Why my work gets compared to Barbie, Jayne Mansfield, I Dream of Jeannie… and even Disneyland!

Over the years, I’ve heard it all:

“It looks like Barbie’s dream house!"

“It reminds me of Jayne Mansfield’s Pink Palace.”

“It feels like I'm at Disneyland. You need some rides!” “It’s like we have been transported to the inside of the bottle from I Dream of Jeannie!”

With growth and maturity, I’ve learned to embrace these comparisons. After all, art — for the viewer/participant — can be more about personal resonance than the artist’s intentions, and there are certainly worse things to be compared to than some of the most celebrated designs in history. I’m grateful that people are even talking about my work — that it sparks conversation, interpretation, joy, awe, curiosity, and, at times, even controversy. These different outlooks continue to fascinate me.

However, I’ve come to realise there’s a common thread running through these comparisons — California.

All of these icons — Barbie, Jayne Mansfield, I Dream of Jeannie, Disneyland — were born from that unmistakable California love. And so was I. Growing up in Northern California through the late ’70s, ’80s, and into the ’90s, I absorbed those worlds without entirely realising it — the colours, the optimism, the sense that anything is possible. Those influences became part of my subconscious long before I ever created a room of my own. My world was filled with mid-century modern details, shagadelic carpets, technicolour hues, trips to Disneyland, Barbie fashion shows, and endless reruns of I Dream of Jeannie — a mix of fantasy, fun, and fearless imagination that has never left me.

Interior of Jeannie's bottle from the American TV I Dream of Jeannie 1965-1970

I even remember, long before I ever started work on The Pink House aka Eaton House, a partner comparing me to Jayne Mansfield. There wasn’t Google back then, but I saw a photo and was slightly confused — she was a blonde bombshell, and I had dark hair and features. But I suppose it wasn’t about appearance at all; it was about a shared, unspoken devotion to the celebration of femininity — that radiant, confident, playful, self-expressive energy that comes from within. The spirit and heart of a California girl.

My dad’s cousin Jan — who was more like an aunt to me — had a home that was very much a Northern California version of that glamorous aesthetic, complete with a pink and gold bathroom. I didn’t actually remember her bathroom until my cousin John pointed it out after seeing The Pink Bedroom at Eaton House for the first time, “Don’t you remember my mom’s pink and gold bathroom?!” he said on one of my visits home, as we drove along the California coast.

For as long as I can remember, she had cancer — but I never thought of her as ill, because I never saw her that way. She took such pride in her appearance — always impeccably dressed, her modest beehive perfectly styled, makeup flawless, and a beautiful, warm smile on her face. We rarely went into her room, where the pink and gold bathroom was tucked away. It was her sanctuary — a place to rest when her illness got the better of her and she couldn’t face the world. Maybe that’s why I can’t fully recall it, or maybe I was simply too young for it to properly register in my conscious mind.

She passed away when I was around nine or ten. I remember the impact of her death more than her pink and gold bathroom. Still, it must have been embedded somewhere deep down. She was such a classy woman with impeccable taste — her home was made for hosting parties — and she definitely inspired, and continues to inspire me, in ways I can now fully recognise.

The Pink Bedroom at The Pink House, Eaton House Studio, Essex

When I first took on the project of The Pink House, I sought mentorship from fellow pink lover and Agent Provocateur sister Alison Hay to help shape The Pink Bedroom. Although Alison was British (and originally from Essex), she had lived in LA for many years. Her mix of impeccable glamour and creative boldness resonated with me and I knew she was the perfect person to help me sort out what started as a complete mess. We both love nothing more than turning chaos into magic --- and that is exactly what we did.

Jayne Mansfield was also an inspiration for the brand we both worked for in the late ’90s and early '00s. Looking back now — I’m pretty sure Jayne herself was channelling us to create this room, lol.

Jayne Mansfield in her pink & gold bathroom from a Life Magazine shoot by photographer Allan Grant

So while I knew who Jayne Mansfield was as a person, I had no idea about her Pink Palace until people began comparing The Pink Bedroom at Eaton House to her iconic Los Angeles home. When I finally looked it up, I was amazed by the similarities. It made me realise that, decades later, some of those same idealistic Californian design influences had most definitely seeped into my subconscious — not just the love of pink, but the love of love.

After discovering Jayne’s pink and gold bathroom of dreams, I leaned into the Jayne Mansfield comparison and originally named The Pink Bedroom at Eaton House Studio “The Mansfield Suite,” in her honour. That name was quickly overridden by everyone simply calling it “THE Pink Bedroom” — and that was okay, because it felt right too. What I’ve found with the spaces I’ve created is that sometimes you choose the name, and sometimes the name chooses you.

One of the other things that really struck me about Jayne’s house when I saw it for the first time was the incredible ironwork, particularly the golden iron gates that were part of the interior. I’ve always been low-key obsessed with ironwork — especially from the '60s and 70s. Again, my second cousin Jan had a lot of it in her unique home. As a teen, back in California, I had thrifted a collection of iron pieces to decorate my future home, but they were far too heavy to bring with me when I moved to London in the late ’90s, so sadly, they had to be left behind.

Jayne Mansfield's Pink Palace Interior shoot from Life Magazine by photographer Allan Grant

Decades later, when I arrived in Marrakech and had the opportunity to work with a generationally talented blacksmith, I knew I needed my own version of Jayne's Pink Palace gates as part of Starseed House.

Artisan Abdelmounaim not only created them for me, but he also gifted me a treasured latch that his dad made back in the 1970s. He had been holding onto it since his father’s passing. Over time, we developed a friendship built on mutual respect as artists. When the gates were finished, he told me — through translation, since we don't speak the same language — that he knew he wanted me to have the latch to complete them, because it was going to the right home. I was blown away. As someone who has also lost my father, that gesture touched me deeply. That latch will always be cherished, and I’m so honoured that a piece of his family history now lives within something as divine as Starseed House.

Gifted vintage iron latch at Starseed House, Marrakech

Growing up, our mom took us to the original Disneyland in California nearly every single year until I was 18 — the one built from Walt Disney’s own vision, during a time before it became the controversial commercial empire it is today. My very first visit was in a pram aka stroller. I don’t remember those early trips consciously, but they were certainly imprinted on my subconscious. That sense of wonder, colour, sensory, magic, and “imagineering,” as they call it — the merging of fantasy and reality — has always lived inside me.

My first conscious memory from those trips is being completely mesmerised by the indoor boat ride It’s a Small World. I don’t know if it’s a coincidence or not, but that experience seems to have set the tone for my entire life. The message of that ride — we might come from different places but we are all connected — has always stayed with me. I’ve always felt destined to explore beyond my own borders: to see the world through that same lens of unity, and to create spaces that evoke a shared sense of joy, wonder, belonging, and togetherness.

I’ve lived on three continents so far and travelled to most of the countries I saw represented on that ride. If only that little girl on that boat ride knew what was in store for her — that her wonder, curiosity, creativity, and openness to the world would one day lead her to create spaces that awaken a sense of belonging, hope and inspiration in others.

And as for Barbie — like most little girls growing up in the ’80s, I had them. I wasn’t obsessed with them in the way people might assume, though. I enjoyed dressing them up and creating elaborate fashion shows for my entire family as holiday entertainment. But my true passion, even as a child, was music. I was more interested in playing records than playing with toys. However, when I was asked by BBC and ITV to host segments for the launch of the biggest film of 2023, Barbie, I created an intentional Barbie room — a total Barbiecore dream that I also knew our guests booking The Pink House would enjoy.

The Barbicore Room at The Pink House, Essex

At the end of the day, my imagination is my biggest inspiration — but so are people, places, experiences, music, opportunities, both subconscious and conscious memories, and, of course, my Indigenous Californian roots. Inspiration is everywhere. My soul is here for the work that I do. It is my purpose, my gift — my destiny — shaped by soundtracks, sunshine, pain and resilience, the love and wisdom of my elders, and the belief that magic can be built with your own two hands.

As my work evolves — from The Pink House to Starseed House and beyond — that deep California soul meets the Moroccan dream, shaped by the nostalgia of noughties London and the flamboyant, camp glamour of Essex, England. That blend is the essence that will always stay with me. Wherever I am in the world, or whatever I’m working on, I’ll always be using that compass — guided by divine feminine energy — to create work that feels alive, immersive, and made with love.