Interview transcript — Bram Hoekstra

Flyer evaluation: 18x18cm printed card for Everyday Living Interiors

Date: 2026-06-11
Persona: Bram Hoekstra, 22, Dutch-Moluccan, Commercial Economics student (HvA), part-time Albert Heijn, 28m² studio near Campus Diemen Zuid
Interviewer: Research interviewer (on behalf of Everyday Living Interiors)
Format: Synthetic persona interview (AI-embodied)
Duration: Approximately 18 minutes

Introduction

Interviewer: Thank you 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?

Bram: Yeah sure. Fifteen minutes, right? I have a thing at nine so.

Interviewer: Absolutely, we'll keep it tight.

Section 1: Context setting

Interviewer: 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.

Bram: Sorting process. That's generous. I check my post like... once every two weeks? Maybe less. It piles up under the door. I look for pakketje slips because those actually matter. Municipality stuff I open because last time I ignored one it was about my registration and that was annoying. Everything else — bin. Straight in.

Interviewer: You don't even glance at the rest?

Bram: I mean, I see what it is. Domino's, Funda, some gym opening, whatever. But I know what it is before I read it. It's junk. You can just tell by the feel.

Interviewer: When was the last time a flyer or card actually caught your attention?

Bram: [Pause.] Honestly? I can't think of one. Maybe — no, that was a sticker someone put on the door about a party in the building. That's different though. That was handwritten.

Interviewer: What made that one different?

Bram: It looked like a person made it. Not a company. If it looks like marketing, it's already dead to me.

Interviewer: Got it. Let me ask you about your flat. How do you feel about your space right now? If you had to describe your relationship with it in one word, what would that be?

Bram: [Laughs.] "Relationship." That's a big word for 28 square metres. I don't know. "Fine"?

Interviewer: Fine is a word. Tell me what "fine" means here.

Bram: It's got a bed, a desk, my monitor. It works. I sleep there, I game there. It's not a place I think about really.

Interviewer: Is there anything about the space you'd like to change but haven't?

Bram: The ceiling light is brutal. It's like an interrogation lamp. And I could use more storage probably. My stuff is just kind of everywhere. But it's not like I'm going to do anything about it. It's a student room.

Interviewer: What stops you?

Bram: Nothing stops me. I just don't care enough. It's not a priority. I'd rather spend money on going out or a new game than on, I don't know, a shelf.

Section 2: The letterbox moment

Interviewer: Fair enough. Now I want you to imagine something specific. It's a normal weekday. You collect your post from the letterbox downstairs — or rather, you finally deal with the pile under the door. Among the usual items — 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. In the bottom-right corner: "Holland-Park" and "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.

Bram: [Brief pause.] Okay. So it's a thick white square. That's different I guess. But the word "Interiors" — yeah, I'm already done. That's like curtains and cushions. Not my world.

Interviewer: Hold on — you said "that's different." What did you mean?

Bram: The thickness. It feels like something. Most flyers are like thin floppy paper. This one you'd notice because it's heavy. Like a beer coaster.

Interviewer: Would that heaviness make you flip it over?

Bram: Maybe. Probably yeah, because it feels like it's supposed to be something. Like an invite or something. But then I see "Interiors" and that's — I know what that is. It's not for me.

Interviewer: But let's say you flip it. 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. What's going through your mind?

Bram: [Laughs.] "Interior design services." Bro, I live in a shoebox with a gaming chair and an Ajax poster. This is for, like, couples with money who want someone to pick their couch colour. Not me.

Interviewer: I hear you. But I want to stay with this a second longer. You flipped the card. You read the text. That's already more engagement than most junk mail gets from you. Why?

Bram: Because there was nothing on the front. That's weird. Usually flyers shout at you — "50% OFF" or some picture of a happy family. This one is just... quiet? Like it's too confident to explain itself. That made me curious for like two seconds.

Section 3: Comprehension and first impressions

Interviewer: Two seconds is something. Based on what you've seen — both sides — what do you think this is? Describe it to me as if I hadn't seen it.

Bram: It's a business card for someone who decorates houses. Sara something. She's in Diemen apparently. It's fancy — like, the card itself feels expensive. Thick paper, no pictures, just text. Very clean. Probably expensive service.

Interviewer: You said "probably expensive." What makes you assume that?

Bram: Because it looks expensive. The card is heavy, the design is minimal. When stuff looks like that it usually costs a lot. Like, Apple doesn't put prices on their ads either. You know?

Interviewer: Interesting comparison. What about the name — "Everyday Living Interiors." Does that tell you anything?

Bram: "Everyday Living" — I mean, that sounds like it's trying to say it's normal and accessible. But then "Interiors" makes it sound posh again. So it's mixed signals for me.

Interviewer: And "by Sara de Abreu" — the personal name. Does that add or subtract?

Bram: It's fine. Makes it feel like one person, not a company. Like a freelancer. That's maybe more approachable? But I'm not going to text some interior designer. What would I even say? "Hey, my ceiling light sucks"?

Interviewer: You could say exactly that. But we'll come back to that. "Holland-Park, Diemen" — you live in this area. Does seeing that change anything?

Bram: Not really. Holland Park is just the name of the new buildings. I'm technically near there. But it's not like I feel a connection to "Holland Park" as a place. I live near Campus Diemen Zuid. That's how I think about it.

Interviewer: Would it change anything if the card said "Diemen-Zuid" instead?

Bram: Maybe a tiny bit? Diemen-Zuid is what I actually use. Holland Park sounds like a real estate brand. Which it is.

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?

Bram: "Real homes" — okay, so not villas. "Real budgets" — so not thousands of euros? I don't know, it's vague. What's a real budget? My budget is zero.

Interviewer: Does the word "flexible" add anything?

Bram: Not really. Flexible how? Like she'll come to my 28 metres and work around my laundry pile? [Laughs.] It's a nice word but it doesn't tell me anything concrete.

Interviewer: When you hear "interior design," what's your honest first reaction?

Bram: My honest reaction is: that's for other people. Women. Couples. People with houses. Not a 22-year-old dude in a student studio who eats tosti for dinner.

Interviewer: You said "women." Tell me more about that.

Bram: I don't mean that in a bad way. It's just — the guys I know don't think about this stuff. If I told the group chat I hired an interior designer they'd take the piss for weeks. It's just not something that exists in my world.

Interviewer: Has anything on this card changed that assumption?

Bram: [Pause.] No. I mean — look, the card is nice. It's well made. But it's still interior design. You can put it on thick paper and write it in pretty letters, it's still not going to make me think "oh I need that."

Interviewer: Let me try it another way. If this card had arrived last week, in your actual flat, with whatever was going on for you — would it have meant anything?

Bram: Last week I was stressing about a group project deadline and whether I could swap a shift. So no. Zero connection. My flat is the last thing on my mind.

Interviewer: You mentioned earlier the ceiling light bothers you. And storage. Those are real problems in your space.

Bram: Yeah but I wouldn't hire a designer for that. I'd ask my mate or Google it. Or just live with it. Which is what I've been doing.

Interviewer: What if the card said something like "We can fix your terrible ceiling light for 80 euros"?

Bram: [Laughs.] Okay, that would at least be funny. And specific. I'd probably read it twice. But then I'd still think "I can buy a lamp for 15 euros at Action." So maybe not.

Section 5: Action and barriers

Interviewer: Be completely honest with me. What happens to this card after you've looked at it?

Bram: Bin.

Interviewer: At what point did you decide?

Bram: When I saw "Interiors" on the front. The back confirmed it. Nice card though. Good paper. But bin.

Interviewer: Would you scan the QR code?

Bram: No. I scan QR codes for menus at restaurants. Not for businesses I don't need. What would I even find? A website with pictures of nice living rooms? Cool, but not useful for me.

Interviewer: Do you generally scan QR codes on marketing material?

Bram: Never.

Interviewer: Is there anything this card could have said, shown, or included that would have made you take the next step — whatever that step is?

Bram: [Thinks.] If it had a picture. Like a before and after of a student room. Not a fancy apartment — an actual small room like mine. "We turned this 25-square-metre room into something that doesn't look depressing." That I might look at.

Interviewer: So a visual proof, specific to your situation.

Bram: Yeah. Because right now it's all words and I have to imagine what interior design even means for someone like me. And I can't imagine it. It's a blank.

Interviewer: What about a price? Would seeing "from 80 euros" change anything?

Bram: Eighty euros? That's like — that's a night out. Not cheap but not crazy. If I saw that and a picture of a room like mine... maybe I'd be curious. Not enough to call someone, but maybe I'd check the website.

Interviewer: Would you mention this card to anyone?

Bram: [Laughs.] No. What would I say? "Hey guys, someone in Diemen does interior design." They'd say "cool" and change the subject. It's not a conversation topic for anyone I know.

Interviewer: What if it was your mother? She's the one who gave you the plant.

Bram: [Pause.] Okay, actually — yeah. My mum would be interested. She loves that stuff. She watches all those TV shows. If I showed it to her she'd probably want to call Sara herself. Not for me though. For her own house.

Interviewer: So the card could reach someone through you, even if you're not the customer.

Bram: I guess? But I'd have to not throw it away first. And I would throw it away.

Closing

Interviewer: If Sara — the person behind this card — asked you for one piece of honest advice before she puts it in three thousand letterboxes, what would you tell her?

Bram: Show something. One picture. One specific thing you did. The card is too clean — it looks nice but it says nothing to someone who doesn't already know what interior design is. And put a price on it. Even if it's "from 50 euros" or whatever. Because right now it feels like a mystery box, and I don't open mystery boxes. I throw them away.

Interviewer: Is there anything about receiving this card that we haven't discussed but matters to you?

Bram: The size is good. Square is unusual — it doesn't look like everything else. And the thickness. If I was going to remember one flyer from the pile, it would be the thick square one. I just wouldn't remember what it was about.

Interviewer: That's a really useful distinction. Thank you, Bram. Your honesty is exactly what we needed.

Bram: No worries. Hope Sara's thing goes well. She should find people who actually care about curtains though. Not me.

Post-interview analysis

The bin-or-read moment

Bram mentally binned the card the instant he read "Interiors" on the front. The word activated his categorical filter: interior design equals not-my-world. However, the physical quality of the card — weight, thickness, unusual square format — earned him through to the flip. He described it as feeling "like an invite or something." The tactile quality bought approximately two seconds of attention, which is the maximum this card will achieve with this persona segment. Those two seconds were spent on the back, where "interior design services" confirmed the initial categorisation and completed the bin decision.

The comprehension gap

Bram understood the card accurately: a local freelance interior designer in Diemen. His interpretation was functionally correct but emotionally disconnected — he could describe the service without imagining himself as a potential user. The word "Interiors" acted as a category wall. He had no mental model for what interior design looks like at 28 square metres and zero budget. The card provides no bridge across that gap.

The local signal

"Holland-Park" functioned as a real estate brand name to Bram, not a community identifier. He orients to "Campus Diemen Zuid" and "Diemen-Zuid" — functional, transit-based references. "Holland Park" feels like marketing language for buildings he does not live in. "Diemen" in bold registered more, but weakly. The local signal provided no warmth, trust, or belonging for this persona.

The category barrier

The barrier is total. "Interior design" belongs to a different demographic in Bram's mental map: women, couples, homeowners, people with money. "Real homes and real budgets" was not specific enough to breach this wall. The phrase is inclusive in intent but too abstract to overcome a deeply ingrained categorical assumption. He needs visual proof — a before-and-after of a space like his — to even conceive of the service as relevant.

The physical response

This is the card's single strongest signal for Bram. The 300g weight and 18cm square format interrupted his autopilot bin-reflex. He compared it to a beer coaster and described it as feeling "like something." The thick paper stock is the only element that differentiated this card from the Domino's menus and Funda flyers he bins without reading. For this persona segment, the physical object outperformed the messaging entirely.

The action pathway

No action. Bram would not scan the QR code, visit the website, save the card, or contact Sara. He does not scan QR codes on marketing material under any circumstance. The only plausible conversion path was indirect: he acknowledged his mother would be interested. But the card would need to survive the bin for that referral to occur, and it would not.

The referral test

Direct referral within his peer group: zero probability. The topic has no social currency among 22-year-old male students. Mentioning it would invite mockery. However, the upward-generational referral path to a parent (specifically his mother) was surprisingly viable — he described her as someone who would "probably want to call Sara herself." This is a real insight: the card may reach its actual audience through the hands of people who are not the audience.

The missing element

Two specific additions emerged from the interview:

A visual. A before-and-after photograph of a small space — explicitly a student-sized room or compact studio — would be the single most effective addition. Bram cannot imagine the service without seeing it applied to a space he recognises. Words alone cannot overcome the categorical distance.
A price anchor. Any starting price (he responded to "80 euros" as "a night out — not cheap but not crazy") would collapse the ambiguity that currently defaults to "expensive." The absence of pricing reinforces exclusion.

Key takeaway

Bram is the floor test, and the card fails it — but narrowly and instructively. The physical form factor works. The minimal design creates a momentary curiosity gap. But the messaging assumes the reader already sees themselves as a potential interior design customer, and Bram does not. For the segment he represents (young, male, single, low-budget, zero design consciousness), the card needs to show rather than tell, price rather than imply, and meet them in spaces they recognise rather than spaces they aspire to. The indirect referral pathway to parents is an unexpected finding worth noting: even people who bin the card might pass the information upward if the card survives long enough.