What do architects do, anyway?

When I tell people I'm an architect the reaction is almost always the same. Eyes wide. "Oh wow, that's so cool!" And then one of three things happens.

Some people share a project story that got bigger than they planned - in time, in cost, in general overwhelm. It happens more than you'd think. And honestly? It's usually nobody's fault. These things are just harder than they look on television.

Some people talk about working with a decorator. They spent real money on a room, it looks great, but it doesn't quite feel like them. Like it was designed for a version of their life they don't actually live.

And some people - my personal favorites - lean in and say "okay but my kitchen layout makes absolutely no sense and nobody can tell me why."

What almost nobody ever says is, “I've been meaning to call an architect.” Because somewhere along the way we became the people you hire when you're doing something big and expensive and formal. Not the person you call when your kitchen doesn't work.

I've been an architect for a very long time and I'm still explaining it at dinner parties. Which, now that I think about it, might be part of the problem.

So let me try my best to explain.

Who are these people anyway?

Most people don't hire us because they genuinely don't think they need to.

And honestly? I understand why.

Between renovation television making everything look manageable and the general assumption that a good contractor can figure it out, we've become easy to skip. Add to that the reputation - architects aren't exactly known for being approachable or budget-conscious - and the mental image most people have is somewhere between an untouchable celebrity and an unnecessary middleman. We're for museums and courthouses and the person down the street building something truly impressive. Not for your kitchen. Not for your addition. Definitely not for something you could probably just handle yourself.

And then there's the money conversation. The fear that hiring an architect means a percentage of your total budget, a timeline that keeps expanding, and a set of drawings your contractor will spend half the project quietly interpreting. That fear didn't come from nowhere. The traditional model of architecture wasn't really designed with everyday projects in mind - it was designed for large, complex, expensive ones. Which means most people never get access to the thinking that could actually help them.

So they skip it. They find a contractor, pull some inspiration from Pinterest, and figure it out as they go. And it starts out fine - exciting, even. You've got a vision, you've got momentum, and how hard can it really be?

And then the quotes come in higher than expected. And the contractor asks a question you don't know the answer to. And the cabinet you fell in love with doesn't actually fit the way you imagined. And someone mentions a load-bearing wall at exactly the wrong moment. And suddenly the project that felt so clear in your head is a series of decisions coming at you faster than you can research them, with real money on the line every single time.

What nobody tells you is that this is just what building and renovation actually look like without someone thinking spatially from the start.

That's the gap I'm trying to close.

What architects actually do.

So let me show you what actually happens when you bring an architect in. When I meet a client for the first time - whether we're standing in their space or I'm reading through their intake form - something kicks on that I can only describe as thirty-two browser tabs opening simultaneously.

I'm listening to what you're saying and picking up on everything around it. What you love about where you are now. What's been quietly on your mind about your space. What you're hoping this project becomes - and whether that lines up with everything else on the table. You show me three inspiration images you love and I'm already figuring out if they can actually live together and what that means for the project we're building.

Underneath all of that a technical layer is just running. Everything is connected to everything else. One change ripples into five considerations, those five lead to three more, and I'm tracking how they all relate in real time - which solutions are realistic, which ones open something unexpected, and where the tradeoffs are hiding.

Most of it happens before I've said a word. And that work - all thirty-two tabs of it - is usually what holds the whole thing together.

The dinner party.

I think about food a lot. Probably too much. Stay with me.

The best way I know how to explain a building project is to think about pulling off a really spectacular meal. A holiday dinner, a wedding reception, a milestone birthday - the kind of gathering where every detail has to land just right and you want it to feel effortless for everyone at the table. What most people don't realize until they're in the middle of it is just how many people it takes to pull that off - and how much coordination goes into making it look easy.

Here's who's in the kitchen:

• The full-service architect - the event planner AND head chef combined. Designs the entire experience and manages every single person in this list through to the end. The most comprehensive option - and for the right project, absolutely the right call.

• The contractor - the catering manager. Coordinates the kitchen, the front of house, the timeline, and every moving part in between. The person who makes sure the whole event actually happens. Absolutely indispensable.

• The electrician, plumber and HVAC team - the specialty line cooks. The sauce station, the pastry station, the grill. Each one owns their domain completely and executes it brilliantly. The meal doesn't happen without them.

• The structural engineer - the venue manager. Doesn't design the menu or cook the food, but nothing happens without them. Makes sure the space can handle what everyone else is trying to do, and signs off before a single burner gets turned on.

• The interior designer - the food, flatware and table stylist. Makes everything look as incredible as it tastes. A completely different craft and a genuine art form.

• The building department - the health inspector. Didn't cook anything, isn't coming to the party, has never tasted the food. Has to approve everything before you open the doors anyway.

• The HOA - the restaurant critic who hasn't eaten here, didn't see the kitchen, but has very strong opinions about the menu and the authority to print them. You may or may not have one, but if you do have one I bet you’re already aware of them.

Here's what I'm proposing: you don't need a full time head chef on staff. What you need is a guest head chef - someone who helps design the whole meal, gets the kitchen organized, makes sure everyone knows the menu, and then hands it back to you to execute. You get the expertise without the overhead. And the feast comes together exactly the way it should.

What this means for you.

Here's the honest truth about architecture: for a long time the options felt pretty much all or nothing. Hire the full package - event planner and head chef combined - or skip it entirely and figure it out as you go. For genuinely complex projects the full package is exactly right. But for most everyday projects that gap in the middle - the place where you need real expertise without the full production - has always been there. Architects just aren't always known for being the best at telling you about it.*

Which brings me back to the kitchen.

What most people actually need is a really good recipe and a guest head chef who knows how to write one. Someone who designs the whole meal, makes sure all of the courses work beautifully together, and then hands it back to your catering manager to execute. You get the creative thinking and the expertise without the full event planning overhead. And the feast comes together exactly the way it should.

That's what I'm offering. A clear plan before anyone turns on the stove. The confidence to take it from there, make your own calls, do your own shopping, and cook on your own terms. And if something comes up mid-recipe and you want a second opinion - because something always comes up - I'm genuinely happy to help. No pressure either way.

One more thing worth knowing: every chef has a specialty. Mine happen to be two very specific ones - floor plans, which I think of as the food science of architecture, the why underneath everything that makes a space actually work - and classical architectural detail, which is the culinary equivalent of French technique. Rigorous, obsessive, and deeply satisfying to get exactly right. Not every meal needs either. But when they matter, they really matter. More on that soon.

Go cook. I mean it. Just get a recipe first so you know WHAT you’re cooking. I've seen enough events without a recipe to say with complete confidence - you really do want one.

*Solo architects and design-build firms with a real architect at the helm are doing exactly this kind of work too - they're just harder to find, and when you're hiring one person or a small design-build team, personality fit matters as much as portfolio. More on how to find the right one for you - coming soon to Field Notes.

So, now what?

Now you know what architects do. At least this one.

And if any part of this resonated - the chaos, the browser tabs, the event planning, the recipes - then you probably already know whether you need one.

I'm here when you're ready to start planning the meal.