Designing From Memory: Q&A with Interior Designer Yoko Kloeden

For Yoko Kloeden, design has always been a matter of translation. After an early career in business and finance that took her across Asia, North America and Europe, Yoko settled in London and eventually founded her West London studio in 2016. Yoko Kloeden Design specialises in crafting mood-enhancing sanctuaries, blending Japanese aesthetics with natural, serene elements across architecture, interiors and garden design. Her projects have been featured in Elle Decoration, House Beautiful, and The Observer, and her work is informed by the same principle she applies to every client: understanding how someone lives before deciding how their home should look.

We speak to Yoko about the cultural and experiential forces that shape her practice, including two projects that illustrate her approach at its most distinct: Essence of Japan, a family home in Ealing shaped by her clients' deep connection to Japanese architecture, and Desert Moon, a residence whose terracotta tones and tactile materiality trace back to the clients' experiences at Burning Man. What emerges is a portrait of a designer who treats global influence as a deeper conversation about identity, memory, and how we inhabit the spaces we call home.

How do your own travel experiences inform your design approach? Are there specific destinations that have fundamentally shaped your design philosophy? 

How we grow up fundamentally shapes how we live in adulthood. One example is whether people take their shoes off at home, something second nature in Japan and many East Asian countries. In Japan, the genkan (entryway) is a designated zone, typically one step down from the main living space, where shoes are always removed. These ingrained behaviours often stay with people even when they move abroad. Living and travelling internationally helped me recognise these cultural norms and appreciate that people bring their daily rituals with them. This awareness influences our approach; we always begin by understanding how clients live in the most ordinary, everyday sense. We never assume.

Do you find clients are increasingly wanting their homes to reflect experiences and memories, rather than a particular style or trend? 

Yes, many of our clients have lived abroad or travelled extensively. I suspect it’s partly self-selecting; they may feel I understand their lifestyle and aspirations. If international experiences or roots are central to their identity, it’s only natural they want their home to reflect that.

When clients talk about places they’ve loved, what do you listen for beyond the obvious visual references? 

How people are raised has a lasting impact, especially when it comes to design finishes and layout. For example, clients from warmer climates often prefer tiled floors, even in the UK. We also see preferences for larger windows or certain light qualities based on past experiences. Our role is to interpret these innate cravings and advise how they’ll work in the British climate – then adapt the design so they remain emotionally resonant but practically comfortable. It’s rarely about decoration; it’s about supporting how they want to live.


How does your own heritage, culture and identity inform your design ethos?

I often reference Japanese design principles when creating calm, nurturing spaces. That’s because I’ve never experienced anything more peaceful than temple gardens in Kyoto, where I spent time growing up. These spaces aren't just visually calm; they affect the body on a physiological level. Those principles can be applied anywhere because they speak to something universal.

The clients behind Essence of Japan were inspired by Japanese aesthetics and their experiences of hotels in Nara. How did you work with them to capture that emotional connection to Japan while creating a practical family home in Ealing?

The brief was to incorporate as many Japanese architectural elements as possible. The main challenge was the wonky walls and floors typical of British houses. Many Japanese elements, like shoji screens or tatami, require precision. We spent a lot of time on-site to adapt the design sensitively within the existing structure.

Can you go into some more detail about how you balanced these authentic Japanese elements with modern British living requirements? 

The house, built in the 1950s by a notable British architect, was an ideal backdrop: minimal mouldings, floor-to-ceiling glazing, and a square layout rather than the typical long and narrow. Since mid-century British architecture was itself influenced by Japanese design, it allowed us to integrate Japanese elements in a way that felt natural and honest.


The clients' connection to Burning Man played a role in the design narrative for your project, Desert Moon. How did you translate something so experiential into a liveable home? 

Burning Man wasn’t part of the original brief, but it emerged during the process. The clients travel widely for work, and their early reference images reflected that. When they mentioned they'd be away for a month attending Burning Man, it all clicked. It aligned perfectly with their aesthetic. Design is often an evolving journey of discovery.

The desert tones, terracotta walls, and green marble speak to specific landscapes. Can you talk about how you selected materials that evoke place and memory? 

The colour palette came from the client. These warm, grounded tones kept reappearing in the references they shared. Our role was to translate those into honest, tactile materials that add depth and longevity to their space.

What advice would you give homeowners who want to incorporate global inspiration into their homes without it feeling themed or disjointed? 

I was that odd child who didn’t love Disneyland; I found it staged and inauthentic. I remember my dad tapping on fake rock walls on a Pirates of the Caribbean ride in Tokyo Disneyland. I suppose it was obvious I was his daughter, preferring genuine experiences to fantasy. My advice: stay true to the building’s architecture, especially if it’s historic. You can bring inspiration through finishes, materials, or layout, but as long as the core structure is respected, the space will feel grounded, not contrived.

How can people begin translating their own travel memories into their interiors in a meaningful way?

If a place has moved you, try to understand why. Was it the colours, the light, the textures, or a daily ritual? It might be a forest path or a bathhouse moment. Identify what made it meaningful to you and let your design choices flow from that understanding.

What Yoko's work makes clear is that the most resonant interiors are rarely about style; they are about story. The places we have lived in, travelled through, and been moved by leave traces that shape not just our memories but our instincts: the quality of light we seek out, the materials we reach for, the rituals we quietly carry from one home to the next.  

Think back to a place that has stayed with you: a room, a landscape, a particular quality of morning light. Chances are, it has more to say about your home than you realise. Why not use your own travel memories to inspire your home design?

For more inspiration, read these blogs: 

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