Interview transcript 03 — Arjun and Meera Chandrasekaran
Date: 2026-06-11
Interviewer: Research facilitator (on behalf of Everyday Living Interiors)
Participants: Arjun Chandrasekaran (29) and Meera Chandrasekaran (27)
Format: Joint couple interview, in-person
Duration: 19 minutes
Artefact: 18x18cm, 300g printed card — Everyday Living Interiors flyer
Introduction
Interviewer: Thank you both for taking the time to speak with me. I'm conducting research on behalf of a local business, and I'd like to get your honest reaction to a piece of marketing material — a printed card that would arrive in your letterbox. There are no right or wrong answers. I'm interested in your genuine, instinctive response — including if that response is "I'd throw this away." Critical feedback is just as valuable as positive feedback. The conversation should take about fifteen to twenty minutes. Shall we begin?
Arjun: Sure, yeah. Go ahead.
Meera: Yes, happy to help.
Section 1: Context setting
Interviewer: Great. Let me start with something simple. When post arrives in your letterbox, what do you do with it? Walk me through your sorting process — what gets opened, what gets binned, and what determines which pile something lands in.
Arjun: So — honestly? I set up the paper recycling bin right next to the front door for exactly this reason. I grab everything from the letterbox downstairs, walk up, and most of it goes straight in. We get so many flyers. Domino's, the Funda magazine, some energy company thing every other week. I don't even look at them anymore.
Meera: He literally does not look. He does this thing where he fans it out like cards and just — [mimes sweeping motion] — into the bin. I sometimes pull things out after because what if there's something from the gemeente?
Arjun: Municipality letters look different. White envelope, blue logo. Those I open. Everything else —
Meera: Everything glossy dies.
Arjun: Basically, yes.
Interviewer: How quickly does this happen? Are you sorting at the letterbox downstairs, or upstairs?
Arjun: Upstairs. I grab the whole stack and bring it up. The sorting takes maybe ten seconds. It's mostly a bin-or-not-bin decision.
Interviewer: When was the last time a flyer or card actually caught your attention?
Meera: [thinks] There was one from a new Indian grocery store in Amstelveen. Someone in Arjun's office WhatsApp group shared it, actually, and then I also found the same flyer in the post. That was maybe three months ago?
Arjun: That one I remember because Meera pulled it out of the bin and said "see, this is why you shouldn't throw everything away." But honestly, the WhatsApp message is what made me notice it. The flyer by itself — I would have binned it.
Interviewer: What about that flyer worked?
Meera: It had pictures of dal and specific brands from India. Like, actual brands I recognised. That felt personal. Not generic.
Interviewer: Understood. Let me shift to your home for a moment. How do you feel about your flat right now — your space? If you had to describe your relationship with it in one word, what would that be?
Meera: [long pause] "Temporary." Even though it's been eighteen months.
Arjun: I would say "functional." It works. Everything works.
Meera: That's the problem, na? It works. But it doesn't feel like anything. My cousin just did up her flat in Bangalore — she sent me a video — and it has personality. Ours has... IKEA.
Arjun: IKEA is fine. IKEA is practical.
Meera: IKEA is fine for the first six months. Then it starts feeling like you're living in a showroom that nobody curated.
Interviewer: Is there anything about your space you'd like to change but haven't?
Meera: Everything above eye level. The walls. We have not put up a single thing on any wall in eighteen months. My mother comments on it every Sunday on video call. She says it looks like a hospital.
Arjun: [slight laugh] She says that.
Meera: She does! And she's right. Even at home in Bangalore, even in a small flat, you have something. A photo. A Ganesha. A mirror with a nice frame. We have nothing.
Arjun: The issue is the tenancy agreement. It says we can't drill. Or — I think it says that. I read it once when we signed it and I remember something about walls.
Meera: You "think" it says that. You haven't checked since.
Arjun: I haven't checked because checking means deciding, and deciding means either spending money or finding out we can't do anything anyway.
Interviewer: What's stopping you — budget, time, not knowing where to start?
Meera: All three. But mostly not knowing where to start. I have — honestly, I probably have three hundred saved posts on Instagram of beautiful rooms. But I don't know how to go from that to this. [gestures around] I don't know the shops here. I don't know what's allowed. I don't know what things cost. In Bangalore my mother would just call someone and they'd come and do it.
Arjun: And the budget thing is real. We don't know how long we're staying. If we get sent back in two years, then every euro we put into this flat is —
Meera: — is making our life nicer for two years? Is that so bad?
Arjun: [pause] I'm not saying it's bad. I'm saying it's a factor.
Section 2: The letterbox moment
Interviewer: I want you to imagine something. It's a normal weekday. You collect your post from the letterbox downstairs. Among the usual items — maybe some bills, a supermarket flyer, a municipality letter — there's something slightly different. It's a square card, about eighteen centimetres by eighteen centimetres — roughly the size of a large coaster. It's noticeably thick and heavy — three hundred grams, which is closer to cardboard than paper. It's white.
You turn it over in your hands. On one side, you see large, elegant black serif text that reads:
Everyday Living Interiors
Below that, in smaller text: by Sara de Abreu
In the bottom-left corner, there are small labels — "me," "social," "email," "web" — with the email address sara@everydaylivinginteriors.com. In the bottom-right corner: Holland-Park . Diemen, with Diemen in bold.
That's the front. Nothing else. No images, no colours, no tagline. Just the name, the person, and the location.
[Pause]
Meera: [immediately] Wait, I would actually pick that up. Just because of the weight. Everything else in the letterbox is like — tissue paper. This would feel different in my hand.
Arjun: Yeah, it would survive the initial sort because it doesn't feel like junk mail. It feels like a... like a wedding invitation almost? Something intentional.
Meera: "Everyday Living Interiors." Okay. So this is an interior design person.
Arjun: "By Sara de Abreu" — so it's one person. Not a company.
Meera: That's interesting. [to Arjun] I'd flip it over.
Arjun: I... might also flip it over. Only because the front has so little on it that I'd want to know what it actually is.
Interviewer: Good. Now you flip it over. The back has one line of text, also in black serif:
Flexible interior design services for real homes and real budgets.
Below that, centred, a QR code.
That's the entire card. Take a moment — what's going through your mind?
Meera: [softly] "Real homes and real budgets." Okay, that's — that's speaking to me a little bit. Because whenever I think "interior design," I think of those beautiful Amsterdam canal houses with the herringbone floors and the — I don't know — five-thousand-euro sofas. And I think, that's not us. But "real homes and real budgets" — that sounds like maybe it could be for someone like us? I don't know.
Arjun: I would scan the QR code.
Meera: You would?
Arjun: Yeah. It's a QR code. I scan QR codes. It takes two seconds. I'd scan it just to see the website and then decide if it's relevant.
Meera: See, and I would probably just stare at the card for a while and then put it on the kitchen counter.
Arjun: To be clear, scanning the QR code is not the same as being interested. I scan QR codes at restaurants just to see the menu even if I'm not hungry.
Interviewer: [to both] Did you notice the weight and thickness of the card? Did that register?
Meera: One hundred percent. That's what stopped me from binning it. Paper flyers go in the bin. This feels like someone invested in it. Like it matters to them.
Arjun: I agree. The physical quality signals something. Whether it signals "this is worth my time" or "this person is spending too much on marketing" — I'm not sure yet. But it survives the bin.
Section 3: Comprehension and first impressions
Interviewer: Based on what you've just seen — both sides — what do you think this is? Describe it to me as if I hadn't seen it.
Meera: It's a business card — a big business card — from a woman who does interior design. She's local, she's in our neighbourhood. She's trying to say she's not one of those expensive, intimidating designers. She's for normal people.
Arjun: I'd describe it slightly differently. It's a marketing card from an interior design service based in Holland Park. Sole proprietor — one person named Sara. The card is deliberately minimal, which suggests she's going for a premium or sophisticated brand image. But the tagline on the back tries to counter that by saying "real homes, real budgets."
Interviewer: What kind of service do you think this person offers?
Meera: I think she'd come to your home and help you figure out what to do with it. Like a consultation? Maybe help you pick colours, furniture, arrange things?
Arjun: I'd assume full interior design — mood boards, sourcing, the whole thing. And that means expensive.
Meera: You're assuming.
Arjun: The card doesn't tell me otherwise. There's no price. No "starting from." No package description. So my brain fills in the gap with "probably more than we'd spend."
Interviewer: Who do you think it's aimed at?
Meera: Young professionals? People who just moved in? Maybe expats like us, actually — people who don't know the Dutch market.
Arjun: I think it's aimed at people with more money than us. The minimalism, the serif font — it feels like it's for someone who already cares about design and has the budget to match.
Meera: Or maybe it's for people who want to care about design but don't know how to start. That's literally me.
Interviewer: The front of the card shows very little — just the brand name, a person's name, and "Holland-Park . Diemen." What does that minimalism say to you? Does it create intrigue, or does it feel like something is missing?
Arjun: Both. It creates intrigue because I flipped the card, which means the minimalism worked as a hook. But it also feels like something is missing because after flipping, I still don't know what this costs or what exactly the service includes. The QR code is doing all the heavy lifting.
Meera: For me, the minimalism feels... confident. Like she doesn't need to shout. In India, every flyer has twenty things on it — photos, prices, three phone numbers, a WhatsApp icon, "call now for 20% off." This is the opposite. It feels European in a good way. But —
Arjun: But?
Meera: But it also feels a tiny bit cold. If there was one small image — even just a texture, or a colour, or a tiny photo of a room — I think I would feel more. Right now it's all head, no heart.
Interviewer: Does the name "Everyday Living Interiors" tell you anything about the service?
Meera: "Everyday Living" is nice. It says "this is not special-occasion design." It's for your regular life. I like that.
Arjun: It's clear. I know what category it's in. Whether "everyday" means affordable or just means "residential" — that's ambiguous. But the name works.
Interviewer: Does "by Sara de Abreu" — a personal name — add or subtract anything?
Meera: It adds. Definitely adds. It makes it feel like a person, not a business. I could WhatsApp this person. I could talk to her. It's not some faceless company.
Arjun: I'm neutral on it. A name is a name. It doesn't tell me about her qualifications or experience.
Meera: Not everything needs a LinkedIn profile, Arjun.
Arjun: [half-smiles] I'm just saying — a name builds trust with Meera. For me, a portfolio builds trust.
Interviewer: "Holland-Park . Diemen" — you live in this neighbourhood. Does seeing that on a card in your letterbox change anything for you?
Meera: Yes! This is the first thing I noticed. Well, after the weight. "Holland Park" — that's literally where we live. We never get anything that says Holland Park. Everything says Amsterdam, or Diemen, but nobody says Holland Park. It felt... specific. Like she knows we're here.
Arjun: It's a good signal. It tells me the service is local, which means two things: lower travel cost, and she probably knows the building layouts. These apartments are all the same — she's probably been inside one before.
Interviewer: Would you react differently if it just said "Amsterdam" or had no location at all?
Arjun: If it said Amsterdam, I would have binned it. Amsterdam is generic. It doesn't feel local.
Meera: Same. "Amsterdam" would make me think she's based in the city centre somewhere fancy. "Holland Park" makes me think she might live in the next building.
Interviewer: Does "Holland Park" specifically mean anything to you, versus "Diemen" or "Diemen-Zuid"?
Arjun: "Holland Park" is what everyone our age calls it. "Diemen-Zuid" is the metro station. "Diemen" is what the municipality letters say. "Holland Park" is the neighbourhood name that feels real to us.
Meera: My friends all say "we live in Holland Park." Nobody says "I live in Diemen-Zuid." So yes — Holland Park feels right.
Section 4: Relevance and resonance
Interviewer: "Flexible interior design services for real homes and real budgets." That's the only description on the card. What does that line say to you? Does it speak to your situation?
Meera: "Real homes" — yes. Because our home is real. It's not a canal house, it's not a villa, it's a rented two-bedroom with IKEA everything. And "real budgets" — that's saying she knows we're not rich. I think. Or at least that she doesn't expect us to be.
Arjun: "Real budgets" is doing a lot of work without giving me any information. It sounds reassuring, but reassuring about what? Real could mean a hundred euros or a thousand euros. I don't know if our real budget is her real budget.
Meera: "Flexible" — I think that's interesting. It suggests you can choose how much or how little. Like maybe you don't have to commit to a full redesign. Maybe she can just come for an hour and say "move that shelf, buy this lamp, hang something here."
Arjun: If that's what flexible means, then yes, that would be relevant to us. But "flexible" could also mean "I'll adapt my pricing to whatever you can pay," which is a red flag because it usually means expensive.
Interviewer: When you hear "interior design," what is your honest first reaction? Is it something you'd ever consider for yourself?
Arjun: Honest reaction? It's for people who own their homes. People with renovation budgets. Not for two expats in a rented apartment who might leave in two years.
Meera: My honest reaction is... it's for people who already know what they want and just need someone to execute it. And I don't know what I want. I know what I don't want — I don't want bare white walls and IKEA flat-pack everything. But I can't articulate the positive.
Interviewer: What kind of person do you picture using an interior design service?
Meera: A Dutch couple in their thirties who just bought an apartment. They're renovating the kitchen. She works in marketing, he works in finance. They have a budget line item for "interieur."
Arjun: [nods] Yeah, or someone who's been on "Weer verliefd op je huis" — that TV show. Someone who already thinks in those terms.
Interviewer: Do you see yourselves as those people?
Meera: No. And that's the problem. Because I want what they have — the result — but I don't see myself in the process.
Arjun: I literally have a spreadsheet for everything we spend, and there is no row for "interior design." There's "furniture," which is IKEA, and "household," which is kitchen things. Where would this even go?
Meera: It would go in the "making this place feel like home" row. Which doesn't exist because you haven't made one.
Arjun: [pause] Fair point.
Interviewer: Has anything on this card changed that assumption, even slightly?
Meera: "Real homes and real budgets" cracked the door a little. And "Holland Park" — the fact that she's here, in our neighbourhood. That makes it feel less like hiring some grand designer and more like asking a neighbour for advice.
Arjun: The QR code helps, actually. Because it means I can check the website in thirty seconds and find out the price, and then I'll know whether this is for us or not. If the price is right, then maybe. If there's no price on the website either, I'm gone.
Interviewer: If this card had arrived last week — in your actual life, in your actual flat, with whatever is going on for you right now — would it have meant anything to you?
Meera: [long pause] Yes. Because last week my mother asked me — again — why we haven't hung anything on the walls. And I felt so — I don't know — ashamed? Not of the walls, but of the fact that I can't explain why. It's not money. It's not permission. It's just... we don't know how to start. And we keep not starting. So this card would have felt like a small answer to a question I've been avoiding.
Arjun: Last week was also when Rahul and Priya had us over. They've been here the same amount of time as us and their flat looks — it looks like a home. They have art on the walls, they have actual curtains, they have plants in nice pots. I noticed. We both noticed. And we didn't say anything about it afterward, but I think we both thought about it.
Meera: We definitely both thought about it.
Section 5: Action and barriers
Interviewer: Be completely honest with me: what happens to this card after you've looked at it? Do you bin it, keep it, scan the QR code, visit the website, or something else?
Arjun: I scan the QR code immediately. Standing at the kitchen counter. I look at the website for — maximum two minutes. If I see pricing information, even a range, I bookmark it. If I don't see pricing, I probably close the tab and forget about it.
Meera: I would keep the card. Physically keep it. I'd put it on the desk in the study — the one covered in my thesis papers — and I'd look at it again later. Maybe that evening. And then I'd open Instagram and look at her work if she has an account.
Arjun: You'd look at her Instagram before the website?
Meera: Obviously. I want to see her rooms, not read her "about" page.
Interviewer: Would you scan the QR code, Meera?
Meera: Eventually. But not as my first move. My first move is visual. Show me what you've done. Then I'll read about it.
Interviewer: So between the two of you — Arjun goes to the website, Meera goes to Instagram. And then what?
Arjun: Then we'd talk about it. That evening, probably. I'd say "I checked the website, here's what she charges." Meera would say "I saw her Instagram, her work looks nice." And then one of us would say "should we?" and the other would say "let's think about it." And then we'd think about it for three weeks.
Meera: [laughing softly] That is painfully accurate.
Arjun: And then either something else comes up — Meera's thesis deadline, a trip to Bangalore — and we forget. Or Meera brings it up again and I agree because I've had time to process the price.
Interviewer: What would make you skip the three weeks and act sooner?
Meera: If the website said something like "free first consultation" or "thirty-minute home visit for X euros" — something small and defined. Not "contact us for a quote." That's too open-ended. Too scary.
Arjun: A specific starting price. "Room consultation from eighty euros." Something I can evaluate. I can look at eighty euros and think: is that worth it for getting our living room sorted? Probably yes. But I need the number.
Interviewer: Is there anything this card could have said, shown, or included that would have made you take the next step right away?
Meera: A photo. Just one. A small room — a real room, not a styled magazine room — that looks warm and lived-in. Something that makes me think, oh, she could do that for our flat.
Arjun: A price anchor. Even something like "services from euro eighty." That single piece of information would change everything for me. Right now, the unknown price is scarier than any actual price.
Meera: Also — and this might sound strange — but if the card said something about renters. Like, "even if you rent." Because that's the thing, right? We assume this is for homeowners. One sentence that says "we work with renters too" would have removed fifty percent of my hesitation.
Arjun: That's a good point. The whole wall-drilling question, the tenancy agreement question — if she addresses that upfront, it signals she understands our situation.
Interviewer: Would you mention this card to anyone — a partner, a flatmate, a neighbour, a friend?
Meera: I would send a photo to my two closest friends here — Ananya and Divya — in our girls' group chat. And I'd say something like "look what came in the post, there's an interior designer in Holland Park, have you seen this?" Not because I'm recommending it yet, but because we all complain about our flats and this is new information.
Arjun: I might mention it to Rahul at the office. The one with the nice flat. But more like "someone dropped a flyer for an interior designer in our building" — casual, not a recommendation.
Interviewer: Does the fact that she's based in Holland Park make you more or less likely to mention it?
Meera: More. Definitely more. Because it's neighbourhood gossip, almost. "Did you see there's someone in our area who does this?" That's different from "I found some random designer on Google."
Arjun: Agreed. The local angle makes it conversational. It's not "I'm looking for an interior designer," which feels like a big declaration. It's "there's this person in Holland Park," which is just sharing information.
Closing
Interviewer: If Sara — the person behind this card — asked you for one piece of honest advice about this flyer before she puts it in three thousand letterboxes, what would you tell her?
Arjun: Put a price on it. Even a starting price. You are losing every analytical person who can't evaluate the cost. And in this neighbourhood — Holland Park — there are a lot of analytical people. Expats, tech workers, people who compare everything. Give them a number to work with.
Meera: Show one image. Just one. The card is beautiful and minimal and I respect the restraint, but it asks me to imagine what she can do, and I don't have enough to imagine with. One small photo on the back — a before-and-after, a styled corner, anything — would give me the emotional hook that the text alone doesn't quite land.
Interviewer: Is there anything about receiving this card in your letterbox that we haven't discussed but that matters to you?
Meera: The language. It's in English, which is fine for us, but I wonder — does she also have a Dutch version? Because that signals whether she's specifically targeting expats or the whole neighbourhood. If it's English-only, it actually feels more like it's for us, which is... nice? But also limiting.
Arjun: One thing we didn't discuss — the email address. sara@everydaylivinginteriors.com. I wouldn't email. Nobody emails anymore. If there was a WhatsApp number, I'd be much more likely to reach out. A quick message is a low commitment. An email feels like writing a formal letter.
Meera: Oh, that's true. WhatsApp would be so much easier. You send a photo of your living room and say "help?" That's how it would happen for us.
Interviewer: Thank you both so much for your time and honesty. Your feedback will directly help shape how this service communicates with people in your neighbourhood. I really appreciate it.
Meera: Thank you! I hope she does well. It sounds like something Holland Park actually needs.
Arjun: Yeah, good luck to her. And tell her to put the prices on the website.
Post-interview notes
The bin-or-read moment
The card survives the initial sort entirely because of its physical properties. Arjun, who has optimised his mail-sorting to a ten-second process with a recycling bin at the front door, would still pick this card out because the weight and thickness distinguish it from standard flyers. Meera confirms: "Paper flyers go in the bin. This feels like someone invested in it." The physical quality buys the card its first three seconds of attention. The minimalism of the front then creates enough curiosity gap to trigger the flip. Both would flip to the back.
The comprehension gap
Both correctly identify the service category (interior design) and the sole-proprietor model. They diverge on what remains unclear: Meera wants to see visual evidence of the work (what does Sara's design actually look like?), while Arjun wants pricing information (what does this cost and is it within our range?). The card successfully communicates identity and locality but leaves the two critical conversion questions — "what would this look like for us?" and "can we afford it?" — entirely to the QR code destination. If the website or Instagram fails to answer either question quickly, the lead is lost.
The local signal
"Holland-Park . Diemen" functions powerfully as a belonging marker. Both independently confirmed that "Holland Park" is the name they and their social circle use for the neighbourhood, that it feels more authentic than "Diemen" or "Diemen-Zuid," and that it transforms the card from generic marketing into neighbourhood-level communication. Arjun: "If it said Amsterdam, I would have binned it." The local signal also directly enables word-of-mouth: Meera would share it with friends as neighbourhood information rather than a service recommendation, which lowers the social cost of forwarding it.
The category barrier
Both Arjun and Meera self-exclude from "interior design" by default. Arjun associates it with homeowners and renovation budgets. Meera associates it with people who already know what they want. "Real homes and real budgets" partially cracks this barrier — Meera described it as "cracking the door a little" — but does not fully resolve it. The missing element is an explicit signal that the service is for renters, for people who don't know where to start, and for people at their budget level. Meera's suggestion that even one line — "even if you rent" — would remove half her hesitation is a significant finding.
The physical response
The card's weight and thickness are the single most important survival mechanism. In a household that bins paper post reflexively, tactile differentiation is the only thing that prevents immediate disposal. Arjun compared the card to a wedding invitation. Meera called it "intentional." Both registered the quality as a signal of seriousness and investment, though Arjun flagged a secondary reading: "this person is spending too much on marketing." The square format also contributes — it does not fit into the standard letter/flyer mental category, which forces a moment of categorisation that delays the bin reflex.
The action pathway
The couple reveals two distinct conversion paths that operate in parallel. Arjun's path is analytical: scan QR code, check website, look for pricing, evaluate cost-benefit, bookmark or abandon. Meera's path is visual-emotional: keep the physical card, find Sara's Instagram, look at her portfolio, assess aesthetic alignment. Both paths must be satisfied for a joint decision. The couple's self-described pattern — three weeks of passive consideration before any action — suggests the card needs to enable both paths immediately and the digital destination needs to sustain interest across a multi-week decision cycle. A critical bottleneck: if there is no pricing on the website, Arjun closes the tab. If there is no visual portfolio on Instagram, Meera loses interest.
The referral test
High referral potential, but as information-sharing rather than endorsement. Meera would share a photo of the card in her WhatsApp friend group; Arjun would mention it casually to a colleague. The local angle enables this: "there's someone in Holland Park who does this" is low-risk social sharing. The card would likely enter at least two or three group chats within the first week of distribution, reaching other expat couples in similar situations. This is a significant amplification mechanism.
The missing element
Two additions would substantially increase conversion for this persona type, without destroying the minimal design:
1. A starting price (even "from euro 80") — removes the pricing ambiguity that Arjun identified as scarier than any actual number, and breaks the default assumption that interior design is unaffordable for renters.
2. One small image — gives Meera the visual-emotional anchor she needs to imagine the service applied to her own space. A before-and-after of a real rental apartment would be ideal.
A secondary but important addition: a WhatsApp number or WhatsApp link via the QR code. Arjun explicitly stated he would not email but would send a WhatsApp message. For this digitally native, expat demographic, WhatsApp is the default communication channel and an email address signals formality that increases the barrier to contact.
Couple dynamic observation
The interview revealed a pattern that likely mirrors how this couple processes all household decisions: Arjun raises practical objections (cost, tenancy rules, uncertainty of stay), Meera counters with emotional arguments (the bare walls, the mother's comments, the comparison to friends' flats), and neither commits without the other's signal. The card must satisfy both value systems simultaneously — analytical rigour for Arjun, emotional resonance for Meera — which means the digital destination behind the QR code needs to lead with both pricing transparency and visual warmth within the first scroll.
Cultural and expat context
A finding not explicitly in the script but emergent in the conversation: the Chandrasekaran couple's relationship to their flat is shaped by an unresolved question about permanence. They do not know if they are staying for two years or twenty, and this uncertainty suppresses all non-essential spending on the home. Any service that positions itself as helping people "make it feel like home even if it's temporary" or "invest in your quality of life now, not someday" would directly address this psychological blocker. The card's current messaging does not touch it, but the digital destination could.