We rely on that harsh, overhead ceiling light that makes everyone look like they’re in a interrogation room. It’s unflattering, it’s sterile, and it does nothing for the soul. Your entryway needs its own personality. It needs warmth. I’m talking about layered lighting that feels like a hug. A small sconce on the wall, or a tiny table lamp on a console, something that casts a soft, golden glow. Even if it’s daytime, keep the curtains slightly open or use sheer fabrics to diffuse the light. But especially at night, that soft illumination changes everything. It signals to your body that the day is done. It’s a visual cue that says, 'Rest now.' I remember moving into my first apartment in Brooklyn, and I didn’t have money for fancy fixtures. So I bought a second-hand ceramic lamp with a frayed shade and taped some fairy lights behind it. It wasn’t perfect. It was a little crooked. But when I walked in, that pool of warm light hitting the peeling paint made me feel safe. It made me feel like I belonged there. Lighting isn’t just functional; it’s emotional architecture. Choose bulbs with a low Kelvin rating, around 2700K, which gives you that honey-colored warmth. Avoid anything cool white unless you’re trying to perform surgery. You want to feel held, not examined. Scent is the most powerful memory trigger we have. It bypasses logic and goes straight to the heart. When you walk into your entryway, what do you smell? If it’s stale air, old gym clothes, or the lingering ghost of last night’s dinner, your relaxation is compromised before you’ve even taken off your jacket. Try introducing a subtle, consistent scent that becomes associated only with coming home. It could be a candle placed on a shelf, a reed diffuser tucked behind a vase, or even a sachet of dried lavender in a drawer. The key is consistency. Your brain will start to link that aroma with safety and comfort. I like using scents that are grounding—cedarwood, vetiver, sandalwood, or even fresh linen. Nothing cloying or overly sweet. We want calm, not a candy shop. And please, let’s avoid masking bad smells with heavy perfumes. That’s just adding noise to the chaos. Instead, focus on freshness. Open the window for ten minutes when you get home to let the air circulate. It’s simple, it’s free, and it works wonders. It reminds you that your home is a living space, not a sealed box. Breathe in that new air. Let it reset your nervous system. An entryway shouldn’t feel like a hotel lobby. Hotels are designed for strangers to pass through quickly. Your home is designed for you to linger, even for just a minute. Add personal touches that tell your story. A mirror that reflects the light is practical, yes, but also symbolic. It allows you to check yourself one last time before stepping out, or to catch your reflection when you come in and remind yourself of who you are. But make it yours. Frame a ticket stub from a concert you loved, a postcard from a trip you took with someone you miss, or a small sculpture you found at a flea market. These items ground you in your history. They remind you that you are a person with a life outside of this door. I always ask myself, 'Who wore this before?' when I’m styling a space. What legacy does this object carry? Does it bring joy? If it’s just clutter, it doesn’t belong. But if it’s a piece of art that makes you smile, it belongs right there. Style is just confidence wearing clothes, and your home is no different. It should reflect the confidence and the history of the person living inside. Don’t be afraid to show a little bit of your soul in that small space. It makes the transition from public to private feel more authentic. Finally, let’s talk about the ritual. Designing the space is half the battle; the other half is how you interact with it. Create a small routine that happens in that entryway. Take off your shoes and place them neatly. Hang your coat. Put your bag in its spot. Maybe take three deep breaths while standing there. This physical act of shedding the outside world helps your mind follow suit. It’s a boundary marker. In my previous life editing magazines, I used to rush through my apartment door, phone to my ear, already planning tomorrow’s headlines. I never settled. My entryway was a blur of motion and stress. Now, running my studio, I force myself to pause. I touch the wood of the console table. I look at the plant on the shelf. I acknowledge that I am home. This pause is crucial. It prevents the workday stress from bleeding into your evening. It gives you a moment to decide how you want to feel for the next few hours. Are you going to cook? Read? Call a friend? Or just sit? By designing this space to welcome you, you’re giving yourself permission to slow down. You’re saying, 'It’s okay to stop now.' And that is a gift you give yourself every single day. It’s not about perfection. It’s about presence. I hope you take a moment tonight to really notice that first step across your threshold. Notice the light, the scent, the quiet. Let it sink in. You deserve to feel welcomed in your own life. Until next time, keep curating your joy. Love you.