Children, tweens and teens are giving their parents’ interior designers ideas for projects around the house
5 min
When Abby Tennenbaum, 44, and her husband, Ross Tennenbaum , 46, purchased a $2.1 million vacation property in 2021 about 80 miles southeast of Seattle in the mountain resort community of Suncadia, Washington, they encouraged their two young daughters to collaborate with the family’s interior designer, Emily LaMarque, on decorating the house. The 3,143-square-foot, five-bedroom home had a budget of $500,000 for furnishings and decorating.
The Tennenbaum sisters—Ella, 12, and Edie, 8—gave LaMarque feedback on paint colours and wallpaper patterns, but they also expressed other specific preferences. They weren’t into insect art (though butterflies were okay).
They thought it would be neat to have indoor swings—which the house now has on all three of its levels. And Edie, who has always loved bunk beds, worked with LaMarque to design a bunk room, which is both sisters’ favourite space. “It looks so good and it’s so cool,” Edie says of the sleeping spot that has four full-sized beds.
The girls even convinced their parents, Abby and Ross Tennenbaum, that the kitchen needed a snow cone machine. Abby is an occupational therapist turned stay-at-home mother and Ross is the CFO of Avalara, a tax software company.
Children have long contributed thoughts on their bedroom designs: Pink! Blue! Princesses! Rocket ships! But now they are driving interior decisions around the house. “We’ve always talked with our clients’ children,” says Lynn Stone, co-founder of Hunter Carson Design, which is based in Manhattan Beach, California. “What we are seeing now is something different: Now we expect the kids to get involved.”
Stone and her co-founder, Mandy Gregory, routinely receive emails, Pinterest boards, Instagram messages and TikToks from their clients’ mini-mes. “Kids send us texts if they are out shopping, saying, ‘Do you think this will work in our room?’” Stone says. “One client’s daughter said, ‘Please, don’t meet with Lynn and Mandy without me, and if you do, FaceTime me!’”
A sampling of product requests from their pint-sized clients include CB2’s Goop-designed Gwyneth Boucle Swivel Chair (“Teens love this chair,” Stone says), Gucci wallpaper, Bella Notte handmade linens, customised neon signs, shelves to show off Lego collections and bedroom mini fridges (“Parents often say no to mini fridges,” Stone says). One teenager emailed Stone a screenshot of a Sotheby’s auction artwork in the $20,000 range that she wanted for her bedroom. Stone told her, “I too love this, but I don’t see it making its way into either of our houses.”
In 2021, Stone and Gregory were hired by stay-at-home mom Neeraj Rotondo, 56, to update her son’s bedroom and bathroom in the roughly 5,000-square-foot, five-bedroom Manhattan Beach house where Rotondo’s family had lived for more than a decade. The Mediterranean-style house is currently estimated at $6.2 million, according to Redfin. Rotondo’s son, Sam, who was 14-years-old at the time, gave his opinions: He wanted his room to have a couch-like bed, framed N.B.A. jersey artwork and a space to play card games with friends. The bedroom cost $8,000 and the bathroom was $23,000.
While that project was underway, Neeraj Rotondo’s two daughters, Leena and Kayla Rotondo, who were teenagers, convinced their mother that the family’s unused media room needed a refresh. “It was brown and navy with reclining chairs and super not welcoming,” says Kayla, 19.
Kayla was inspired by a Pinterest photo of reality star Khloé Kardashian ’s theatre room, especially its long, glamorous cream-coloured couch. Stone and Gregory outfitted the Rotondos’ screening room with a custom-built daybed with grey velvet cushioning, floating lounge chairs, fluffy cream pillows and faux fur blankets, shimmery grasscloth wallpaper, hand-blown glass sconces and candy jars. It cost $42,000.
“It was soooo fun that we were young and we got to bring our idea to life,” says Leena, 20. Her sister agrees. “It feels like the only room in the house that was just for me and Leena,” Kayla says. “It wasn’t anyone’s vision but ours.”
Savannah, Georgia-based Khoi Vo , who is the CEO of the American Society of Interior Designers, thinks it’s “wonderful” that youngsters are interested in home design, which gives family members a forum for communicating with each other and thinking about how they live together. “As a dad to a pre-teen, I think any chance a parent can get to engage in dialogue with their kids is an opportunity,” says Vo.
Vo emphasises that families need to recognise an interior design project’s constraints, whether it’s money, time, space, scale or all of the above. “A child might say, ‘I want a turret that I can shoot an arrow out of and a moat with alligators,” he says, noting that, yes, of course it’s okay to say no to the castle.
“If you’re designing a space just for you—you’re the only one who is going to use it—you don’t need to seek your 12-year-old son’s opinion,” Vo says. When it comes to the living room, though, Vo says it’s fine to talk as a family about it—but, that doesn’t mean the son needs the wall of television screens he wants for sports night.
Houston interior designer David Euscher thinks the pandemic made everyone become more aware of how they live in their own environments and how spaces influence behaviour. “Even without that event,” he says, “young people look for ways to exercise some control over their lives, and influencing their parents’ design choices at home is one way to do it,” he says.
In 2022, Wendy Becktold, 53, of Berkeley, Calif., hired local interior designer Nureed Saeed, owner of Nu Interiors, to design a bedroom for her son, Simon. Wendy Becktold, an editor, and her family moved into a roughly 2,400-square-foot, three bedroom 1922 Craftsman house in 2016, which she and her husband purchased for $1.3 million.
“Since I’m the youngest child, when we moved, I obviously got the smallest room,” says Simon, 16, who has an older sister. “For my furniture, I got hand-me-downs from everyone else. It was little-kid, vandalised furniture all around my room. So I leveraged that, and was like, well, mom, I have the smallest room and the worst furniture. Maybe it would be a good idea to get a little room redo. I guess it worked.”
Saeed created image boards featuring varying furniture and colours and she and Simon talked through the selections. He gravitated toward Midcentury Modern shapes, walnut woods and a colour palette of navy, tan, white and black with a hint of greige.
“Definitely more adult than I would have expected out of a 14-year-old,” Saeed says. As his space morphed into his new one with fresh paint, furniture and lighting, Simon says, “It was surreal to watch it become my room after I’d been speculating about how cool it was going to be.”
Once the bedroom project was complete, Saeed moved onto designing the living room and entryway, where Simon expressed his preferences for modern furniture. “I didn’t want to overstep my role as the youngest child,” he says, “but I did definitely say, ‘This is cool,’ ‘This is a good idea,’ ‘I’m not as keen on these things, like a couch.’”
The house project had limits. “We made careful considerations for our interior design selections because it’s quite an investment,” Wendy Becktold says. The bedroom project, for example, cost close to $10,000, but she says it was worth it, as the new space can be useful even after Simon leaves the nest someday.
The Becktolds’ project is an example of how Saeed thinks there has been a societal shift in how children are regarded today. “We view them as their own humans who, even at young ages, their opinions are worth honouring and listening to,” she says.
“It’s not like children sit down buttoned-up for a kick off meeting, but at some point, parents are always like: My kids really like this thing but I don’t know how to integrate it,” says Los Angeles-based Emily LaMarque, founder of an eponymous firm, who designed the Tennenbaum family’s house in Washington.
LaMarque says her recent clients’ offspring often fall into two camps: those who are inspired by nature or music. “There’s a lot of Taylor Swift,” she says, noting that for music fans, it’s less about capturing a specific musician’s aesthetic and more about exuding a vibe—though LaMarque will coordinate album cover posters with other artwork and decor.
One 10-year-old gave LaMarque four iterations of her bedroom floor plan. “Specifically, she said ‘I want a pale wood bed here. I want two nightstands. I want my two guitars to go here. I want a credenza—and I want a record player on it so it needs to be deep enough and I want plants on it.’”
LaMarque riffed back and forth with one 13-year-old drama lover, whose bedroom they decided to outfit with a nook that has curtains that can be tied back so the girl could have a theatre area. LaMarque says, “when she got her new bedding that she had helped pick out, she was literally jumping up and down.”
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AI doesn’t rebel—people design, deploy and profit from it. The real danger lies in allowing tech companies to escape accountability while shaping regulations that protect their dominance.
4 min
A wave of corporate warnings and technical disclosures has flooded the media, with headlines worrying over “swarms” of rogue artificial-intelligence agents launching “unprecedented” cyberattacks, outsmarting their makers, and inching toward a terrifying autonomy. The most revealing part of this narrative isn’t what the software did. It’s who is telling the story—and why. When corporate leaders publicly insist that the systems they financed, engineered and deployed are suddenly beyond their power to contain, skepticism isn’t only healthy; it is essential.
For years, Silicon Valley has drawn scrutiny from civil society and global regulators over tangible harms such as youth mental health deterioration and systematic privacy violations. Today, industry figures seem to be trying to change that public image. Loudly blowing the whistle on their own systems—just as two of the leading companies were preparing for massive initial public offerings—lets AI executives position themselves as a new generation of leaders who have come to terms with their societal responsibilities. They seem to want us to believe that they no longer want to “move fast and break things” but will instead stand as vigilant guardians between humanity and a technological apocalypse.
There is one glaring problem: Software doesn’t rebel. A mathematical model possesses neither intent, malice nor the will to defy its creators, let alone extinguish our species. AI is a human artifact, engineered for profit.
When an agentic model in an evaluation sandbox connects to an unauthorized server or executes an exploit, it hasn’t staged a coup. It has tried to meet the human-defined objectives set out before it through a path its designers failed to constrain. It’s the digital equivalent of the King Midas myth, in which the king’s ill-defined wish turns even his food and drink into gold.
That powerful experimental models were able to discover novel vulnerabilities and breach external systems isn’t a sign of a dangerous superintelligence but of human error or negligence. There is no sentient actor lurking in the weights to be reasoned with, feared or pacified. There are only human software engineers, product managers and corporate boards deciding which guardrails are worth the latency cost and which permissions can be skipped in the race to market.
Policymakers and voters need to resist AI exceptionalism. In any other discipline—from civil engineering to pharmaceuticals—courts and regulators treat a system failure as evidence of bad product design and inadequate safety testing. If an aircraft crashes, we focus on finding the engineering defect, correcting it, and enforcing established liability standards for the damage created.
By leaning on an anthropomorphic narrative, Silicon Valley attempts to repackage its specific human choices that led to experimental, powerful models behaving unexpectedly during tests as an existential peril. Elevating the issue to a cosmic scale leaves the public paralyzed and takes ordinary product accountability off the table.
In the cutthroat race for venture capital and market dominance, building guardrails slows down deployment. Grandstanding about uncontrollable power costs nothing and generates billions of dollars in free publicity, justifying stock prices, all while cultivating an aura of technological capability not only to build the frontier but also ultimately to rein it in.
Governments need to recognize regulatory capture when it stares them in the face. Tech leaders’ strategy looks transparent: Alarm Washington and Brussels into creating a regime in which only trillion-dollar incumbents with fully staffed compliance and safety departments can legally operate. By sitting at the policymakers’ tables before anyone else, these companies can help draft rules digging an impassable moat protecting them from open-source developers and upstart competitors, domestic or international. The real danger is in further concentrating the tech industry into the hands of only a few companies with deep pockets.
Beijing and Washington have brushed off those tech leaders’ calls, albeit for very different reasons. Chinese state media dismissed them as part of the “Cold War playbook” and intended to preserve U.S. dominance. Xi Jinping argued for exactly the opposite at the Brics Summit on Sept. 12, calling on Brics countries to “strengthen cooperation in the field of AI, encourage open source, openness, collaboration and sharing, and break new grounds and scale new heights.” President Trump, steeped in a doctrine of unfettered capitalism and technological supremacy, called fears that AI could destroy humanity a “hoax.” Vice President JD Vance warned that AI companies “begging the government to regulate them” looked like a “Trojan Horse.”
Striving to pursue its “European way” on AI and assert regulatory leadership, Europe, by contrast, welcomed the call. European Union President Ursula von der Leyen made this clear at the State of the EU speech last Wednesday and announced that the EU will invite “the main frontier labs for a discussion on how we can support ongoing industry efforts to pace the frontier.”
Europe has been here before. In an effort to lead global regulation and react to fears borne from ChatGPT, Europe rushed its landmark AI Act into law in 2024. Already the world’s most restrictive rulebook, the framework quickly proved too broad and complex to enforce. Stalled by implementation delays and concerns about European competitiveness, the EU postponed the law’s full rollout, leaving regulations uncertain.
AI should be regulated—risks exist and should be taken seriously. But governments need to act based on available evidence and verified facts, not corporate PR panic, the views of industry insiders, or the desire for quick political wins. The greatest danger facing society isn’t that software will awaken and overthrow its human masters. It is that we will allow the creators of the software to abdicate human responsibility for the systems they choose to build and help them pull up the ladder to market access behind them.
