At Home With Merie Subryan
Written by Katie Hintz-Zambrano
Photography by Yumi Matsuo
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The Brooklyn-based interior stylist and design consultant invites us into her colorful and creative 850-square-foot family home.
We first met Merie Subryan by randomly sliding into her DMs late last year—after she commented on one of MOTHER’s Instagram posts and we noticed she lived in New York. We quickly invited her to a pair of back-to-back events we were hosting in the city—and that was where our fascination was first ignited.
Not only did Merie show up to both events—a live podcast recording, followed by MOTHER’s 10-year anniversary gathering at Misha + Puff—she brought undeniable style, energy, curiosity, and kindness with her. To our second gathering, she also brought along her mini-me daughter, Phoenix—the lively “main character” in any room—who ended up doing the honors of cutting open our milestone birthday cake.
We knew at that moment that we needed to have Merie on MOTHER to take a deeper dive into her story. And let us just say, it does not disappoint.
Every inch of Merie‘s vibrant 850-square-foot home in Fort Greene, Brooklyn is infused with style, creativity, and intention. The same can be said for her incredibly thoughtful and heartfelt approach to motherhood.
“I truly believe kids absorb the world around them from day one, quietly curating their own little collections of inspiration,” she tells us. “That’s why I make it a point to surround my kids with art, thoughtful design, nature, and travel—just like my parents did for me. I want them to start tuning into what resonates, what feels joyful, what sparks curiosity—because that’s how you grow a more nuanced appreciation for the world around you.”
In her MOTHER Stories feature, Merie tours us through her stunning space, while discussing her career path, life-changing motherhood journey, go-to spots in Brooklyn, and her undying love for her hometown of New York City.
“In New York, you live with a wide-shot view of life and that’s the gift I want my kids to grow up with, the sense that the whole world is right here,” she says. “I couldn’t imagine raising them anywhere else.”
Ready to meet your newest mom crush? Read ahead for some major inspiration!
Be sure to follow Merie on Instagram at @merie_subryan, check out her website, and new Substack newsletter on design.
Did you always know you wanted to be a mother?
"I always knew I wanted children—more than one, certainly. At one time, I even imagined five. As a little girl, I read Madeline and Babar on repeat. Madeline spoke to the intimacy of a close-knit group; Babar extended that feeling outward, into a whole community that functioned like one vast, extended family."
"Even then, I think I understood that family is made not only of blood, but of the people you gather along the way. Now, with my two, it feels just right. As they collect friends and draw them into our orbit, life grows messy and alive—the very sort of beautiful, noisy little community I always imagined motherhood would bring."
How were your pregnancies and birth experiences with both children?
"My first pregnancy, with Phoenix, was delicate. She measured underweight the entire time, and at 36 weeks my water broke without warning. In the ER they said 'preeclampsia' and rushed to deliver her. She arrived at just 4 pounds. Although she was healthy, she was transferred straight to the NICU while I lay upstairs being monitored, eating ice chips, too weak to hold her the next day."
"When a nurse brought her to me, I traced her with my eyes until she seemed etched into me. She was so small, but a quiet force from the start. It wasn’t the beginning I imagined, but it showed me how fragile life is and how strong she is for overcoming those early setbacks."
"With Cy, I carried a calmer energy. He was growing well, but my doctors induced as a precaution, and the moment labor began he barreled into the world—a fast and certain presence that's entirely himself."
“As my children collect friends and draw them into our orbit, life grows messy and alive—the very sort of beautiful, noisy little community I always imagined motherhood would bring.”
Tell us about your kids' names.
"When I named Phoenix—or Fefe, as she prefers these days—it was a mix of my Greek mythology and my shameless devotion to the French indie band Phoenix. But more than anything, it just fits. Phoenix looks for what’s good before anything else, and somehow knows herself better for it—a living echo of the name she carries. I wanted her to know that starting over isn’t a sign of defeat—it’s proof of resilience. Her middle name, Devi—'goddess' in Sanskrit—is a quiet anchor to our Indian lineage."
"Cy was different. I kept circling back to Cy Twombly, whose work is a beautiful mess that is loose and expressive, yet carefully composed. The name Cy means 'master.' And somehow, even as a newborn, he had that grounded, commanding presence—like he’d already staked out who he was going to be and was just waiting for the rest of us to catch up. His middle name, Rainier, means 'wise army,' a pairing I’ve always felt speaks to a leader who will move through the world with both confidence and care."
"Their names are small threads back to themselves—for the days they feel lost, the days they need reminding of who they are, and on the days I’m not there to remind them, their name can."
What excites you about raising a daughter and a son?
"As an only child, I never quite understood sibling love—never realized it begins long before they even meet. When I was pregnant with Cy, Phoenix was already buzzing with excitement, like she could feel the exact shape of the space he’d fill. I worried the 5-year age gap would stretch too far between them, that they’d miss the closeness siblings closer in age often have, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Weeks before Cy's arrival, Phoenix was already introducing him to the world—'my baby is coming'—as if he’d always been hers."
"What excites me most is their everyday life. He brings her drawings with a single bright line cutting across the page, beaming like it’s a masterpiece. She’ll say, more than once, 'there’s nothing on here,' and then pin it to the wall as if it belongs in a gallery. Cy would carry his books to her for story time, he hands over his goodnight kisses to her first—before me, before his dad—and insists she's the one to tuck him in. When she’s upset, he takes her hand to play, certain it will be enough and when he’s frustrated or nervous, it’s her calm he seeks. She’s the first place he runs to, convinced she’ll know what to do. Together, they move through a world entirely their own."
What has surprised you about the experience of motherhood—do you feel changed by it?
"Yes, I’ve changed—how could I not? Motherhood didn’t click into place the way society said it would; instead, it cracked me open, forcing me to face what I’d left unresolved and choose what was worth carrying forward. I’ve always sought comfort in structure, but nothing about this role is linear—it’s full of surprises. I’ve learned to loosen my grip to meet the moment, and to show my children how growth really works: you adapt, you falter, and you find your way back."
What was your own upbringing like?
"My parents immigrated from Guyana to New York in the 1980s, each arriving alone—no family waiting, no safety net, just enough grit to start from scratch. They’d both lived in several countries before settling in Brooklyn, driven by a shared spirit of adventure, a formidable work ethic, and the belief that something better could be built from the ground up. My father became an engineer in the fire protection industry; together they moved into real estate. My mother, a stay-at-home parent, also ran their buildings as both landlord and property manager—juggling finances, repairs, and tenant dramas with no formal training, keeping everything running smoothly. And somehow, she never made it feel like work."
"Before New York, my mother spent several years in Suriname, where she learned to speak Dutch. She’s always been a wanderer—hungry to learn. That love of movement, of discovering how people live elsewhere, is something she passed onto me with intention. When I was two, she took me to Norwich, England, where my grandmother had just passed away. From then on, England became my second home—summers spent with family in Norwich or London, sometimes branching out to two or three other countries as I grew older, including visits to relatives in Paris and trips to the islands. We roamed through Europe and beyond together. I was her built-in travel companion. Travel wasn’t just escape; it was education, a way of locating yourself in the world."
"At home, my mother could keep a dozen moving parts in play; my father could walk into a half-finished room and see exactly what it needed. My father was always tinkering, always willing to learn the next skill with his own two hands. His approach was simple: you don’t need to know everything, you just need to be willing to figure it out. Together, they had a way of turning the unknown into a plan. I trailed them through hardware aisles and tile showrooms learning how they sourced, decided, and built. I used to be so excited to pick out new flooring for tenants, or to stay up late, watching—and eager to help—while my dad renovated empty apartments."
"When I look back at my upbringing, those summers weren’t about sightseeing; they were about being in places and letting them shape me. Being immersed in different ways of living—surrounded by a mix of architecture, markets, and cultural traditions—formed my eye and my love for spaces. My parents didn’t just teach me to work hard; they taught me to see possibility, to figure things out, and to bring a vision into form. It’s the same approach I bring to my work now—styling interiors and telling stories with both beauty and purpose, always starting with what’s in front of me and envisioning what it could become."
Are there things from your upbringing that you're consciously trying to incorporate (or not incorporate) into your kids' upbringing?
"Absolutely. If there’s one thing I want to pass on to my children, it’s a rooted, unshakable sense of who they are. I’m biracial—my mother is Indian and my father is Black—and growing up, I often felt I had to choose, to align myself with how others saw me, which was almost always as Black. It wasn’t a choice I made, but one made for me. The world read my skin and handed me an identity before I had the language to claim my own."
"My mother never saw me as a woman with a Black identity. Her lens was shaped by the culture she came from; mine was shaped by the culture I had to navigate. I was raised deep inside my Indian family—steeped in its traditions and celebrations—yet always felt a half-step outside the center. She didn’t notice the distance, but the world did. Strangers would ask, 'Did you adopt her? You two look nothing alike.' Sometimes it was a casual curiosity, other times not. Each time felt like a tiny paper cut—small, but stinging longer than I’d care to admit."
"As I got older, I realised how much my mother and I didn’t quite see each other. Not in a way that fractured us, just in a way that left me slightly unseen. Our conversations stayed on the surface; I wanted to go deeper—to talk about identity, race, the unspoken things that shape who we are. We never made it there. And perhaps we never will."
"When I had Phoenix, those questions resurfaced—but this time, without the confusion. She and I look alike, and so does Cy. I see myself in their faces, and they see themselves in mine. There’s recognition. Ease. A shared understanding of how we’re seen and how we choose to see ourselves. It’s a foundation I want them to carry into everything else."
"What I want for my children—and what my husband, who grew up differently, but shares this vision, wants too—is simple: know who you are, and be proud of it. Identity isn’t taught in a single conversation; it’s built in daily life. It’s in the books on our shelves, the way we talk about hair, skin, and history. It’s making sure they know their culture isn’t something to shrink for anyone’s comfort—it’s something to stand tall in. This is me and it’s not up for debate."
You are so in touch with art, design, and creativity—is this something you're trying to infuse into your kids' childhood?
"I think about this often—how refined design sensibilities take root early, and how extraordinary it would be if children began their own creative paths sooner. I truly believe kids absorb the world around them from day one, quietly curating their own little collections of inspiration. Of course, preferences evolve over time, but so much of that foundation comes from early exposure. That’s why I make it a point to surround my kids with art, thoughtful design, nature, and travel—just like my parents did for me. I want them to start tuning into what resonates, what feels joyful, what sparks curiosity—because that’s how you grow a more nuanced appreciation for the world around you."
"Phoenix has loved architecture for as long as she’s been around, and this year she finally started architecture camp at the Center for Architecture here in the city. Every week, I go to her end-of-week presentations, and seeing her face light up when she talks through her work is everything. It’s not just about the projects; it’s about watching her find her voice, her sense of wonder, her place in the world. For me, it’s about making sure she’s never pigeonholed—that she gets to explore the full range of her gifts, and that the world gets to see them, too. Meanwhile, Cy is fully committed to his terrible twos era, so I’m curious to see what passions and interests will surface next."
“Motherhood cracked me open, forcing me to face what I’d left unresolved and choose what was worth carrying forward.”
What excites you most about motherhood right now?
"What excites me most about motherhood right now are the smallest rituals. The way Cy holds my feet each morning as I climb down the ladder from our loft bed, guiding me as if the day itself can’t begin until I’m on the ground. The way Phoenix hovers at my side in the kitchen, ready to cook or bake anything we can dream up, or how we curl into her bed at night to read and complete mazes."
"These moments feel like reflections of the care I’ve poured into them, now returning in unassuming ways. It’s the constancy of their company, the gestures that say without words, I’m here with you, that make the days feel so impossibly full."
What makes you most nervous?
"What makes me most nervous is knowing this will change. One day, they’ll step fully into their own lives, and the role I hold now will quietly move to the margins. But I trust what I’ve given them will stay, woven into who they are and carried forward in ways that make the world softer, kinder, and better."
What advice would you give to other moms about to start their motherhood journey?
"When I had Phoenix in 2017, I felt alone in postpartum—unaware of what was happening in my own mind and body, brushed off by nurses who called it 'new mom jitters' and assured me it would all start to feel natural in a couple of weeks. But there was this feeling I couldn’t name and although my husband is deeply emotionally intelligent, everything still felt wrong. It was like I’d stepped into a version of my life that looked the same from the outside but felt entirely unfamiliar inside."
"The best thing you can do before birth is sit with your partner and really talk about what might come, and what you’ll each need. Postpartum isn’t just about recovery but recognizing the signs, curating the right people around you, and speaking up for what you need."
Tell us about your home.
"We live in Fort Greene, Brooklyn, in an 850-square-foot loft. When the building became residential, much of its original character was stripped away in favor of modern finishes. In restoring the integrity of our space, I’ve tried to bring back some of that resonance through materials with texture, objects with meaning, choices that nod to the building’s past. It still holds traces of its industrial charm: twelve-foot ceilings, tall factory windows, and the kind of light I love—changing mood with the hours."
"I’ve always been drawn to the European way of living—a reverence for materials, the ability to make even the smallest spaces feel intentional, and the sense that public realms expand how we think about home. There’s an understanding of how space, light, and materiality work together to tell a story, and that’s what I wanted to channel here. The layout is asymmetrical, a little offbeat—which I like. I started thinking less in square feet and more in cubic metres—how volume can hold movement, how furniture can create rhythm rather than simply fill space."
"Most of our pieces were chosen for their proportions, their material honesty, and how they interact with light. In both Cy and Phoenix's room, a portion of the partition wall is plexiglass, allowing borrowed light to pass from one room to the next. Within it, a rectangular cut-out—dubbed the portal by Phoenix—has become a small but deliberate gesture. I approached it through a child’s lens: how they move, how they see, how they play. It holds privacy and togetherness at once. The children and their friends run back and forth through it, peeking, laughing, disappearing and reappearing like magic. It is, without question, my favorite detail in the whole space. And while our home is still unfolding, that sense of possibility is what I love most."
Your space always looks so tidy. Do you have any "rules" for keeping it looking so good with two young children?
"I will say, everything has a place. My only rule is to be intentional about what comes in—no meaningless tchotchkes, only objects with beauty, utility, or personal history. In the kids’ room, the same rules apply: everything has a home, and their toys and books are accessible but edited so they can see and enjoy what they have. My favorite pastime is falling down rabbit holes, sourcing the best possible version of the most mundane objects like crates, hooks, even cutting boards, because good design is what keeps the home working, feeling effortless, and looking alive. Even in disarray, the design will hold."
What areas in BK and NYC can folks find you at when you're not at home?
"We live in the Brooklyn Cultural District, where almost everything we need is just steps away. Fort Greene Park is where we have picnics and the kids play. I love Baba Cool for coffee, and Phoenix and I are regulars at BAM, whether it’s for an indie film or a performance that catches our eye. For shopping, I make my rounds on the Atlantic Avenue strip—Michele Varian, Toast, Outline, Collier West—and in the city, my go-to is No.6 store for clothing. I spend weekend mornings in Chelsea, wandering galleries or the flea market. As for restaurants, Jack’s Wife Freda in Soho, along with Walters, Café Paulette, and Saraghina in Brooklyn, are in steady rotation."
What appeals to you about raising your kids in NYC?
"Growing up in New York, you quickly learn to see the world with optimism and direction, and to find order in the chaos. The city gives you culture, diversity, and opportunity every single day. For all its noise, there are pockets of stillness—your local park, the corner coffee shop, the friend who lives close enough for a spontaneous bike ride. I love the contradictions here. One subway ride can take you from Diwali celebrations in Jackson Heights to soul food in Bed-Stuy, with a museum detour in between. In New York, you live with a wide-shot view of life, and that’s the gift I want my kids to grow up with, the sense that the whole world is right here. I couldn’t imagine raising them anywhere else."
Can you tell us about your career in a nutshell?
"I double majored in Psychology and Sociology, with a minor in Business—drawn early to the research side of organizational psychology: how people operate within systems and how businesses function beneath the surface. Yet, I’ve always found my way back to the creative side. I began with freelance writing and styling before finding my way deeper into design. Later, I took interior design courses at Parsons, researching and refining my approach. Still that early lens on human behavior continues to shape everything I do as an interior stylist and design consultant. Design has always been a through-line in my life—the place where form meets function, and where the emotional and the visual remain in constant conversation. I find a visceral joy in bringing that dialogue to life."
How has becoming a mother impacted your creativity and career? (If at all).
"If anything, motherhood has allow me to see the world through my children’s eyes—their way of noticing things, unfiltered and instinctive—reminds me to look closer and makes me question what I thought I already knew."
Where does "work" happen for you?
"As I learned with Phoenix when she was younger, and now with Cy, work happens everywhere. Mostly, I work from home at a desk I designed and painted in a deep, saturated blue, similar to an Yves Klein blue. I’ve always admired how Klein treated that color not as pigment but as a state of mind, and at my desk it offers that same duality—sharpening my thinking while opening new ideas."
Do you have any creative habits or practices to stay inspired?
"Inspiration for me often begins with slowing down, which in a city like New York can feel almost radical. In the afternoons, when my husband is home with the children, I’ll set out for a walk with no destination in mind. I linger in bookstores, libraries, galleries—places that compel my thoughts into a different cadence. I believe in being nosy in the right places, wandering through shops and studying the materials they’ve chosen. I’m a deeply tactile person; I’ll run my hand across a surface to see if it lives up to its promise. but I'm also fascinated by the unspoken dialogue between a space and the way people move through it. The best ideas, I find, are often tucked into the smallest details."
Any advice you'd give to fellow creatives about juggling a business + and young children?
"For me, it’s about making my priorities clear and having the discipline to say no when I need to. I can’t do everything at once, so I focus on what matters most in the moment. I protect whatever keeps my mental health steady, because that’s the foundation for everything else. If that means carving out pockets of time for myself, I take them—guilt-free."
What's inspiring you lately?
"The podcasts and videos I’m into right now span across art, interiors, fashion, and business—each one feeding a different corner of my curiosity. NOWNESS captivates me for the way it can distill an entire mood into just a few minutes. For interiors, I listen to The Modern House as a reminder of how deeply our spaces shape our stories and for fashion I listen to Bella Freud’s Fashion Neurosis and Recho Omondi’s sharp candor on The Cutting Room Floor."
"Visually, I’ve been drawn to a sort of spectral art lately—work where the colors make it feel alive in an odd, magnetic way, like Claire Tabouret’s portraits that have an almost ghostlike stillness. Phoenix has also been exploring watercolors, so we’ve been spending time with Emma Kohlmann’s paintings which are ambiguous, dreamlike worlds you feel yourself stepping into. In design, I admire how designer Faye Toogood’s work moves across multiple disciplines with an ease that makes it feel connected. Lastly, Dana Tomic Hughes of Yellowtrace inspires me endlessly with the way she finds meaning in materiality. I could watch her TEDx Talk endlessly and still find something new in it."
Any big goals or happenings—professionally or personally—that you're excited about for the rest of the year?
"I’m continuing the work I love in interior styling and design consulting, letting it naturally spill over into other areas with intentionality and room to play. I want to write more—about design, about kids’ spaces, about the strange and beautiful ways design intersects with art and life—not to keep it bottled up, but to share what I notice and how it feels. I’m holding onto shoshin, the beginner’s mind, as a way to stay open to the unexpected, part discipline, part mischief, and always the place where the best ideas find me."
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