Persona: Daan van der Berg, 41, Amsterdam-Oost. Project manager at a tech company. Single. First-time homeowner (4 months). Paralysed by design decisions.
Date: 30 May 2026
Duration: 23 minutes
Format: One-on-one synthetic persona interview
Concept tested: Everyday Living Interiors (ELI) — accessible interior design service
Introduction
Interviewer: Thank you for taking the time to speak with me today. I'm conducting research on behalf of a new interior design service, and I'd love to get your honest perspective. There are no right or wrong answers here — I'm genuinely interested in your reactions, even if they're negative or uncertain. The concept is still in development, so critical feedback is just as valuable as positive feedback. I'll start by asking you about your current living situation and how you think about your home. Then I'll share some information about this service and ask for your reactions. The whole thing should take about 20 to 25 minutes. Does that sound all right?
Daan: Yes, that works for me. I have a meeting at four, so 25 minutes is fine. Go ahead.
Section 1: Context setting
Interviewer: Great. So tell me a bit about your current living situation — your home, who you live with, and how you generally feel about the space you're in.
Daan: Sure. I bought my first apartment about four months ago. It's in Amsterdam-Oost, a 1930s building, eighty-five square metres. High ceilings, wooden floors, good light. It's a nice place. Objectively, I know that. The problem is that it's essentially empty. I have a temporary IKEA dining table, two chairs, a bed frame, a wardrobe, and a floor lamp. That's it. The walls are completely bare. I still have unpacked boxes in the living room. When people visit — which I avoid — I tell them I'm still settling in. I've been saying that for four months.
Interviewer: When you walk through the front door at the end of the day, what's the first thing you notice?
Daan: The echo. That sounds dramatic, but it's true. There's nothing to absorb sound. My footsteps on the wooden floor, the keys hitting the table — everything is louder than it should be because there's nothing in the space. And it doesn't feel like a home. It feels like I'm squatting in a very expensive shell.
Interviewer: How much time and energy do you spend thinking about how the apartment looks or feels?
Daan: Too much. That's the irony. I spend an enormous amount of time researching. I currently have — I counted yesterday — forty-seven browser tabs open across three windows. Furniture sites, design blogs, YouTube apartment tours. I've measured the living room twice, drawn the floor plan on graph paper. But the research doesn't lead anywhere. Every weekend I tell myself I'll make a decision, and by Sunday evening I've closed all the tabs and decided to start fresh next week. It's been like this since I moved in.
Interviewer: What stops you from actually making a purchase?
Daan: Fear of getting it wrong. The apartment has this awkward L-shaped living room and I can't figure out whether a corner sofa would block the radiator, whether a two-seater would look lost in the space, whether I should go grey or — I don't know — some other colour. At work, I manage projects with twenty, thirty stakeholders. Complex timelines, competing requirements, I'm good at that. But choosing a sofa colour gives me genuine anxiety. Because at work, there are criteria. There are KPIs. With a sofa, there's just... taste. And I don't trust mine.
Interviewer: Have you ever considered getting help — from a designer, a service, a friend, anyone?
Daan: I've thought about it. I once looked at a Dutch design firm's website — I don't remember the name — and the starting price was five thousand euros. For a consultation and a plan. I closed the tab immediately and mentally filed "interior designer" under "rich people things." Since then I haven't seriously considered it. A friend of mine offered to help, but her taste is very maximalist, lots of colour and pattern, and I knew I'd end up with a flat I hated but would feel obligated to like because she'd put in the effort. So I politely declined.
Interviewer: When you hear the words "interior designer," what comes to mind?
Daan: Someone with an expensive outfit and strong opinions who will judge my empty apartment and charge me thousands to tell me to buy things I can't pronounce. That's unfair, I know. But that's the honest image.
Section 2: Concept presentation
Interviewer: Thank you for that honesty. Now I'd like to tell you about a service called Everyday Living Interiors. It's run by a woman named Sara de Abreu, based in Amsterdam. Let me walk you through what you'd see if you visited her website.
The first thing you see is a large heading that says: "Your Home Should Support Your Life, Not Compete With It." Below that it says: "Beautiful, functional homes should be accessible, not intimidating, elitist, or expensive."
There's a photo of a warm, lived-in kitchen — wooden cabinets, a table with flowers and books, someone walking through the frame. It feels real rather than staged.
Scrolling down, you see a section called "Real People, Real Homes" with three project examples: a full apartment redesign for a family with children in Amsterdam, a virtual consultation done in under 30 minutes by video call, and a kitchen design for a couple who liked different styles.
Then there are four services. The Room Reset — a 60-minute online session to help you move forward with clarity. The Thoughtful Edit — elevate your space with what you already have, no waste, no extra spending. The Design Roadmap — a full concept and design package with ideas, colours, layouts, and a shopping list. And The Clutter Edit — help when decluttering and organising feels overwhelming.
There are client testimonials from people in the Netherlands and Belgium. One says Sara helped them create cohesion with minimal effort and expense. Another praises how she found solutions that honoured both partners' different tastes.
In the About section, Sara shares that she trained at the National Design Academy but has been passionate about interiors since childhood. She says she's been helping friends redesign homes, stage spaces, and rethink layouts for years. She emphasises working with what you already own and avoiding unnecessary spending.
There is no pricing information visible anywhere on the website. To get started, you fill in a contact form with your name, email, and a message.
The website's mission statement says: "Good interior design isn't about trends or picture-perfect rooms. It's about creating spaces that feel comfortable, functional, and personal."
That's the overview. Take a moment to let that settle.
[Pause — 8 seconds]
Daan: Hmm. Okay. A few things.
Section 3: Initial reactions and belonging
Interviewer: Go ahead — what's your first, honest reaction?
Daan: My first reaction is that it sounds... reasonable. The language doesn't make me feel like an idiot, which is already better than most design websites I've seen. "Not intimidating, elitist, or expensive" — I mean, that's literally addressing my exact assumption. So that's good. But — and this is my project-manager brain talking — I immediately want to know what I actually get. A "60-minute online session to help you move forward with clarity" — that sounds nice, but what does it mean in concrete terms? Do I get a document? A floor plan? A shopping list? Or do I just have a conversation and then I'm back to my forty-seven tabs?
Interviewer: That lack of specificity bothers you?
Daan: It does. Because I don't need inspiration. I've had four months of inspiration. I need someone to say: "Put the sofa here, in this colour, from this shop." I need a decision framework, not another conversation.
Interviewer: What else stood out to you?
Daan: The fact that there are no prices. That's a problem for me. When I don't see prices, I assume it's because they're high. It's the same with restaurants — if there's no price on the menu, you can't afford it. I would not fill in that contact form without knowing what it costs. That's a hard stop.
Interviewer: If you had to guess the price range, what would you assume?
Daan: Based on the website as described... maybe five hundred to a thousand for a full package? The hourly session, maybe two hundred? I honestly don't know. But the absence of pricing makes me default to "probably more than I want to spend."
Interviewer: Interesting. Based on what you've heard, who do you think this service is designed for?
Daan: Someone like me, potentially. A person who has a reasonable living space and wants to do something with it but doesn't know where to start. Maybe slightly more women than men, based on the typical design market, but the language isn't exclusively feminine. The "couple who liked different styles" example is clever — that broadens the audience. I'd say it's for people who are overwhelmed, not for people who already know what they want.
Interviewer: Do you see yourself in that description?
Daan: Uncomfortably, yes. I am that overwhelmed person. But I'd need to be convinced it's not just a nice chat. I need deliverables.
Interviewer: The tagline is "Your Home Should Support Your Life, Not Compete With It." What does that mean to you?
Daan: It means — look, right now my home is actively working against me. I can't have people over because I'm embarrassed. I cook dinner standing at a temporary table because I don't have a proper kitchen setup. I'm a forty-one-year-old homeowner eating pasta at a sixty-euro IKEA table like I'm still a student. So yes, my home is not supporting my life. Whether the tagline alone would make me click further — probably not. I'd need to see evidence, not just philosophy.
Section 4: Value and clarity
Interviewer: Let's look at those four services more closely. Can you tell me in your own words what each one involves?
Daan: Let me try. The Room Reset is a one-hour call where you get advice about a room — presumably some kind of plan. The Thoughtful Edit is about rearranging what you already have, which honestly doesn't apply to me because I have nothing to rearrange. The Design Roadmap sounds like the full package — a proper plan with specifics. And The Clutter Edit is about organisation, which is also not my problem since you can't have clutter if you own nothing.
Interviewer: So which would be most relevant to your situation?
Daan: The Room Reset or The Design Roadmap. Probably The Design Roadmap, because I need the whole thing — layout, colours, shopping list. But I can't evaluate which to choose without knowing the price difference and what exactly I get from each. If The Room Reset gives me a document with concrete recommendations, that might be enough to unblock me. If it's just verbal advice over Zoom, that's not worth it.
Interviewer: What would you expect to receive after a session — what's the deliverable?
Daan: I'd want a written plan. Even a PDF with a floor plan layout, a colour palette recommendation, and a list of three to five specific furniture pieces with links or at least brand and model suggestions. Something I can act on the next day. If I walk away from a session with "think about warmer tones and maybe a corner sofa," I've wasted my money.
Interviewer: The Thoughtful Edit says "Elevate your space with what you already have — no waste, no extra spending." How does that land with you?
Daan: For my situation, it's irrelevant — I need to buy everything. But conceptually, I understand the appeal. For someone who has furniture but it doesn't work together, that's smart. Although "no extra spending" makes me slightly suspicious. If you're not buying anything new and it's just rearranging, is there really enough value to justify a professional service? I could rearrange my own furniture. But then again, I clearly can't make decisions, so maybe I'm not the right person to judge that.
Interviewer: There's no pricing on the website, as I mentioned. How does that affect your experience?
Daan: It's a dealbreaker. Not permanently — I mean, I could google it, maybe find it somewhere, ask friends. But the website itself loses me. In the Netherlands, we're direct about money. Tell me what it costs. I work in tech — every product I buy has transparent pricing. If someone hides the price, I assume it's either expensive or inconsistent, and either way I lose trust.
Interviewer: If I told you the 60-minute online session costs approximately fifty euros, how would that change your perception?
Daan: [Pause — 5 seconds] Fifty euros? For an hour with a trained designer?
Interviewer: That's right.
Daan: That... changes things significantly. Fifty euros is what I spend on dinner and drinks on a Friday night. That is not a financial risk. At fifty euros, I'd try it almost on impulse. My main concern shifts entirely — it's no longer "can I afford this?" but "is it serious at that price?" Do you get what I mean? Five thousand euros made me think "too expensive." Fifty euros makes me think "is this real?" There's a credibility question. But honestly, if the website showed me that price, with a clear description of what I get for it, I would probably book within a week.
Interviewer: So the price being visible would be the difference between closing the tab and filling in the form?
Daan: Absolutely. And I suspect I'm not the only person who feels that way. The whole "contact us for pricing" model works for enterprise software. It does not work for a fifty-euro consultation. Just put the price on the website. It's your strongest selling point, and you're hiding it.
Section 5: Personal connection and trust
Interviewer: Sara shares that she's always made beautiful spaces even when she had very little money — that she grew up making her childhood room beautiful with whatever she had, and she's been helping friends redesign their homes for years before making it her profession. How do you respond to that story?
Daan: It's nice. It's relatable. But — and I say this with respect — it doesn't build as much trust as credentials would. The fact that she studied at the National Design Academy matters more to me than the fact that she helped friends. Everyone's aunt has opinions about furniture. What I want to know is: does she have formal training? Has she done this for real clients, not just friends? Are there before-and-after photos of actual projects? The personal story humanises her, which is fine, but competence is what I'm paying for.
Interviewer: Does it matter to you that she's experienced limited-budget constraints herself?
Daan: Honestly? Somewhat. It tells me she won't default to recommending a three-thousand-euro sofa. But I'd rather see evidence of that in the portfolio — "This room was done for under five hundred euros" — than hear it as a biographical detail. Show me, don't tell me.
Interviewer: The testimonials mention that the process felt collaborative, that Sara listened carefully. How important is that to you?
Daan: Very important, actually. My biggest fear — after the money thing, which is now solved at fifty euros — is that I'd be pushed toward a style I don't actually like. I gravitate toward minimal, clean aesthetics. Warm but not cluttered. If a designer decided I needed bold colours and statement pieces, I'd end up with expensive furniture I secretly hate. So "collaborative" is essential. But again, testimonials are testimonials. Everyone puts the positive ones on the website. I'd want to see more detail — what exactly did the collaboration look like? Did the client have the final say, or did Sara guide them toward her preference?
Interviewer: What would you need to see from Sara to believe she'd genuinely work with your taste rather than override it?
Daan: A process description. Step one, we discuss your preferences. Step two, I present three options. Step three, you choose. Step four, here's your plan. Something structured. If I can see that my input is baked into the methodology, I'd trust it. If it's vague — "we work together" — I wouldn't.
Section 6: Barriers and action
Interviewer: Imagine you've just finished looking at this website. What would you do next — honestly?
Daan: As described — without prices? I'd leave. I'd close the tab and probably bookmark it, meaning I'd never come back to it. It would join the forty-seven other tabs in purgatory. But if the fifty-euro price were on the website, and the deliverables were clear — "you'll receive a written plan with layout, colour recommendations, and product suggestions" — I'd fill in the contact form. Maybe not that minute, but within a few days. The barrier for me is not the concept, not the price, not even the trust. It's clarity. Tell me what I get, tell me what it costs, and I'll decide in five minutes.
Interviewer: So the single biggest thing holding you back is —
Daan: Information architecture. The website has everything it needs philosophically, but it's missing the practical layer that converts someone like me. I make decisions based on inputs. Give me the inputs.
Interviewer: Is there anything about your home, your life, or your relationship with design that this website doesn't acknowledge — something that, if it did, would make you feel more seen?
Daan: Yes. The embarrassment of being a competent adult who can't do this. I manage million-euro project budgets. I lead teams. And I cannot pick a rug. That specific gap — being good at everything except this one domestic thing — is something I've never seen a design service acknowledge. Every site I've visited assumes you either know what you want or you're a complete beginner. I'm neither. I'm highly functional with a very specific blind spot, and I find it genuinely humiliating. If the website said something like "You don't need to be good at this — that's what we're for" or acknowledged that capable people get stuck on design decisions, I'd feel like they understood me.
Interviewer: That's a strong insight. If Sara could add one thing to her website tomorrow that would make the difference for you, what would it be?
Daan: Pricing on the services page. Clear, visible, no contact form required. That single change would have made me a customer already.
Closing
Interviewer: If a friend asked you "What is Everyday Living Interiors?", how would you describe it in one or two sentences?
Daan: An affordable interior design service based in Amsterdam that helps normal people — not rich people — figure out their homes. The designer works with your budget and your existing stuff, and it starts with a one-hour online session.
Interviewer: On a scale of 1 to 10, how likely would you be to recommend this website to someone you know who's struggling with their home?
Daan: With the website as described — no pricing — maybe a six. I like the concept, but I'd have to add a caveat: "It's probably affordable but you'll have to ask." With pricing visible and clear deliverables, that's an eight. Maybe a nine if they had a case study of someone like me — single person, empty apartment, decision paralysis — with before-and-after photos.
Interviewer: Is there anything we haven't talked about that you'd like to add?
Daan: One thing. The online-only format. I have an L-shaped living room that defeats every layout I've tried. Part of me thinks a designer needs to physically stand in the space to understand the problem. If the website addressed that concern — "Our virtual sessions are just as effective as in-person visits, and here's how" — or showed examples of tricky layouts solved remotely, that would help. Otherwise there's a nagging voice saying maybe I need someone to actually come to my flat. Which at fifty euros is probably not feasible, but the website should proactively address why virtual works.
Interviewer: That's very helpful. Thank you so much for your time and your honesty, Daan. Your feedback is genuinely valuable and will help shape how this service evolves. I really appreciate you sharing your perspective.
Daan: Happy to help. And if Sara puts her prices on the website, send me the link.
Post-interview analytical notes
The belonging verdict
Daan recognised himself in the target audience but conditionally. The philosophy resonated, the tone was right, and the concept addressed his core pain. However, the website's information gaps — no pricing, vague deliverables — prevented him from completing the mental journey from "this might be for me" to "I should take action." His belonging is conceptual but not yet operational. This is fixable, not fundamental.
The pricing reaction
Daan's assumed price range was 200-1,000 euros, anchored by the 5,000-euro quote he had seen previously. The 50-euro reveal produced genuine surprise and an immediate shift in intent. His concern flipped from affordability to credibility ("is this real?"), but the net effect was strongly positive. He stated he would book within a week if the price were visible. The absence of pricing on the website is actively losing customers like Daan. This was the single strongest finding.
The emotional gap
The website does not acknowledge the specific embarrassment of being a competent professional who cannot make domestic decisions. Daan's pain is not financial — it is the humiliation of a capability gap that contradicts his self-image. He described himself as someone who manages million-euro budgets but cannot choose a rug. Messaging that normalises this specific paradox — capable people getting stuck on taste-based decisions — would create powerful resonance with this persona.
The clarity test
Daan could broadly distinguish between the four services but struggled with the practical differences between The Room Reset and The Design Roadmap. He correctly identified The Thoughtful Edit and The Clutter Edit as irrelevant to his situation (empty apartment). His primary concern was deliverables: what tangible output would he receive? The word "clarity" in The Room Reset description was perceived as vague rather than concrete. He wants to know he will receive a written document with actionable recommendations.
The trust assessment
Sara's personal story created mild warmth but did not build functional trust. Daan values credentials and evidence over biography. He wants formal training mentioned prominently, portfolio case studies with budget transparency, and a visible process methodology. The testimonials were perceived as standard marketing. Trust for this persona is built through demonstrated competence and structured process, not personal narrative.
The action barrier
The single most important barrier is the absence of visible pricing. Daan was explicit and repeated: put the price on the website. His secondary barrier is the lack of clear deliverable descriptions. Together, these represent an information-architecture problem rather than a conceptual, emotional, or financial one. Both are straightforwardly addressable.
The referral test
Daan rated his recommendation likelihood at 6/10 with the current website and 8-9/10 with pricing and deliverable clarity added. This gap confirms that his issue is not with the concept or brand but with the website's conversion mechanics. His instinct to recommend suggests strong concept-market fit for his persona type.
Unprompted insights
Three significant unprompted contributions: (1) The online-versus-in-person concern — Daan worries that his L-shaped living room requires physical presence, and the website does not proactively address why virtual consultations are effective for spatial challenges. (2) His observation that hiding a 50-euro price point is counterproductive — "It's your strongest selling point, and you're hiding it" — was delivered with conviction and represents a key strategic insight. (3) His request for a structured process description ("step one, step two, step three") reveals that this persona type needs to see methodology, not just outcomes, to build trust in a creative service.