By Michelle Slatalla

There's nothing really wrong with my living room -- except that it's been a month since I spent what some hysteric in my family would describe as "way more than we can afford" on decor.

Did this alarmist, aka my husband, not realize that some of the furniture -- like an art deco mirrored sideboard in a corner of the living room -- was looking a bit dated?

But then he started waving around our retirement-account statement as if it were an ax entered into evidence in a murder trial. Perhaps this was not the time to redecorate, much less hire the outside help I was considering. In Northern California, where I live, the average fee for an interior designer is $150 an hour, according to home-improvement tech company Thumbtack.

Maybe I could save money by getting decor advice from an AI tool instead. There are, after all, plenty of them that promise to help amateurs like me for fees ranging from $9 to generate 30 renderings to $20 a month for unlimited use. I can execute the suggestions when our portfolio recovers.

But could an AI tool intuit my taste, understand my budget and come up with ideas I wouldn't think of myself?

To get started, I snapped a photo of my living room and uploaded it to RoomGPT, a simple image-generating tool that can reconceive the decor of your room in nine different styles, ranging from "tropical" to "industrial."

It was fun to see my existing furnishings against the backdrop of a "coastal" palette (a blue area rug and blue paint on the walls) or a "vintage" theme (wood paneling and a pendant ceiling light).

"It's mostly meant for consumers who want cool ideas, people who say, 'Oh, my God, I never would have thought of putting a lamp in that corner, but it looks good there,' " said Hassan El Mghari, a software engineer who launched RoomGPT in 2023.

But the tool didn't give me any cool ideas. Instead it changed the size and shape of the windows in one image, and eliminated an open doorway (and a whole room that lay beyond). So the results felt more like a party trick than useful advice.

"I want a room that will surprise and delight me," I told Stacy Thorwart, a Philadelphia interior designer who has created an online course to teach decorators how to use AI tools.

Thorwart suggested using ChatGPT, a powerful, Swiss Army knife of an AI tool that can compose emails, create a Thanksgiving menu or generate interiors renderings.

"For instance, if you love a specific piece, you can feed it an image of your room and then write a text prompt to, say, 'swap out the coffee table for another one,' " she said.

I asked ChatGPT to switch in a Borge Mogensen sofa, and it did. But the room didn't look much different.

"Can you make this room look and feel fresh?" I asked ChatGPT.

It responded with flattery: "Thanks for the detailed prompt and great photos -- your living room has strong bones and classic charm: that coved ceiling, the built-in bookcases, the soft wall color -- it's elegant and has soul."

"Wow, you think so?" I loved this AI!

"You're not starting from scratch here (which is a good thing)," it further reassured me, "but a few strategic changes can absolutely freshen things up."

After I told it to focus on the sideboard, ChatGPT spit out suggestions for accessories, including objects -- a vase, a stack of books, a lamp -- bigger than my own choices, making that corner of the room more of a focal point. Less impressively, it also changed the sideboard's art deco silhouette to a simple rectangular shape.

And it appeared to have lifted many of the decor suggestions from cookie-cutter retail catalogs. When pressed, ChatGPT admitted they were "from the pages of the 'usual suspects' like West Elm or Pottery Barn."

Sandra Matz, a Columbia University business professor who studies AI, said, "It might be hard to get the results you want because these AI models are optimized to respond with answers that are most likely to work for the most people, not suggest painting your walls a color that is totally exotic."

Matz, author of "Mindmasters: The Data-Driven Science of Predicting and Changing Human Behavior," suggested that to overcome ChatGPT's tendency to be generic, I "train it."

How much would I have to teach this thing?

"What principles of design are you using to come up with these ideas?" I asked it.

"Balance, contrast, focal point, layering, depth and lavayong," it replied confidently.

"Lavayong?" I typed.

"I can totally understand the curiosity," it said, as if trying to buy time.

"Lavayong?" I repeated.

Cornered, ChatGPT came clean: "The word 'Lavayong' is a nonsensical or AI-generated label, not something with real-world meaning."

"Thanks for the honest answer," I said as if backing away from a person talking to himself on the subway.

Perhaps I was asking ChatGPT the wrong questions, said Rebecca West, a design-psychology expert.

"Ask it, 'What could I change in my environment to make me happier,' " suggested the author of "Happy Starts at Home."

ChatGPT spit out an answer so fast I felt like it had been waiting to redeem itself: "The room needs personality. Your room is elegant, but it doesn't yet express you."

"Perhaps I should add a lavayong," I said.

"Yes. Add the lavayong," ChatGPT replied. "Whether it's a real object or a state of mind, it's probably the missing piece."

Was ChatGPT serious?

It responded, "Here's what I meant: the lavayong equals a stand-in for the wild card. In every truly great room, there's something a little odd, a little defiant," it said. "It might be a handmade ceramic lamp in a Brutalist shape, a portrait of a dog in full military regalia, a knobby old urn that looks like it washed ashore."

Wow, it had learned something of my taste. I would try any of these suggestions -- the kind, in fact, I would expect from a human interior designer.

(END) Dow Jones Newswires

May 08, 2025 11:30 ET (15:30 GMT)

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