An Interior Designer on Kendall Jenner’s Mountain House - and the Problem With Designing Something to Look Old

#54: The House Diaries

The internet has been in mild hysteria since Architectural Digest dropped Kendall Jenner’s new mountain home last week. Praise, confusion, devotion, disbelief - all of it! I shared some immediate thoughts over on Instagram (OFC), but the more I sat with the images, the clearer it became: this house deserves a proper unpacking.

So here we are. Let’s go DEEEPPPEERRRR!

Because beyond the florals, the tartan, the antique-coded everything, this house raises a much bigger question about interiors, authenticity, and whether you can truly design something that’s meant to feel collected over time - all at once!

Recap: What We’re Looking At

This is Kendall Jenner’s mountain retreat, featured in Architectural Digest, a ground-up new build designed with interior designer Heidi Caillier and architect Kirby Lee.

Caillier is known for richly layered, character-driven interiors that lean heavily into pattern, colour, nostalgia, and a sense of domestic storytelling. Her work often makes new spaces feel as though they’ve been lived in for decades, a talent that has earned her a devoted following and a reputation for interiors that feel warm and opinionated.

We get a brand-new house that wants (very earnestly) to feel old. Layered, inherited, storied. Florals, checks, tapestries, dark woods, antique furniture, folk references, gingham, tartan, rustic detailing, and a general sense that someone here has very strong feelings about upholstery.

On paper? A dream brief. In practice? Complicated.

The Designer Behind the Look & Why It Matters

Heidi Caillier is excellent at what she does. This is important to say upfront.

She understands proportion, colour, and texture. She knows how to create warmth without defaulting to blandness. Her interiors often feel intimate and personal, even when they’re highly designed. And this house is, without question, a full commitment to her aesthetic.

There is confidence here. Conviction. But conviction alone doesn’t guarantee coherence.

Because here’s the thing: This house isn’t old. It’s a new build, styled to feel like it’s already lived several lives.

And, that’s where the tension lies!

The Illusion of Age (and Why It’s So Hard to Pull Off)

Designing something to feel “collected” is one of the hardest things to do well. Not because it’s technically difficult, but because it’s temporarily difficult.

Layering takes time. Taste evolves. Patina is earned. Rooms change as people change. You can’t rush that! Even if you’re an excellent designer with an excellent client and an excellent budget.

In Kendall’s house, you feel that compression of time. Everything arrives fully formed…. Every room has already reached its final chapter. There’s no awkward middle phase, no visible evolution, no sense that things have been edited or replaced over years.

Some rooms carry this beautifully. Others feel … dare I say … slightly theatrical.

The American Obsession With “Old”

This house also taps into a much broader design conversation, one that feels particularly American.

There is a long-standing fixation in American interiors with age, or more specifically, with the appearance of age. “Old” signals legitimacy. Cultural depth. It suggests lineage, taste, and a life lived slowly, all very desirable things in a country where much of the domestic architecture is relatively young.

So what we’re seeing is that new houses are built to feel inherited. Spaces are designed to imply history. Narratives are constructed through objects.

When done well, it can be romantic. But when age becomes an aesthetic rather than a lived condition, it can start to feel performative - a collage of borrowed histories rather than a home shaped organically over time.

Kendall Jenner’s mountain house sits precisely on this fault line. It isn’t trying to look modern. It’s trying to look established. And that ambition is both its strength and its vulnerability.

When Heritage Becomes Costume

European houses age naturally. They accumulate layers slowly, often imperfectly. Styles overlap because lives overlap. Rooms change because people change.

Trying to replicate that feeling instantly - especially in a new American build - is one of the most ambitious briefs a designer can take on.

And here, you feel the pressure of that ambition.

The house doesn’t just nod to heritage; it insists on it. Pattern, texture, tradition, everything arrives at once. The result is immersive, but occasionally overwhelming. Instead of discovery, you’re given the entire backstory upfront.

That’s when maximalism risks becoming costume. And costume, no matter how beautifully made, rarely ages as well as the real thing.

The Spaces That Work

When the house is restrained (relatively speaking) it’s lovely.

The rooms that lean into warmth without tipping into theme feel grounded and confident. Natural materials and antique pieces that aren’t shouting for attention help anchor the space.

These rooms feel emotional rather than decorative. They suggest a lifestyle, not a mood board.

This is where the design succeeds most: when it trusts simplicity and allows one or two strong elements to lead, rather than asking every surface, fabric, and pattern to perform at once.

And Then… The Hallway Problem

Some spaces, however, lose that restraint.

The hallway is the clearest example - and I say this with love and professional concern.

There’s a fine line between heritage and hospitality. Suddenly, we’re no longer in a private mountain home, but in the hallway of a very enthusiastic Scottish hotel. You know the one….

When Maximalism Becomes Noise

Maximalism isn’t about excess; it’s about intention. The best maximalist interiors still leave room to breathe. They understand hierarchy. They know when to stop.

Here, there are moments where everything is turned up to the same volume. Pattern on pattern on pattern, all competing for attention. Instead of layered complexity, you get visual noise. And this is where the illusion cracks.

Because real, collected homes aren’t perfectly consistent. They contradict themselves. They have quieter corners - because no one redecorates their entire house at once, either emotionally or aesthetically.

What to Take From This (and What to Avoid)

Take this:

• Commitment to a vision - indecision is far more damaging than boldness

• Pattern used as personality, not decoration

• Mixing eras rather than sticking rigidly to one

• Warmth over perfection

Avoid this:

• Trying to fast-track history

• Using pattern everywhere, at the same intensity

• Turning circulation spaces into statements

• Mistaking reference for authenticity

Final Thoughts

Kendall Jenner’s mountain home isn’t a failure. It’s fascinating. It’s brave. Heidi is an incredibly talented designer, which is worth remembering. I think these high-profile projects are a good and interesting way to talk about how homes evolve, and how the idea of “collected” is often presented as something that arrives fully formed. This is especially worth remebering in a culture where we expect things to be fast and finished.

So as we look at these aspirational homes, it is worth reminding ourselves, especially if we are thinking “I want this look” - that the most compelling interiors aren’t built overnight. Even with the best designers. Even with unlimited resources. Even with Architectural Digest waiting to publish.

The most believable rooms are the ones that have been allowed to evolve. To collect slowly. To make mistakes. To change.

Homes should tell stories. YOUR story, not a perfectly constructed one. And while this house has many beautiful chapters, it sometimes reads like the entire novel was written in one sitting.

If there’s one lesson to take from it, it’s this: Good interiors aren’t just about taste. They’re about time.