#Zurich #InteriorDesign #Minimalist #Families
Jennifer Baccanello | Creative Director
When the client first reached out about their three-bedroom apartment in Zurich, they described it as “functional but flat.” They wanted a home that felt layered, warm, and quietly alive — a place that balanced the city’s crisp modernity with the softness of lived-in comfort. As a designer, that’s the kind of brief I love: vague enough to leave room for intuition, specific enough to anchor the work. Here’s how it unfolded.
The Starting Point: Listening and Looking
I always begin with a walkthrough, no laptop, no mood boards — just me, a notebook, and the space. The apartment had good bones: high ceilings, herringbone parquet floors, and tall windows framing views of Lake Zurich. But it felt static, like a showroom frozen in 2015. The client, a couple with two young kids, had outgrown the glossy, impersonal vibe. They wanted texture, pockets for play, and a kitchen that didn’t feel like a laboratory.
We spent an afternoon talking over coffee at their dining table (too large, they admitted — it dominated the room). They showed me photos of places they loved: a friend’s Copenhagen loft with mismatched chairs, and their grandparents’ farmhouse in Ticino with its worn stone floors. I scribbled words they used: “cozy but not cluttered,” “light but grounded,” “kid-friendly but not a daycare.”
The Plan: Respecting History, Making Room for Life
Zurich apartments, especially in older buildings like this one, can feel formal. The goal was to soften the edges without erasing its character. I kept the original floors but had them lightly sanded and treated with a matte oil finish to mute the orange undertones. The walls, once stark white, got a wash of warm plaster in a pale, earthy tone — something between oatmeal and sand.
The kitchen was the biggest shift. We ripped out the glossy black cabinetry and installed custom units in stained oak, with handles forged by a local metalworker — simple iron bars with a brushed finish. The countertop is honed Nero Marquina marble, its matte surface forgiving of fingerprints and wine spills. Open shelves replaced upper cabinets, stacked with the family’s mix of IKEA mugs and a few handmade bowls from a trip to Portugal. It’s a kitchen that says, Cook here, linger here.
Materials: The Swiss Connection
I leaned heavily on local materials. For the living room sofa, we used heavy linen from a mill near St. Gallen — durable enough for kids but soft to the touch. The rug is a vintage piece from a Bernese flea market, its faded blues and ochres adding warmth underfoot. Even the paint was sourced from a Swiss brand that uses low-VOC pigments. Sustainability wasn’t just a buzzword here; it was about rooting the design in place. One of my favorite details is the kids’ bedroom. We clad one wall in panels of Swiss pine, left unfinished so it’ll darken with age. The bunk beds were custom-built by a carpenter in Zug, with a ladder sturdy enough for daily climbs. It’s playful but not childish.
The Challenges: Working With Limits
Not everything went smoothly. The building’s heritage guidelines vetoed my plan to merge the living room and balcony with a floor-to-ceiling glass door. Instead, we installed slim, off-the-shelf steel-framed French doors, which added a clean line without the budget blowout. The client initially balked at the idea of a deep green ceiling in the primary bedroom (“Won’t it feel dark?”), but after testing a sample, they agreed to one wall — a compromise that still gave the room depth.
Storage was another hurdle. The family needed practical solutions that didn’t look like an afterthought. We built a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf along one hallway, with hidden cabinets at the bottom for toys and winter gear. The doors are plain oak, matching the kitchen cabinetry to keep things cohesive.
The Details: Where the Soul Lives
Design, for me, is in the small choices. The switch plates are matte bronze, ordered online after the client vetoed the cheaper plastic ones. The bathroom tiles are hand-glazed, each slightly uneven — a subtle contrast to the sleek marble countertops. In the entryway, a bench upholstered in shearling invites you to sit and kick off your shoes.
I sourced most of the furniture secondhand: a scuffed 1970s leather armchair from a Basel flea market, a chunky wool throw from a mill in Appenzell. The art is all Swiss artists, mostly affordable prints from a gallery in Kreis 5. The client’s daughter picked a painting of a cow with lopsided horns — it hangs in the kitchen, slightly crooked, which I decided not to fix.
The Outcome: A Home That Breathes
When the project wrapped, the client texted me a photo of their youngest son sprawled on the living room rug, building a Lego tower. The afternoon light was streaming in, and you could see a coffee stain on the sofa arm. That image, more than any polished “after” shot, captured what we’d aimed for: a space that feels alive, adaptable, and deeply connected to the life happening inside it.
Redesigning this apartment wasn’t about grand gestures. It was about paying attention — to the light through those tall windows, to the way a family actually lives, to the fact that kids will spill things and walls will scuff. Zurich’s beauty is in its precision, but a home? A home needs a little mess, a little warmth. You can’t design that, but you can make room for it.
