• I've been an interior designer for years, and I believe some design "rules" are worth breaking.
• A room not working doesn't mean you need to make it bigger or completely remodel it.
• Don't avoid using furniture that's "too nice," or do open shelving just because it's in magazines.

In my years working in interior design, I've had many clients approach me looking for definitive "rules" for decorating their homes.

They want to know how to make their home look good and function better, assuming there is a set of guidelines to help them get there.

Certainly, there are building codes, safety requirements, and circulation considerations that must be met. However, much of what we think of as design and decorating is guided by rules of thumb, best practices, and even cultural assumptions.

The longer I practice design — over 20 years now — the more I learn that there are very few set rules to follow. Although some can be a good starting place, they often overlook the people who actually live in the space we're designing.

Here are a few design "rules" I think are worth breaking and why.

If you're remodeling your kitchen, you definitely need some open shelving.

Open any shelter magazine, and you will likely see open shelving as a prominent kitchen feature.

Open shelving is beautiful, often breaking up a wall of cabinetry, making a kitchen feel lighter and more open while creating a place to display dishes, glassware, cookbooks, or other collected personal effects.

Although I, too, am drawn to open shelves, I question whether it's the right choice for every client. Those beautifully styled shelves require you to decide what stays visible, keep some degree of order, and deal with more dust and kitchen grime.

For some people, that's no problem — or even enjoyable. For others, it's one more thing to maintain.

Before my clients make this design choice, we talk through what would actually live on those shelves and whether they want the responsibility of keeping them looking the way they imagine.

After all, a trend can show you a new possibility, but it can't tell you whether that possibility fits your life.

Your interior style should match your home's architecture.

I have many clients who make this assumption: If my home has a traditional architectural character, my new kitchen or bathroom must also have more traditional elements — think Shaker cabinetry, crown molding, and bronzy hardware.

Although I agree that architectural continuity can create cohesion, the architecture of your home is context, not a mandate.

When someone doesn't identify with their home's traditional character, I think it's important to honor the individual. I have seen many contemporary interiors set within traditional homes, and the juxtaposition can be breathtaking.

If your home isn't working, you need more space.

When a space feels cramped or isn't functioning well, I often see clients immediately assume they must add square footage.

Sometimes an addition is the right answer, but often the problem lies in how the existing space is being used.

For example, I had a client who was considering an addition to their kitchen. As we studied the existing space together, it became clear that the kitchen already had plenty of room, but the current layout wasn't making good use of it.

Rather than expanding the footprint of their home, we focused on reorganizing the space they already have so it functions better for them.

Before assuming more space is needed, identify where the friction is coming from: difficulty moving through a room, belongings that pile up in unwanted places, or things stored far from where they're used.

It's impossible to solve a problem you don't fully understand.

Some furniture is too nice for everyday use.

If you've ever invested in beautiful or expensive furniture, you may have worried about how you'll protect it from getting "ruined" by daily life.

But here's the rub (pun intended): When protecting furniture starts interfering with actually living in your home, we may have a problem.

Think about the white sofa featured in the aspirational home decor imagery in magazines or on social media. It's beautiful. It's pristine.

However, every Friday night, it needs to be covered with a blanket before anyone settles in to watch TV with a glass of red wine and a piece of chocolate. At some point, the needs of the furniture began to take priority over those of the person using it.

Here is the truth: Furniture is meant to be used, and a home is meant to be lived in.

Your kitchen trash can should be next to the sink.

This is a pretty standard kitchen-planning rule of thumb: Put waste collection close to the area where food prep and cleanup happen.

However, this is based on an assumption about how people use their kitchens. Sometimes, there are better layouts depending on your situation.

For example, many of my clients compost most food scraps. One such client keeps a small compost container on her counter, which is convenient during food prep and clean-up. Between composting and recycling, her regular landfill garbage gets very little use.

Once we uncovered how little this client uses the conventional trash can in her kitchen, we decided to relocate it elsewhere, freeing up valuable cabinet space near the sink and dishwasher.

This may not follow the design "rule," but it's a more practical arrangement for her space.

Empty spaces should be filled.

Sometimes an empty wall, shelf, or corner of a room can make a space feel unfinished, and our natural inclination is to fill it.

However, is empty space actually a problem that needs to be solved? No … at least not immediately.

I often encourage my clients to experiment with leaving something empty as part of the design process. It gives you an opportunity to live with the space and discover what — if anything — you actually need there.

You may discover a function you hadn't anticipated, eventually find something you genuinely want there, or realize that the room works better without anything at all.

If a room isn't working, it needs a makeover.

If a space feels unfinished, disjointed, or just "off," we often believe it needs a substantial change — new furniture, different finishes, or even a remodel.

And with so many dramatic reveals and before-and-afters, it's no wonder we think meaningful improvements require meaningful (and expensive!) interventions.

Rather than replacing everything, sometimes small, thoughtful changes can alter how a whole space feels.

For example, I had a client whose guest bathroom was remodeled several years ago. The materials, fixtures, and finishes were beautiful, but they didn't quite come together as a whole.

Rather than replacing them, we added a single wall of peel-and-stick wallpaper, a DIY project the client could tackle over a weekend. It connected what was already there and made the room feel cohesive.

Your interior designer has better taste than you.

Because an interior designer has professional expertise and experience, homeowners assume their aesthetic judgment is more valid — or that the designer has the "right" design answer, and they do not.

Designers understand proportion, scale, color, materials, and composition, but clients know more than they give themselves credit for. They notice when a color feels wrong, have strong reactions to particular materials or furnishings, and can identify what they prefer even if they don't have the design vocabulary to explain why.

Although a designer can help you understand those preferences and translate them into a cohesive space, your own sense of what feels right should be part of the design process.

After all, expertise isn't about applying rules indiscriminately — it's about knowing when they serve the person in front of you and when they don't.

I have a saying in my practice: "You do you!" You are the expert in how you live, what you like, and what makes you feel at home.

• My husband and I moved from the US to the Netherlands without seeing our new apartment in person.
• We encountered lots of surprises, like the lengthy Dutch application process.
• Although we love our apartment, we've had to get used to a few cultural differences.

After living as digital nomads for nearly two years, my husband and I decided to move from the US to the Netherlands.

We'd visited several times and fell in love with the walkability and bike culture. Plus, I have a connection to the country, since my great-grandparents were Dutch.

With the help of a real-estate agent, we found an apartment remotely from the US, signing a yearlong lease in the city of Utrecht before ever setting foot in the home.

We encountered some surprises while looking for an apartment

Since the process of finding an apartment abroad can often take months, we chose to search remotely from the US. To make things easier, we hired a Dutch real-estate agent with local connections who could view apartments for us in person.

The prep work was much more intense than I was used to. In the US, I've leased apartments in three different states, and the extent of the application typically included filling out a basic form and sometimes completing a background check.

That wasn't going to cut it in the Netherlands.

Our agent gave us a long list of materials to prepare, from 12 months of bank statements and links to our LinkedIn profiles, to a "get to know us" letter, which included our hobbies and photos of us. Then she went looking.

Rentals often get snatched up within a few hours or days, so my husband and I were regularly waking up at 4 a.m. in Colorado to read our agent's emails about the new listings each day.

When we finally found one that checked all our boxes, we asked her to schedule a walkthrough. Luckily, she recorded a video for us to review, so we didn't need to wake up early for this part of the process.

It was during the walkthrough, however, that we learned Dutch apartment listings aren't as detailed as the ones we were used to in the US. When our agent arrived, we discovered the listing had omitted several important pieces of information.

For example, there was a fully fenced-in back garden, complete with a shed, picnic table, and blackberry and rose bushes. The kitchen had a dishwasher. And there was a washing machine hidden away behind a cabinet door — and a dryer (which is not as common in Europe).

Score, right? So we jumped at the opportunity, put in our bid, and jumped for joy when our offer was accepted.

Despite a few setbacks, we fell in love with our apartment

We arrived in the Netherlands a few weeks later, traveling directly from the airport to our rental. When we unlocked the door for the first time, hoping we'd fall in love with our new home, it was … freezing.

Turns out, the heat had stopped working, and the rental company couldn't send someone to fix it until the next day. So, we spent our first night in the Netherlands at a hotel.

Thankfully, the heat was fixed the following day, and then we could start unpacking. This is when we began to notice some of the more nuanced differences of a Dutch house compared to an American one.

The first thing to get used to? The alarmingly steep stairs (a hallmark of skinny, tall Dutch houses) which made moving furniture up to our second-floor office feel like a Herculean feat.

We also learned to accept moths and gnats as houseguests, since Dutch windows don't typically have screens. However, with no air conditioning and a 100-year-old house that was built to retain heat, we definitely want to keep those windows open.

Overall, aside from a few stowaway insects and some hot days, we've been very fortunate with our rental. I particularly love the neighborhood and how we can walk to a grocery store, bakery, or park within five minutes.

The biggest lessons have come from being part of a Dutch neighborhood

Although finding our rental was a whirlwind process, I've found the most interesting parts of living here have come from the cultural differences between American and Dutch neighborhoods.

For example, shortly after arriving, our neighbor invited us to the neighborhood WhatsApp group. If you need to borrow a drill or lose your cat, you send a message to the group.

It's very active, and joining the group helped me feel like I was part of a community before knowing anyone here. Although I've heard of similar groups in the US, I've never been invited to join one.

Ordering packages is also very different. Back in the States, packages would be left by my door. In the Netherlands, however, they aren't left unattended.

Instead, the delivery driver will start ringing the neighbors' doorbells until someone is home. Then, they'll leave a digital note about which house has your package.

One place I didn't expect to feel such a contrast is the sidewalk. On sunny days, my Dutch neighbors bring out their dining room chairs, park them on the bricks outside their front door, and enjoy a cold drink. Sometimes, it'll feel like an impromptu block party — and I couldn't be happier to join in the festivities.

After leasing an apartment across the world, sight unseen, would I do it again? I sure would — especially if I could hire a real-estate agent to check out the home in person.

The quirks of our apartment and neighborhood are all part of the experience of living abroad, and although I may not have expected them, I've now grown attached to these cultural differences.