In Korea, folktales don’t begin with “Once upon a time.” They begin, “Back when tigers used to smoke”—a phrase invoking an impossibly distant past when anything could happen. The phrase comes to life the moment you step inside the 1820s former farmhouse in New York’s historic Hudson Valley that interior designer Young Huh calls home. Open the door and sure enough there’s a classic center hall with wide-plank floors and a stair with a polished wood banister.
But here, the foyer and staircase are covered in a misty sunrise-pink wallpaper painted in a fantastic dreamscape of Korean emblems—white cranes, twisted pines, craggy mountains—as well as a design that depicts a scholar’s studio with shelves laden with books, vessels, and most memorably, a tiger and a rabbit sitting side by side, serenely puffing on long-stemmed pipes. (Both patterns are part of Huh’s new collaboration with Fromental.)
“People ask me, is that a tiger and a rabbit smoking weed?” Huh says, laughing. Tigers, she explains, are central to Korean culture, representing guardian spirits and courage, while rabbits symbolize cleverness and good fortune. As for the fearless use of pink, it’s a deeply significant hue in the country’s culture (not to mention one of Huh’s personal favorites).
It’s an entrance that doubles as a declaration. Known for creating unabashedly romantic rooms with a backbone of European tradition, the Korean American designer has planted her own flag right at the front door, delivered with a wink of subversion. “As an Asian American moving to this area, I didn’t want to present myself as anyone but me.”
The Michigan native and her attorney husband, Joon, had spent more than 15 years as suburban commuters in Scarsdale, New York. But when their youngest child left for college, they began a multiyear transition toward their next chapter. They moved to an apartment in Manhattan and started exploring New York’s Hudson Valley, having been introduced to the area’s charms by Huh’s friend, fellow AD100 designer Sheila Bridges, a longtime homeowner in the area.
The property they found in early 2022—sitting on more than 100 acres of fields, forest, and a large pond with a waterfall—was, to use one of Huh’s favorite words, “dreamy.” The house itself, though, not so much. “It was really poky,” Huh admits. The 19th-century structure had been expanded in two directions during the 1980s with little consideration for proportion or symmetry, leaving “half the house covered in brick, half in wood” and window rhythms that were “crazy,” as the designer puts it. But Joon had faith in his wife. “He was like, ‘I know you can fix this!’ ” she says.
Huh began drawing up plans, starting just as she does for her clients: with the big picture. “I ask, what’s the vibe? How will the rooms be used? How will it express your truest emotional self?” That tapping of emotion is at the core of Huh’s design philosophy—indeed, her forthcoming book from Rizzoli is titled A Mood, a Thought, a Feeling. “I’ve always been a romantic,” she admits. Her fantasies of a country house were shaped by a lifetime of influences: her grandparents’ house and rose garden in Seoul, surrounded by a stone wall; her childhood bookworm devotion to Jane Eyre; her adolescent crush on the Merchant Ivory film A Room with a View; obsessive study, as a nascent designer, of Bunny Williams’s An Affair with a House. “And do you know that movie Kiki’s Delivery Service?” she laughs, referring to the classic anime film by Hayao Miyazaki. “I watched that with my kids and thought it was soooo gorgeous!”
Two of the biggest challenges were the long, low-ceilinged library and kitchen, both part of the house’s ’80s additions. Huh’s transformative move in the kitchen was the addition of a soaring glass atrium, adding light, dimension, and a dramatic focal point to the characterless space. Then, she combined two styles of cabinetry (sleek Italian lacquer and traditional walnut millwork) and an extra-long farmhouse-style table to produce “the feeling of modernity but also the coziness of a country kitchen,” she explains. For the library, Huh solved the cavernous aspect of the room by dividing the space into zones separated by a pool table. She leaned further into modernity here, incorporating white oak paneling and 20th-century furniture.
Upstairs in her and Joon’s bedroom, Huh unleashed a combination in mossy avocado green that she had fantasized about for years: Soane Britain acanthus leaf print wallpaper, Madeleine Castaing’s Louisianne fabric, and a rug by La Manufacture Cogolin. “It’s a scheme I had kept just for me,” she confides. Still, her favorite space in the whole house may well be the sunroom. The indoor-outdoor oasis channels Bunny Williams’s legendary conservatory—though it wasn’t always thus. “Believe it or not, there used to be a giant hot tub right here!” she says.
The same determination that transformed this house has fueled another passion project: the Asian American Pacific Islander Design Alliance (AAPIDA), which Huh helped found in 2022. The nonprofit, now with eight regional chapters and a growing mentorship program, reflects Huh’s belief that design is as much about community as beauty. “Young has this rare mix of grace and steely resolve,” says cofounder and fellow designer Jessica Davis of Atelier Davis. “She leads with kindness, but when she decides something matters, she doesn’t stop until it’s right.”
For Huh, this house is a canvas for both heritage and aspiration. Future plans include adding a pool and converting the old barn into a guesthouse. But the dream that makes her eyes sparkle? “On the highest point of the property I would love to build a hanok”—a traditional Korean house with a central courtyard, she explains—“entirely enclosed in glass.”
In this place where two worlds meet, Young Huh is just getting started.
This story appears in the AD100 issue. Never miss a story when you subscribe to AD.
