Design awards are funny little creatures. On paper, they’re about “excellence.” In real life, they’re also about
someone (usually with excellent cheekbones and an even better bookshelf) looking at your photos and thinking:
“Would I want to live here… and would I want to talk about it for the next hour?”

In 2017, one of those people was Deborah Needlemana major editorial tastemaker who helped shape how
Americans talk about home, style, and the quietly radical idea that “good taste” can be warm, usable, and a little
imperfect. She served as a guest judge for the 2017 Considered Design Awards, the annual home-and-garden
showcase run by Remodelista and Gardenista.

If you’re here because you saw the phrase “2017 Awards Judge: Deborah Needleman” and thought,
“Waitthat Deborah Needleman?” Yes. That Deborah Needleman. And if you’re here because you’re curious what a
Needleman-grade eye values, buckle up: we’re going to talk about what “considered design” really means, why she was
an ideal judge, and how you can design (and document) your work so it reads like a calm, confident ‘yes’not a
frantic, glitter-glued ‘please clap.’

Who Is Deborah Needleman (and Why Do Design People Listen)?

Deborah Needleman built a career by being the rare editor who can spot the difference between “new” and “meaningful,”
and then explain it in a way that makes you want to rearrange your living room and your priorities.

She’s been the founding editor-in-chief of domino (a magazine that helped make approachable, high-low home style feel
like a movement), helped shape lifestyle coverage at The Wall Street Journal (including a weekend lifestyle section),
and later led T: The New York Times Style Magazine. Along the way, she became known for a point of view that prizes
atmosphere over flash, and “lived-in” over “look-at-me.”

Editors like Needleman don’t just curate images; they curate standards. What gets celebrated becomes what gets copied.
That’s why her name on a judge list matters: it signals that the awards aren’t only looking for the biggest budget or the
loudest “after” photo. They’re looking for the projects that feel rightmaterials that make sense, spaces that function,
and choices that hold up when the trend cycle moves on to its next personality.

What Were the 2017 Considered Design Awards?

The Considered Design Awards are an annual contest run by Remodelista (home interiors, remodeling, architecture) and
Gardenista (outdoor spaces, gardens, landscape). The idea is simple: showcase standout projects from both amateurs and
professionals, across categories that span the home and the garden.

How the judging worked (in human terms)

Think of the contest as a two-step dance. First, people submit projects (photos plus a description). Then a set of guest
judges selects finalists in each category. After that, readers vote to determine winners. In other words: professionals help
narrow the field, and the public helps crown the champions. That mix tends to reward work that is both well executed and
emotionally legibleprojects that look good and make people feel something.

The categories (the short version)

In 2017, categories included home interiors (like kitchens, baths, living/dining spaces, and UK interior categories) and
garden/landscape categories (like best garden, best landscape, plus open-to-all outdoor categories such as curb appeal,
outdoor living, hardscape, and edible gardens). The point wasn’t to funnel everyone into one “perfect” aestheticit was to
recognize a range of spaces that still share one quality: intention.

Why Deborah Needleman Was a Natural Pick for the Jury

Awards judging is not just a “thumbs up/thumbs down” situation. It’s pattern recognitionacross hundreds or thousands of
imagescombined with the ability to articulate why one project rises above another. Needleman’s entire professional life has
been built on that muscle.

Her editorial approach has often celebrated what you might call quiet confidence: rooms with strong bones, honest
materials, and a sense that someone actually lives there (instead of a staged scene where no one is allowed to exhale).
That’s a perfect fit for an awards program literally branded around “considered” design.

The “considered” part: restraint, clarity, and the courage to stop

Considered design isn’t about being expensive. It’s about being deliberate. A considered kitchen doesn’t need fourteen
pendant lights; it needs the right light in the right place. A considered garden doesn’t need to become Versailles; it needs
to become a space you can inhabitwhere circulation makes sense, the planting feels coherent, and the hardscape supports the
way people actually move and gather.

Judges with an editorial background often reward projects that “read” well: a clear concept, consistent decisions, and details
that support the story instead of fighting it. It’s the difference between a playlist and a song dump. One has intention; the other
has vibes… and also three unrelated ukulele covers.

Needleman’s Design Lens: Magazines, Gardens, and Handmade Things

One reason Needleman resonates with both design professionals and normal humans with laundry is that her taste doesn’t stop at
“pretty.” It extends into how things are made, how they age, and how they fit into daily life.

In the Remodelista judge feature, she was described as stepping down from her leadership role at T in late 2016 and turning attention
toward researching crafts and writing about craftan arc that underscores a bigger theme in her work: admiration for the handmade, the
patient, the built-to-last.

What that means for judging a home or garden project

If you care about craft, you tend to notice the places where a project is bluffing. Veneer pretending to be stone. “Farmhouse”
décor pasted onto a house that doesn’t want to be farm anything. A garden path designed for photos but not for feet. A judge attuned
to making will reward the opposite: materials used honestly, transitions handled thoughtfully, and choices that feel rooted in place.

10 fast, telling details (the kind judges remember)

• Favorite shops skew toward craft and characterplaces known for objects with real presence, not just “new season” urgency.
• Recent home purchase was fabrictranslation: texture matters, and comfort isn’t a guilty pleasure.
• An odd job included a gardening columntranslation: she’s not just an interiors person; she thinks outdoors, too.
• Latest DIY involved dyeing fabric with plantstranslation: experimentation, patience, and process have value.
• A wish-list item was a consultationtranslation: even experts believe in asking for help (and paying for it).
• Favorite perfume included blending her owntranslation: she’s attentive to nuance, not just the headline note.
• Favorite thing to cook comes from the gardentranslation: living space and outdoor space are one ecosystem.
• Pets? “Do bees count?”translation: yes, and also your garden can be alive in more ways than one.
• Favorite art exhibit “blew me away”translation: she wants impact, not just polish.
• Favorite closet item is practical and stylishtranslation: she likes things you can actually move in.

If Deborah Were Scoring Your Entry, What Would She Notice First?

No judge can fully separate taste from training. But editorial judges tend to share a few habits:
they scan for clarity, coherence, and the emotional “temperature” of a space. They also look for evidence that the design solves a real
problembecause the best projects don’t just look like an upgrade; they feel like a life upgrade.

Likely “yes” signals

• One strong idea carried through consistently (materials, palette, layout, lighting).
• Transitions handled welldoorways, trim, thresholds, indoor/outdoor edges.
• Comfort with imperfectionspaces that feel lived, not frozen.
• Details with purposehardware, grout lines, paver choices, plant selection that supports maintenance reality.
• Atmospherethe intangible thing that makes you want to sit down and stay.

Likely “not yet” signals

• Trend pile-ups (you can’t do “coastal grandma,” “modern farmhouse,” and “Parisian minimalism” in one room without someone getting hurt).
• Design that ignores use (a dining table you can’t eat at is just a very expensive flat surface).
• Photos that hide the plan (if we can’t understand the layout, we can’t evaluate the intelligence of it).
• Over-styling (a room shouldn’t need 47 props to feel complete).

Three sample entries, judged in the spirit of “considered design”

1. Amateur kitchen refresh with modest budget
   A “considered” version of this wins by showing smart prioritization: lighting and layout first, durable surfaces second, pretty details last.
   Judges often respond to kitchens that feel calm and functionalwhere storage is solved and materials don’t pretend to be something they’re not.
   A well-shot “before/after” plus a short explanation of tradeoffs (“we kept the footprint, upgraded ventilation, chose classic tile”) reads as confident.
2. Professional bath with dramatic stone
   Stone can be gorgeous, but it can also become a personality that talks over everyone at the party. A Needleman-friendly bath would balance drama with restraint:
   clean lines, thoughtful lighting, and at least one tactile, human element (linen, wood, a handmade detail) so the room doesn’t feel like a luxury showroom.
3. Edible garden in a small yard
   An edible garden can win on joy: it proves the space is used, not just photographed. Judges love when hardscape supports real habitspaths that keep shoes dry,
   beds sized for reachable harvesting, and seating that invites you to stay. Bonus points if plant choices reflect climate and maintenance reality rather than wishful thinking.

How to Design (and Document) Like a Finalist

The judging process can only evaluate what you show and explain. Great work can get overlooked if it’s poorly photographed, vaguely described, or presented without context.
The goal is not to oversell; it’s to make the intelligence of the project obvious.

Before you shoot photos

• Tell the truth with light. Natural light beats heavy filters. If the space is moody, embrace mooddon’t “correct” it into blandness.
• Show the plan. Include angles that explain layout: how you enter, how you move, where you land.
• Photograph details. One or two close-upshardware, tile transitions, joinery, paver edgessignal care.
• Include a lived-in clue. A book on the table, a towel that looks used, a garden chair pulled out. Tiny evidence of real life adds credibility.

When you write the description

• Lead with the problem. “We had no storage and poor light.” Judges love a solvable story.
• Name your constraints. Budget, time, historic rules, family needsconstraints are where design gets interesting.
• Explain key decisions. Why this material, why this layout, why these plants.
• Keep it human. “Now we eat outside three nights a week” is better than “We optimized outdoor living.”

Common mistakes judges see (and how to avoid them)

• Too many “hero shots” with no supporting context. Add one layout-clarifying view.
• Overly generic language. Replace “timeless” with what you actually did that will last.
• Style without structure. If the bones aren’t solved, styling can’t save it.

What the 2017 Judge Moment Still Teaches (Even Now)

The best takeaway from the 2017 Considered Design Awards isn’t who won a category; it’s what the format rewarded:
projects that were both expertly narrowed (by judges) and broadly loved (by readers).

That combination tends to elevate work that’s legible, livable, and emotionally specific. It’s not just “good taste.”
It’s taste with a point of viewspaces that feel like they belong to someone, somewhere, for reasons.

Conclusion

Deborah Needleman as a 2017 awards judge makes perfect sense once you understand what those awards were really celebrating:
not novelty for its own sake, but design that feels intentional, humane, and rooted in craft.

If you’re designing a home or garden today, you don’t need to chase an aesthetic. You need to chase clarity:
What is this space for? What will it feel like to use it? What choices are you making that you’ll still love when the trend cycle
has moved on to its next shiny object?

Or, to put it in awards-judge terms: make something you’d happily explain to a thoughtful strangerbecause you just might have to.

Extra: “Judging Room” Experiences & Takeaways (500+ Words)

Let’s talk about the part no one posts on Instagram: the judging room energy. Even when judging happens remotely, there’s a similar rhythm.
You start with optimism“I can’t wait to see all this great work!”and then you realize you have, metaphorically, 4,600 photos staring back at you like
an army of beautifully styled throw pillows.

The first experience you have as a judge (or as someone imagining what a judge sees) is that good work is everywhere. Not “perfect” work.
But honest work: people solving awkward layouts, making small gardens feel like worlds, turning limited budgets into smart decisions. You become allergic to
snobbery very quickly, because the best projects aren’t always the most expensivethey’re the most specific.

The second experience is how fast your brain learns to spot patterns. A judge’s eye is basically a muscle trained by repetition:
after the fiftieth kitchen, you can feel whether the lighting plan was an afterthought. After the thirtieth patio, you can tell whether the “outdoor living”
claim means “we actually sit here” or “we placed a candle next to a chair once, for content.”

Here’s the funny part: the projects that rise often do it because they are easy to understand, not because they are simple. Complexity is welcome,
but it has to be organized. Think of it like a well-edited article (an editor would say this): you can have a lot to say, as long as you say it clearly.
In design terms, clarity looks like repeatable decisionsmaterials that relate to one another, a palette that doesn’t argue with itself, and details that support the
space’s purpose.

There’s also a very human experience in judging: debate. One judge responds to a project’s restraint; another loves its risk. One person is moved by a
garden that feeds a family; another is impressed by a technical hardscape solution. When judges talk, the best conversations usually aren’t “I like it / I don’t.”
They’re “This project solved X in a way that feels inevitable” or “This is ambitious, but does it still feel livable?”

If you’re submitting (or simply trying to design at a high level), here are the practical takeaways people learn from “judging room” logic:

• Make your thesis obvious. If your project is about light, show the light. If it’s about storage, show the storage working.
• Show at least one tradeoff. Judges trust projects where the designer admits constraints and explains priorities.
• Don’t hide the “before.” A believable transformation beats a mysterious reveal. Context makes skill visible.
• Include one human detail. A seat that invites, a path that’s practical, a corner where someone would actually linger.
• Stop when it’s done. Over-designing reads like insecurity. Restraint reads like confidence.

And finally: judges are people. They get tired, they get delighted, and they remember projects that feel like a real life made better.
If Deborah Needleman’s career teaches anything, it’s that style is not a performanceit’s a form of care. The projects that win, or simply endure,
tend to be the ones that treat design as a long game: craft, comfort, clarity, and a little room for joy (and, ideally, bees that count).

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