FIRST IMPRESSIONS
- Nannette Brown
- Oct 21
- 9 min read
Faces and Places
Here’s a universal truth: We are really impressionable people. We are easily impressed, quick to judge, size things up fast—and form biases in an instant.
First impressions are made within seconds of meeting someone. That’s not opinion; it’s biology. Our brains are wired for speed. We scan faces, voices, posture, even scent, to decide whether someone—or some place—is safe, sound, or familiar to us. And because it’s automatic, we do it all the time—at the grocery store, on the street, and the moment we step into someone’s home. It’s the same reflex born from a survival instinct millennia ago.
We’re also really good at mirroring faces, places, and behaviors. We unconsciously match a friend’s tone, start gesturing the way they do, or feel calmer in a tidy space and restless in a messy one. We read the room—literally—including expressions and the environment’s tenor, and then adapt to fit it. It’s part empathy, part survival, and part by design. People and places make impressions on us, and we reflect them right back. And the first ones really count.
SPLIT SECONDS
You’re Judgy (Even If You Think You’re Not)
You’ve got less than ten seconds to make a good first impression, but you might not even have that much. In the initial moments you meet someone new, walk into a party, or step into a space for the first time, a subconscious timer has already started ticking in your brain.
While studies show most people form first impressions within eight to ten seconds, a Princeton University study found that participants formed consistent judgments of people’s traits in as little as one-tenth of a second. Yikes—judgy! Researchers also found that clothing perceived as “richer,” or of better quality, strongly impressed observers. Whether it was a T-shirt, sweater, or other top, a higher perception of competence was consistently attributed to those images over photos of the same person wearing similar clothes judged as “poorer,” or of lesser quality.
What’s more interesting is that the test was conducted nine different ways, each time tweaking the images slightly with different positive cues meant to offset bias—yet the results didn’t change. Regardless of the adjustments made to suggest higher competence or socioeconomic status, the perceived value and quality of the clothing consistently influenced how viewers judged the person.
These rapid reads—whether cosmetic or tied to likability or trustworthiness—are no accident. They’re hard-wired social responses designed to help us sort who’s solid, dependable, and worth our trust.
So, brace yourself, you’re never going to think about home quite the same way. Because after making your first impression with your personality, presence and style, home is next, and it makes its own first impression.
THE HOME HALO
No Words Necessary
The moment someone crosses your threshold, it speaks volumes about you. There are two roles and two perceptions at play. The guest, whose senses are on alert before they ever step into a space, immediately goes into sorting mode: what they see registers instantly; their nose catches a scent, and they decide, almost unconsciously, whether it’s pleasant or not. And then there’s you—the homeowner, apartment dweller, host—the one setting the tone for your space. The perceptual experience you’ve created intentionally or not, but also the air of formality (or informality), even the air of hospitality—are all designed by you. And together, those choices will either make a positive impression or a negative one.
According to House Beautiful, most people know how they feel about a house within the first seven to ten seconds of stepping inside—and that initial instinct often determines whether they can imagine living there or not. We don’t consciously analyze why; the entry into a home or space is emotional, almost primal. The cues that register first aren’t the furnishings or the floor plan—they’re immersive, things like light, scent, temperature, and order. Our brains scan a space the way they scan a face, instantly examining for comfort, cleanliness, and care.
That’s where the halo effect comes in—and why first impressions, when you walk into someone’s home or they walk into yours, are so important. It’s the psychological bias that causes one positive cue to color everything that follows. When the first thing we notice feels good, the rest of the experience benefits from that “halo” and feels right too. It carries through our time in that space.
The same principle that makes a warm smile or confident handshake linger applies to place: when a space greets us with good light, a sense of freshness, or calm, the mind fills in the rest with a positive bias. Even real estate agents know this—if you’ve ever sold a home or apartment, you’ve probably been told to bake something, like an apple pie, before a showing. It isn’t a gimmick; it’s neuroscience. Scent is our fastest emotional trigger. That first breath of warmth or brightness—from the aroma of something appetizing or an elegant fragrance—sets the tone for everything that follows.
As a designer, I place a lot of emphasis on first impressions—and not always the ones you expect. One room I always coach clients to remember is the powder room. At some point, we’re all guests in someone else’s home, at a family gathering or a dinner party, and eventually we’ll need to use the restroom. This is an important room, not for its simple function, but because it’s where a guest can take a beat, have a moment to themselves, and step away from conversation.
And you know what we all do in a nice restroom? We look around. A scented candle or soap, good hand towels, a beautiful vanity, interesting wall paper, and flattering lighting—all make a huge impression. The devil is in the details, and in a small space every detail can get noticed, even amplified, and studied by a captive audience who lingers just long enough to take it all in.
This is all true because home is, above all, a sensory experience. Long before we register color palettes or furniture, we feel a space. Light communicates openness. Fresh air and scent suggest care. Flow creates ease. Art, texture, and even sound—those quiet, peripheral details—wash over us and shape our mood before a rational thought enters our minds. The difference between good and poor lighting, or air that feels fresh versus stagnant, can alter energy instantly.
Our environments don’t just frame us; they direct how we—and others—really experience who we are. I’d even go so far as to say that home makes the most intimate and personal statement about us; it’s our most personal space, the physical reflection of our very presence and values. What greater impression is there?
UNFORGETTABLE
Some houses don’t need an introduction. They just hit you—and then change you forever.
When I was in my twenties, I was a guest at a bridal shower for a friend in Dallas. The home was in Highland Park—a storied, tree-lined enclave of old-world manses, where elegant houses encircle the country club that shares its name.
The moment the door of this house opened, two things struck me: the grandeur—I had never seen a house like this—and the scent. What was this scent? It smelled rich, rarified and seductive, yet clean at the same time—like expensive perfume and herbal spa notes. Was I gathering a drift of sage or musk, or was it a woman’s perfume filling the air? I was intoxicated, I had to know what it was; I had to have it, because I wanted my home to smell just like this, forever.
I was like a little truffle pig on the hunt. I immediately started moving into the public rooms to greet other women, but I’m telling you—my mind was not on the bride! My mind was on one thing only: finding that scent, which I quickly clocked after a few spins around the room–it turned out to be an amber-colored candle sitting on a large marble console. It was Agraria’s Balsam candle—and, at the time, one of the few scented luxury candles on the market. If I’m anything, I’m consistent. True to that first impression, I still love the scent of Agraria candles and use them in my home and office. They’re often gifts to clients at project’s end too.
This Dallas house was my first sensory impression of a house, but it wouldn’t be my last.
The houses that would become the greatest impressions—the truly unforgettable ones—inspired me endlessly in my early design days. I would pour over their details, studying each and every room for its appointments: the architectural backdrop, color, furniture selection and balance, art placement, and the positioning of virtually every object.
It started with the late fashion designer Bill Blass and his homes—his Sutton Place apartment and his house in New Preston, Connecticut. Things were very traditional then, and while his interiors, by today’s vernacular, still are, his mastery of urbane classicism — brown velvet sofas, art-filled walls, and perfect restraint — became shorthand for the well-bred modernity that defined late-century American taste.
And then, there was the Bedford, New York, country house of Stephen Sills and James Huniford.
P E R F E C T I O N. So perfect, in fact, that Karl Lagerfeld once described it as “the chicest house in America,” a line later immortalized in Vogue. I was blown away by the architectural detail—the fluted plaster walls in the living rooms. I would never have thought to add such interest and structural dimension to walls—or to use cobblestones, typically reserved for driveways, as interior flooring. It was revolutionary to me. Their eye for fine furniture and unusual pieces, along with the composition of them within the rooms of this house, was flawless.
Around 2010, I met Reed Krakoff, the then-CEO of Coach, and his wife, Delphine, an interior designer whom I really liked. Another memorable first impression was their East Hampton house, which had been the childhood home of Jacqueline Kennedy. It was inimitable—rare for its history, its design depth, and their taste.
I’ll never forget seeing it for the first time. I was invited to a summer dinner party hosted in their garden. The house was obviously storied, but it was the pristine renovation they had carried out—and the perfect balance of furnishings, art, and objects inside, and the sculpture outside the house—that captured and held my attention. I remember the house being well-appointed and luxurious—elevated, yet simple in the most artful sense.
There were interesting juxtapositions of pieces that weren’t known to me at the time but were somehow familiar. I remember noticing a pair of Tiffany pendants hanging over the dining room table—and another Tiffany fixture in the entrance hall—knowing they were worth a fortune but, until then, never something I would have considered for an interior. They’d always felt more like my grandmother’s vibe. Yet in this context, they looked completely modern. And there, in the living room, were the famous Lalanne sheep—pieces that he and Delphine would go on to help catapult from art-world curiosities to modern-day collectibles.
In 2017, Reed and Delphine released a book, Houses That We Dreamt Of, featuring their homes in New York, the Hamptons, Paris, Palm Beach, and Connecticut. It became—and still is—one of my favorite design books. Reed and Delphine have exquisite taste, but what makes their homes so compelling is that they are extraordinary collectors. Their spaces are beautifully designed and decorated, yes, but they reflect something much deeper and more personal: passion, knowledge, and an unerring sense of what speaks to them.
The Krakoffs understand craft. They appreciate art across a range of periods. They love antiques, mid-century, and modern furniture—and they don’t care whether something is in vogue or not. They simply collect what they love and, over the years, have assembled one of the most impressive collections I’ve ever seen. As a couple, they share a perfectly tandem sense of beauty that spans the full spectrum of fine and decorative arts.
Timelessness, depth, and range are words that come to mind when I think of their homes.
MIRROR MIRROR
Lasting Impressions
Home becomes you. The impressions we make and take from the myriad of thresholds, both real and metaphorically, we cross each day outside come home to roost—literally.
What we make of our home, our surroundings, and our rituals becomes us. It reflects us and impresses not only those who come into our homes, but ourselves as well. Every decision—what we choose to serve a design function, or to collect, display, or even remove—becomes a quiet reflection of self and of all who inhabit a home. Over time, these small choices accumulate into something larger: a portrait of who we are.
The impressions we create in our spaces—and the ones they leave on us—become intertwined. Our homes absorb our gestures: the light we favor evidenced on the bleached woodwork; the impression left on the floor from a piano leg. The rhythm of our days becomes imprinted in the house’s bones, just as the nostalgia of home is imprinted in our psyche.
As stewards of home, we leave behind these traces of a lived life: the staircase banister worn smooth by a thousand hands, the faint outline where a favorite painting once hung. These aren’t flaws; they’re character traits— evidence we were there, part of the house’s life, our presence made permanent. A home, like a person, can hold memory and meaning too.
Maybe these are the real marks of a beautiful life: not the perfection of the spaces we build, but the impressions we make on the people who we invite into our worlds, the impressions we make for ourselves, and the lasting impression we leave behind of a well lived life.
Comments