Interviewe mat Muge Alanay Gucuoglu

I am Müge Alanay Gücüoglu, an architect and interior designer based between Istanbul and Alanya, and the founder of NOM Architecture. I studied Architecture at Middle East Technical University and later completed my master’s degree in Building Science, also at METU.

I have been working in the field of architecture and interior design for more than 25 years. Since founding NOM Architecture in 1998, I have designed a wide range of residential, hospitality, commercial and lifestyle projects. My work often brings together architecture, interiors, furniture, lighting, materials, branding and atmosphere into one coherent story.

Over the years, I have worked on boutique residences, private villas, restaurants, retail spaces and hotel projects. Hospitality design has become an especially important part of my practice, because it allows me to create complete experiences rather than only physical spaces.

Projects such as Cook’s Club Alanya, House of Bohem, Tarabya AA House and Zekeriyaköy K Villa represent my holistic design approach. In recent years, I have also had the opportunity to collaborate with international hospitality brands and creative teams, including Thomas Cook, DERTOUR Hotels & Resorts and Vision Alphabet, interpreting global brand identities within local Mediterranean contexts.

For me, architecture is not only about designing buildings or interiors. It is about creating atmosphere, emotion and memory. I see every project as a complete spatial narrative, where function, materiality, identity and human experience come together.

I would describe myself as intuitive, detail-oriented and emotionally connected to space. I do not see design only as a visual discipline. For me, design is about creating a feeling, a memory and a sense of belonging.

My approach is holistic. I like to understand the story, the context, the people and the rhythm of a place before making design decisions. I believe a space should feel natural, effortless and alive, even if there is a great deal of work behind it.

For me, design means creating meaning, feeling and connection; whether it is a space, an object, a piece of furniture, a detail or a complete atmosphere.

I do not see design only as the creation of physical form. It is a way of shaping experiences. A chair, a lamp, a material detail, a sign, a uniform or an interior space can all carry the same story if they are designed with sensitivity and intention.

As an architect, I mostly work through space, but my design approach is holistic. I am interested in how every element speaks to each other: architecture, interiors, furniture, lighting, materials, branding and even the smallest object. When these elements are coherent, design becomes more than appearance; it becomes an emotion, a memory and a language. For me, good design should feel natural, effortless and meaningful. It should not only be seen, but also felt.

I want my designs to create comfort, curiosity, calmness and a sense of belonging. I like spaces and objects that invite people in gently, without overwhelming them.

Especially in hospitality design, I care deeply about the emotional rhythm of a place. A hotel, restaurant or beach club should not only look good in photographs; it should make people want to stay, return and remember how they felt there.

This is also where my idea of slow glamour becomes important. For me, slow glamour is a quiet and relaxed form of elegance. It is not about luxury that shouts, but about atmosphere, texture, light, comfort and emotional depth.

I want people to feel that they are in a place that is refined but warm, elegant but effortless, memorable but never forced. Good design should create an emotion that stays with people after they leave.

I believe that some of the most important skills for a designer are not directly related to drawing or designing. Empathy, communication, observation, patience, adaptability and problem-solving have been essential in my journey as an architect and designer.

Architecture is never created alone. It requires listening to clients, understanding users, coordinating many people and making decisions under real conditions such as budget, timing and construction limitations. Being able to communicate clearly and build trust has helped me protect the design vision while also keeping the process realistic and collaborative.

Observation is another very important skill for me. I observe how people move, gather, rest, eat, work and remember places. This helps me design not only beautiful spaces, but spaces that feel natural and meaningful in daily life.

My biggest influences have always been life itself, Mediterranean culture, travel, local materials, art, music and human behavior. I am inspired by places that feel effortless, layered and emotionally rich. Over time, this journey helped me develop my own design language, which I often describe as slow glamour — a quiet, relaxed and emotional form of elegance.

My design journey started very early, when I decided to become an architect in the 7th grade. After studying architecture and gaining many years of professional experience, I realized that design is not only about creating forms or spaces. It is about creating atmosphere, memory and connection. This understanding continues to guide my work today.

My growth path has always been about expanding the meaning of architecture.

At the beginning of my career, I was mostly focused on buildings and interiors. Over time, I became more interested in the complete experience of a place and it's atmosphere.

My future path is connected to projects where architecture can create value beyond aesthetics: hospitality spaces that build memory, educational buildings that support curiosity, healthcare spaces that create trust, and public or semi-public environments that strengthen human connection.

I am currently about to complete a faculty building, and after that I will be working on an aesthetic surgery hospital. My dream project would be a Mediterranean lifestyle destination where architecture, landscape, hospitality, wellness, art and culture come together naturally.

I would also love to publish a book about my hospitality design journey.

My advice to young designers is to stay curious, patient and brave.

Do not only look at beautiful images. Look at real life. Observe how people sit, eat, walk, rest, gather, work, learn and feel. Design is not only about visual references; it is about understanding life.

Learn materials, construction and details very well. A strong idea is important, but it needs knowledge, discipline and technical understanding to become real. Also, do not be afraid of site work. Construction teaches you things that no book, screen or rendering can teach.

Trust your intuition, but support it with research, responsibility and hard work. And never give up easily. Design is a long journey, and every project teaches something.

I believe success in design comes from consistency, empathy, curiosity and responsibility.

A designer should not only try to create impressive images. A good designer listens carefully, understands the context, solves problems and creates long-term value. It is important to develop a personal design language, but it is equally important to respect each project’s own story.

My suggestion is to avoid designing only for trends or photographs. A space may look beautiful in an image, but the real question is: does it feel good in life? Does it function well? Does it belong to its place? Does it create an emotional connection?

For me, the strongest design is not always the loudest one. Sometimes the most powerful spaces touch people quietly and become part of their memory.

My day to day life is quite dynamic, because my work moves between design thinking, project coordination, site visits and creative research. As the founder of NOM Architecture, I am involved in many layers of a project; from the first concept and spatial decisions to materials, furniture, lighting, branding and final details.

Some days are more technical, with drawings, meetings, budgets, timelines and coordination with teams. Other days are more intuitive and creative, spent developing concepts, selecting materials, visiting showrooms, looking at art, cinema, exhibitions or visual references that feed my imagination.

I also spend a lot of time on construction sites, especially for hospitality projects. I believe the real character of a project is shaped not only at the desk, but also on site, through decisions made with craftsmen, contractors and clients.

So my daily rhythm is a balance between discipline and intuition, organization and imagination. It can be intense, but I enjoy this movement between ideas and reality. Because this is where design truly becomes alive.

I follow design trends, but I do not design according to trends. For me, trends are useful because they show how culture, lifestyle, technology and human expectations are changing. They help me understand the spirit of the time. However, I do not believe a strong design should depend only on what is fashionable in a particular season.

I stay connected to the design world through international fairs, design weeks, art exhibitions, cinema, fashion, travel, local and international design magazines, material research and brand developments. I also follow references such as Pantone’s Color of the Year, not as a rule, but as a way of reading global visual tendencies and cultural moods. Social media is also a valuable source for me; I follow the accounts of designers, architects, artists and creative studios whose work I admire, not to copy trends, but to observe new ways of thinking, presenting and communicating design.

However, I try to filter all these influences through my own sensibility. I prefer to develop a personal and contextual design language for each project. Every space, object or detail should belong to its own story, location and users.

Especially in architecture and hospitality design, I believe timelessness is more important than being immediately trendy. My aim is not to create something that simply looks “hip” for one season. I would rather create a space, product family or design language that feels authentic, coherent and emotionally lasting.

For me, good design should feel contemporary, but not disposable.

A well-designed space, object or experience should have clarity, function, proportion, material honesty, emotional depth and a strong sense of identity.

The moment I say “that’s it” usually comes when nothing feels unnecessary. Every element has a reason to exist, but the result does not feel over-explained or forced. Good design has a certain quiet confidence. It does not need to shout to be memorable.

For me, one of the strongest signs of good design is emotional ease. If people feel good in a space, use a product naturally, or remember an experience without being told what to feel, then the design has succeeded.

Common mistakes are designing only for appearance, following trends too literally, ignoring function, using materials without honesty, or adding too many elements without a clear idea. A good design should not be about decoration alone. It should have a soul, a logic and a reason.

In the end, I believe good design is a balance between intelligence and emotion. It should solve a problem, create beauty, respect its context and leave people with a feeling that stays.

A design is ready when it reaches a point of natural balance; when the idea, function, materiality, proportion, atmosphere and details begin to speak the same language.

I do not think a design becomes ready only because all drawings are completed or all elements are selected. It becomes ready when nothing feels missing, nothing feels excessive, and the original intention can be felt clearly through the whole project. There is a moment when the design starts to breathe on its own.

Of course, I believe every design can always be improved in theory. Architecture and design are living processes. A space continues to change with time, light, people, use and memory. However, as a designer, you need to know when improvement becomes unnecessary control. Sometimes the most important decision is to stop before the design loses its naturalness.

I usually decide that a project is ready when the main story is protected, the practical needs are solved, the emotional atmosphere is present, and the details support the whole without demanding too much attention.

One of my most meaningful and complete design works is House of Bohem, a restaurant and beach lifestyle project located on Cleopatra Beach in Alanya.

I consider it one of my biggest works not only because of its scale, but because it was designed as a complete world. The architecture, interior design, furniture, lighting, material language, branding, signage, uniforms, menu identity and atmosphere all came from my design vision. It was a project where I could bring together everything I believe in as a designer.

House of Bohem was born from the idea of creating a different kind of Mediterranean luxury. Alanya is a rich coastal city, familiar with luxurious venues, glamorous lifestyles and visually strong hospitality spaces. Instead of following this expected idea of luxury, I wanted to propose something more emotional, slower and more soulful. I wanted to create a place that speaks about slow glamour, slow living and being present in the moment.

This was a brave decision, because the concept was not based on conventional luxury. It was based on natural materials, bohemian spirit, tactile textures, warm light, relaxed elegance and emotional atmosphere. The message was almost a lifestyle statement: “Be here now.”

The challenge was to make this philosophy desirable, not distant; refined, not informal; bohemian, but still sophisticated. Every detail had to support this balance. The project had to feel free-spirited, but also carefully designed.

For me, House of Bohem is special because it proved that people can connect deeply with a place when it has a real soul. It was embraced very strongly by its visitors, and this gave me great satisfaction. It showed me that a design does not need to shout to become memorable. Sometimes, a softer and more meaningful language can create a much stronger emotional impact.

I am especially proud of House of Bohem because it represents my holistic approach to design. It is not only a restaurant or beach club; it is a spatial story, a lifestyle proposal and a reflection of my belief that architecture can shape the way people feel, gather and remember a place.

I do not have only one favourite designer, because I am inspired by different creative minds for different reasons. I admire designers and architects who do not only create beautiful forms, but also create atmosphere, emotion and a new way of seeing.

I deeply admire Carlo Scarpa for his sensitivity to material, detail, craftsmanship and time. His work feels architectural, artistic and almost poetic at the same time. He teaches us that a detail is never just a detail; it can carry memory, culture and emotion.

I also admire Luis Barragán for his use of color, silence, light and spirituality in space. His architecture has a very strong emotional presence without being loud. Le Corbusier is also impossible to ignore for his impact on modern architecture and the way he changed our understanding of space, proportion and modern life.

From the world of design and interiors, I find Kelly Wearstler very inspiring for her boldness, confidence and ability to create strong identities. I also admire designers who are able to build complete worlds, not only objects or spaces.

If I had the chance to speak with one designer or architect from the past, I would probably choose Carlo Scarpa. I would love to ask him how he thought about time, imperfection, material transitions and the emotional power of details.

For me, the most iconic designers are not only those who created beautiful works, but those who changed the way we understand design itself. They remind us that good design is not only about function or beauty; it is about meaning, atmosphere and human experience.

My lifestyle is strongly shaped by the Mediterranean spirit, even though I live and work between Istanbul and Alanya. Istanbul gives me culture, history, art, exhibitions, cinema and a very layered urban energy. Alanya gives me light, sea, openness, nature and a slower rhythm. I think this contrast has a strong influence on my design language.

I am inspired by cities that have depth, memory and atmosphere. Istanbul is one of them, of course, because it is never one-dimensional. It carries history, chaos, elegance, melancholy and beauty at the same time. Mediterranean coastal cities also inspire me deeply because daily life happens between indoors and outdoors, between architecture and landscape, between public life and private rituals.

Music is definitely part of my creative process. It helps me enter the emotional world of a project. Sometimes I imagine the rhythm of a space almost like a soundtrack — calm in the morning, social during the day, warmer and more atmospheric at night. Especially in hospitality design, music, light and spatial experience are very connected for me.

My culture affects my design projects in a natural way. I come from a geography where hospitality, gathering, food, conversation, open-air living and emotional connection are very important. This makes me think of design not only as a visual result, but as a living experience. A place should invite people to gather, stay, share and remember.

At the moment, I continue to work on hospitality and lifestyle projects, especially hotels, restaurants, beach concepts and brand-related spatial experiences. I am interested in creating complete worlds where architecture, interiors, objects, uniforms, graphics, music and atmosphere all belong to the same story.

I believe good design is necessary for the advancement of society because it improves daily life in both visible and invisible ways. It can make people feel safer, calmer, more connected, more respected and more aware of their surroundings. Design does not always need to be monumental to be meaningful. Sometimes a small detail, a better material choice, a more comfortable chair, a thoughtful light, or a welcoming public space can change how people feel and behave.

In my own life, design has taught me to slow down, observe more carefully and appreciate small rituals. It has made me more sensitive to light, texture, proportion, material, sound and atmosphere. I believe these small sensitivities create a better way of living. For me, design is not separate from life; it is a way of understanding life more deeply.

My work culture is based on trust, clarity, responsibility and collaboration. Architecture is a creative field, but it is also a very disciplined and collective process. A successful project requires not only imagination, but also communication, coordination and respect.

As the founder of NOM Architecture, I lead the creative direction of each project, but I work closely with clients, consultants, craftsmen, contractors, suppliers and creative partners. I believe the best results come when everyone understands and respects the same design vision.

I think it is easy to work with me when people are honest, solution-oriented and open to dialogue. I listen carefully, but I also protect the integrity of the project.

When choosing business partners or team members, I value reliability, sensitivity, curiosity, responsibility and good communication. Technical skill is important, but attitude and care are just as important.

For me, the biggest challenge of this profession is to keep the original idea alive from concept to realization.

As a designer, I try to contribute by supporting good design culture, sharing my knowledge and experience, and encouraging younger designers whenever possible. I believe it is important to create opportunities, to guide young creatives and to show them that design is not only about aesthetics, but also about empathy, responsibility and long-term value.

I have always been open to helping with ideas, guidance or design support when I believe a project has a positive social or cultural impact. I think architects and designers should be involved in humanitarian and community-oriented projects, because design has the power to improve daily life in very practical and emotional ways.I also believe that sharing experience is a form of giving back. Through design events, interviews, publications and conversations with younger designers, I try to support a more sensitive, responsible and emotionally intelligent design culture. For me, the real contribution of a designer is not only what they create, but also what kind of awareness they leave behind.

Participating in the A’ Design Award has been a very positive and motivating experience for me. As a designer and architect, it is very valuable to see your work evaluated on an international platform and to be recognized among creative professionals from different countries and disciplines.

For me, one of the most important benefits of design awards is visibility. They allow projects to reach a wider audience beyond their local context. A project that is created in a specific city or for a specific client can suddenly become part of a global design conversation.

The second benefit is credibility. Being recognized by an international award gives strength not only to the project, but also to the designer’s professional identity. It helps clients, collaborators and the design community understand the value and quality of the work.

The third benefit is reflection. Preparing a project for a design award makes you look at your own work more analytically. You need to explain the concept, process, challenges, innovation and emotional value of the design. This helps you understand your own design approach more clearly and improve your communication as a designer.

I believe design competitions are important because they create a platform for dialogue, comparison and inspiration. They encourage designers to push their limits, document their work properly and share ideas with a larger creative community.

Being selected as Designer of the Day is a great honor for me. It feels like a meaningful recognition not only of one project, but of my overall design journey, my values and my approach to architecture. It is also a beautiful motivation to continue creating spaces and experiences with more responsibility, sensitivity and passion.

Cook’s Club is an international hotel brand with a strong and clearly defined identity: down to earth, loving, free and easy. My main principle in Cook’s Club Alanya was to translate this global brand spirit into the local character of Alanya and Cleopatra Beach.

I did not want to apply the franchise identity only as a visual layer. I wanted it to become a real spatial experience. The brand speaks about contemporary design, laid-back cool, music, food, togetherness and freedom. Alanya adds Mediterranean light, palm shadows, sea breeze, beach rhythm and warm outdoor living.

So the inspiration was born from this meeting: a global lifestyle hotel identity interpreted through the sun, sea, texture and relaxed spirit of the Mediterranean.

My main focus was to create a coherent and authentic implementation of the Cook’s Club brand in Alanya.

The challenge was to make guests feel the Cook’s Club identity immediately, but also to make the hotel belong to its place. I wanted the design to feel sun-bright and down to earth, contemporary but relaxed, social but never forced.

I focused on the full rhythm of the guest experience: slow mornings, poolside afternoons, music, food, cocktails, quiet corners, evening energy and moments of togetherness. I wanted guests to feel that they could set their own pace or simply be caught up in the moment.

Hospitality projects are living spaces. They continue to evolve with guests, seasons, operations and brand needs.

My future plan is to continue protecting and developing the design language of the project while staying loyal to the Cook’s Club brand DNA. Outdoor areas, signage, furniture, lighting, guest touchpoints and small details can always be refined further.

For me, an award-winning project is not a finished object. It is a responsibility to keep the atmosphere alive, coherent and emotionally connected over time.

The design and implementation process were carried out together and completed in approximately six months.

Because this was a transformation of an existing hotel, the process had to move in a very coordinated way. While the design was developing, many implementation decisions were also being made on site. The existing structure, operational needs, brand requirements, budget, construction timing and material availability all shaped the process.

For me, the most important part was to keep the Cook’s Club brand experience consistent while adapting it to the real conditions of the building and the local atmosphere of Alanya.

Completing the project in six months required quick decisions, strong coordination and a clear design vision from beginning to end.

This was a commissioned project within the Cook’s Club franchise identity, but it also became a very personal architectural interpretation for me.

Cook’s Club already has a strong brand story: a rare hotel experience that is affordable, stylish and socially alive. My role was to bring this story into a real place — into Alanya, near Cleopatra Beach, within an existing hotel structure.

I wanted the project to feel young and young at heart, made for solos, couples and groups of friends. A place where people can be themselves while feeling they belong to something.

This design was created specifically for Cook’s Club Alanya and is used as part of the hotel’s architectural and interior experience.

Since Cook’s Club is an existing international brand, the project was not about selling or leasing a product design. It was about implementing and interpreting the brand identity within a real architectural context.

Many elements, such as spatial organization, material choices, outdoor areas, lobby character, pool atmosphere, signage adaptations, furniture selections and guest touchpoints were designed or coordinated specifically for this hotel.

I love hospitality design because it allows architecture to touch daily life very directly.

A hotel is not only a building. It is a temporary home, a social stage, a place of rest, music, food, movement and memory. Cook’s Club as a brand is especially interesting because it is not about formal luxury; it is about atmosphere, social flow, belonging and relaxed style.

This project gave me the opportunity to work on a complete experience — from arrival to poolside rhythm, from rooms to restaurant, from material feeling to small playful moments.

The strongest influence was the Cook’s Club brand identity itself, together with the local character of Alanya.

The brand is down to earth, loving, free and easy. It has a tone that is relaxed, slow glamour, playful and human. I combined this with the Mediterranean lifestyle of Alanya: outdoor living, sun, water, palm trees, beach culture, warm evenings and informal social moments.

I also had a very good dialogue with the concept designer of Cook's club hotels, Remo Masala. We spoke the same design language from the beginning, and this created a very natural and productive collaboration. He trusted my architectural interpretation and left many decisions to me, which allowed me to adapt the Cook’s Club spirit to the existing building and to the local atmosphere of Alanya in a very authentic way.

As an architect, I am also inspired by modern and Brutalist architecture. In this project, the honesty of concrete, the warmth of wood, natural textures, rattan, textiles and plants helped create a balance between rawness and softness.

The target guests are design-conscious travelers who enjoy style, comfort, music, food and social energy without wanting a formal luxury atmosphere.

Cook’s Club is for the young and young at heart. It is for solo travelers, couples and groups of friends. It is for people who want to feel free, relaxed and connected.

The design supports different moods: chilled-out mornings, sunny pool days, cocktails, music, social evenings, but also quiet moments for reading, resting or simply enjoying the Mediterranean light.

What sets this project apart is the balance between global brand identity, local architectural interpretation and cultural memory.

Cook’s Club has a strong franchise language, but in Alanya it needed to feel connected to Cleopatra Beach, the Mediterranean climate, the existing hotel structure and the spirit of the place. My approach was not to decorate the hotel with brand elements, but to turn the brand values into a real spatial experience.

Alanya also has a cultural memory shaped by a nomadic way of life. This was important for me. The use of natural textures, woven materials, rugs, rattan, wood, relaxed seating areas and open-air living carries a subtle reference to this nomadic and bohemian spirit. It gives the project a feeling of freedom, movement and informality.

The result feels social, relaxed and stylish, but also local, warm and human. It has rhythm: slow mornings, sunny pool hours, food, music, togetherness and calm escape corners. This combination of international brand identity, Mediterranean atmosphere and bohemian cultural references makes the project different from similar hotel concepts.

The name Cook’s Club belongs to the international hotel brand, so I did not create the name myself.

My role was to interpret what Cook’s Club means spatially in Alanya. The brand represents a rare hotel experience: affordable but stylish, social, contemporary, laid-back and connected to music and food.

In this project, I tried to give that name a local soul version of Cook’s Club that belongs to Cleopatra Beach, Mediterranean light and the relaxed energy of Alanya.

I used architectural drawings, sketches, moodboards, material boards, brand guidelines, digital presentations, site observations and many on-site coordination decisions.

The Cook’s Club brand book was an important tool because it defined the values, tone and visual direction of the brand. But the real design challenge was translating those guidelines into architecture and atmosphere.

For me, tools are not only software. A material sample, a color card, a palm shadow, a pool reflection, a sentence on the wall or the rhythm of music can also become part of the design process.

The most unique aspect is the way the Cook’s Club brand identity was transformed into a real Mediterranean atmosphere.

The project is not only about furniture or finishes. It is about creating a tempo for each day, almost like an uplifting mantra. Guests can be themselves while feeling they belong to something. They can set their own pace or be caught up in the moment.

Architecturally, I supported this with open-air spaces, natural materials, social zones, calmer pool areas, warm textures, playful details and a strong connection to light, water and music.

I developed the architectural and interior design interpretation myself, while working within the Cook’s Club brand framework.

During the project, I collaborated with concept designer Remo Masala and his team, hotel owners, brand representatives, engineers, contractors, suppliers, craftsmen and operational teams. Each discipline was important for the realization of the project.

My role was to keep the architectural vision, brand coherence and atmosphere consistent from the first idea to the final implementation. This was especially important because the project had to respect both the franchise identity and the local character of the building.

Technology supported the design process through drawings, presentations, visual communication and coordination.

Digital tools helped us communicate design decisions clearly with the client, brand team, contractors and suppliers. They were useful for testing ideas, preparing details and keeping the implementation process under control.

However, the emotional quality of the project came mostly from physical experience: light, material, proportion, texture, music, water, shadow and the way people move through the space. For me, technology is a tool, but the soul of hospitality design is still deeply human.

Yes, research was an important part of the process.

I studied the Cook’s Club brand identity, brand guidelines, tone of voice, target guest profile and lifestyle expectations. I also researched the location, climate, existing building, circulation, outdoor use, operational needs and daily guest rhythm.

In hospitality design, research is not only numerical data. It is also understanding how people wake up, eat, swim, rest, meet, listen to music, take photographs, gather and remember a place. This emotional and behavioral research guided many design decisions.

One of the main challenges was adapting a strong international franchise identity to an existing hotel structure without losing either the brand spirit or the local soul.

Renovation projects always bring surprises. Existing conditions, construction limits, operational needs, budget decisions, time pressure and material choices all need to be balanced carefully.

Another challenge was to make the final result feel effortless. Cook’s Club should feel relaxed, free and easy, but behind this feeling there was a lot of planning, coordination and detail work.

I decided to submit this design because I believed the project had a strong story of transformation and implementation.

Cook’s Club Alanya was not only an interior or renovation project for me. It was the architectural interpretation of a global brand within a very specific Mediterranean context.

I felt that this balance, respecting a franchise identity while creating a local, emotional and memorable guest experience. For me, it deserved to be shared on an international design platform.

This project strengthened my belief that successful hospitality design is about rhythm, not only appearance.

I learned once again that every detail matters: a sentence on the wall, a color, a material, a poolside corner, a sign, a lighting element or a transition space can change the whole feeling of the hotel.

It also reminded me how important it is to understand a brand deeply before implementing it. A good franchise project should not feel copied. It should feel alive in its own place.

I would like to add that Cook’s Club Alanya is very meaningful to me because it reflects many things I believe in as an architect: human-centric design, emotional connection, Mediterranean lightness, natural materials and the power of atmosphere.

For me, good hospitality design should not only be seen. It should be lived, felt and remembered.

I am also grateful that this project has been recognized by A’ Design Award. Participating in this process has been an important, useful and enjoyable experience for me, and I would like to thank the A’ Design Award team for giving designers the opportunity to share their work internationally.

I am Müge Alanay Gücüoglu, an architect and interior designer based between Istanbul and Alanya, and the founder of NOM Architecture. I studied Architecture at Middle East Technical University, one of Turkey’s leading architecture schools, and later completed my master’s degree in Building Science, also at METU.

I have been working in architecture and interior design for more than 25 years. Since founding NOM Architecture in 1998, I have designed a wide range of residential, hospitality, commercial and lifestyle projects. Over the years, my practice has evolved from designing spaces to creating complete experiences, where architecture, interiors, furniture, lighting, materials, branding and atmosphere all become part of the same story.

Hospitality design has become an especially important part of my work. I enjoy projects where I can shape not only the physical environment, but also the emotional rhythm, identity and memory of a place. Projects such as Cook’s Club Alanya, House of Bohem, Tarabya AA House and Zekeriyaköy K Villa reflect this holistic approach.

In recent years, I have also had the opportunity to collaborate with international hospitality brands and creative teams, including Thomas Cook, DERTOUR Hotels & Resorts and Vision Alphabet, interpreting global brand identities within local Mediterranean contexts.

For me, architecture is not only about designing buildings or interiors. It is about creating atmosphere, emotion and meaningful human experience through space. This understanding continues to guide my work today.

What motivates me most is the possibility of transforming an idea, a feeling or a need into a real experience that becomes part of people’s lives.

I became an architect because I was always drawn to creativity, problem-solving and spatial imagination. Architecture felt like the perfect meeting point between logic and emotion: it allows you to dream, but also asks you to make that dream real.

Today, I am motivated not only by creating beautiful spaces, but by creating places with atmosphere, meaning and memory. I am interested in how people feel in a space, how they move, gather, rest, celebrate and remember. For me, design is a way of touching daily life quietly but deeply.

I definitely chose to become a designer. It was not something I was forced into; it was a very natural and early decision for me.

I decided to become an architect when I was in the 7th grade, and this choice was even written in my high school yearbook as my future profession. Looking back, I think architecture attracted me because it combines creativity, imagination, problem-solving, human behavior and technical thinking.

Of course, as you grow professionally, you realize that design also requires discipline, patience and resilience. But even with all its difficulties, I never felt that I had chosen the wrong path. Architecture became not only my profession, but also my life style.

I design architecture, interiors, hospitality spaces, residential projects, restaurants, retail spaces and lifestyle environments. My work often goes beyond the physical space itself; I also design furniture, lighting decisions, material palettes, signage, brand-related details and the overall atmosphere of a project.

I especially enjoy projects where I can create a complete world. Hospitality design is very important to me because it brings together architecture, interiors, branding, rituals, music, light, food, service and emotion. A hotel, restaurant or beach club is not only a place to use, but a place to experience and remember.

In the future, I would love to design more Mediterranean lifestyle hotels and destination projects where architecture, landscape, interiors, local culture, art, wellness and slow living come together. I am interested in creating places that feel timeless, soulful and connected to their context.

I think young designers should first learn to observe deeply. Before trying to create something impressive, they should understand people, materials, places, culture, light and daily life. Good design does not come only from images or trends; it comes from sensitivity and awareness.

They should also be patient. A personal design language does not develop immediately. It grows through education, mistakes, experience, construction sites, clients, collaborations and real problems. Every project teaches something, even the difficult ones.

My advice would be to stay curious, work hard, travel, read, visit exhibitions, listen to people and never lose the emotional side of design. Technical skills are important, but creativity, empathy, discipline and resilience are just as important.

To become truly meaningful as a designer, one should not only ask, “How does it look?” but also, “How does it make people feel? What does it give back? Will it still matter with time?”

A good designer can create something functional, beautiful and well resolved. A great designer goes further and creates meaning.

For me, the difference is emotional depth, vision and responsibility. A great designer does not only solve the brief; they understand the deeper potential of the project. They can read the context, the users, the culture and the invisible needs behind the visible problem.

A great designer also knows how to protect the soul of an idea while adapting to real conditions such as budget, timing, construction and collaboration. This requires both sensitivity and strength.

I believe good designers create successful results, but great designers create memories, influence lifestyles and leave something behind. Their work continues to speak even after the project is completed.

For me, a good design becomes a really good design when it goes beyond function and aesthetics, and starts to create an emotional connection.

Of course, a design should work well, solve a problem and respond to its context. But what makes it truly memorable is the atmosphere it creates and the feeling it leaves behind. I always evaluate design by asking: does it feel natural, does it belong to its place, does it make life easier or more beautiful, and does it have a soul?

I do not believe that good design has to be loud or spectacular. Sometimes the strongest design is quiet, effortless and timeless. If people feel good in a space, if they remember the emotion of it even after they leave, then I think the design has succeeded.

For me, really good design is not only seen; it is experienced. It supports life, creates identity, and becomes part of people’s memories.

The value of good design is that it improves the quality of life, often in a very silent but powerful way.

Good design is not only about beauty or luxury. It is about clarity, comfort, identity and long-term value. A well-designed space can make people feel calmer, more inspired, more connected and more willing to spend time there. In hospitality design especially, good design directly affects the guest experience, the memory of the place and even the commercial success of the business.

I believe everyone should invest in good design because it gives more than it takes. It creates spaces and products that last longer, function better and age with dignity. It can reduce waste, support better habits and make everyday life more meaningful.

For me, good design is not an expense; it is a cultural, emotional and economic investment. When a place is designed with care, people feel that care. And this feeling becomes part of the value

If I had more time, I would design a small Mediterranean retreat where architecture is not only a shelter, but a complete way of living.

I imagine a place by the sea, shaped by light, wind, local materials, landscape and daily rituals. It would not be a conventional hotel, but more like a living composition: rooms, courtyards, shaded terraces, a small restaurant, quiet corners, open-air gatherings, art, craft, food and nature flowing into each other.

I would design it for people who are sensitive to atmosphere; people who do not only look for luxury, but for meaning, calmness, authenticity and emotional connection. It could be for Sofia Coppola, for her quiet cinematic world, sense of memory, femininity and understated beauty; or for Patti Smith, for her poetic, free and bohemian spirit; or for Tilda Swinton, for her timeless, intellectual and unconventional elegance.

If I had unlimited time, I would love to create a small Mediterranean retreat where architecture, landscape, food, craft, art and daily rituals come together. A place that feels effortless, warm and soulful; not as an escape from life, but as a better way of living it.

My key influences usually come from the place itself: its geography, landscape, surroundings, directions, light, climate, culture, materials and the way people live there.

For example, in the Cook’s Club project, Alanya was not only a location for me; it was the starting point of the design story. The Mediterranean light, the rhythm of the beach, the warm climate, the relaxed daily life and the slightly nomadic, bohemian spirit of the region all influenced the atmosphere I wanted to create. I wanted the design to feel free, natural and contemporary, but still connected to the soul of the place.

I am also deeply influenced by designers and creators who build emotional worlds, not only beautiful objects or spaces. I admire Luis Barragán for his use of light, color and silence; Lina Bo Bardi for her human, cultural and social approach to architecture; and Sofia Coppola for the way she creates atmosphere, memory and understated beauty through cinema.

In my own work, I try to bring these influences together with my personal language: honest materials, natural textures, warm wood, stone, concrete, linen, rattan, Mediterranean colors and a sense of effortless elegance.

For me, design influences are not only visual. They are emotional, cultural and atmospheric. I am always trying to translate the spirit of a place into a contemporary spatial experience.

I think my secret ingredient is emotional intuition, combined with discipline.

I usually start by trying to feel the soul of a place before designing it. I observe the light, the climate, the people, the rhythm of daily life and the hidden potential of the space. Then I translate that feeling into architecture, materials, colors, furniture, lighting and atmosphere. So maybe my secret recipe is this: to listen carefully, to feel deeply, and then to design every detail with consistency. Good design needs intelligence, but great design also needs empathy. For example, in House of Bohem, the success of the design did not come only from the furniture, the materials or the visual identity. It came from creating a complete world — from the architecture to the branding, from the uniforms to the menu, from the music to the way people move between the beach, the bar and the restaurant. Everything had to speak the same language.

The same was true for Cook’s Club Alanya. The project needed to feel international, but also deeply connected to Alanya and the Mediterranean spirit. I believe this balance between global vision and local soul is very important.

I am inspired by designers and creators who do not only design forms, but create complete emotional worlds.

I admire Luis Barragán for his poetic use of light, color, silence and spirituality. His spaces are very simple at first glance, but they carry a deep emotional power. I also admire Lina Bo Bardi for her human, social and cultural approach to architecture. Her work reminds me that architecture should not be distant from life; it should be generous, alive and connected to people.

From Italian design culture, I feel very close to Gio Ponti. I admire the way he moved naturally between architecture, interiors, furniture, objects and publishing. His work has elegance, lightness and optimism, but also a very strong sense of lifestyle. This holistic way of thinking is very inspiring for me, because I also believe that architecture is not separate from daily life.

I am also inspired by Peter Zumthor for his sensitivity to materials, atmosphere and memory. His work shows how architecture can be quiet but extremely powerful.

Outside architecture, I am inspired by people like Sofia Coppola, Patti Smith and Tilda Swinton. They are not designers in the classical sense, but they represent very strong worlds: cinematic silence, poetic freedom, unconventional elegance. These qualities influence the way I think about atmosphere, identity and emotion in design.

For me, inspiration does not come only from architecture. It comes from films, books, music, travel, cities, rituals, memories and people with a strong personal language. A great designer should be open to all of them.

There are many designs I admire, so it is difficult to choose only a few. But I am especially interested in designs where intelligence, material, function and emotion come together in a very clear way.

One example I really admire is Ron Arad’s No Waste Table for Moroso. What I find fascinating is that it is made from a single sheet of metal, and even the remaining parts from the curved edges of the tabletop become the legs. So there is almost no waste, but the result is not only rational or ecological; it is also very sculptural. I like this kind of design because the solution is not hidden. You can almost read the idea through the object.

Another piece I find very inspiring is Frank Gehry’s Wiggle Side Chair. It is made from corrugated cardboard, a very ordinary and unexpected material for furniture. But through layering, rhythm and form, Gehry turns it into a strong, sculptural and almost architectural object. I love this transformation; when a simple material suddenly gains dignity, character and emotion. It is playful, clever and brave at the same time.

I also admire Achille Castiglioni’s Arco Lamp. The heavy marble base, the long curved metal arm and the suspended light create a very architectural object. It solves a practical problem; bringing light over a table without a ceiling fixture. But it does it with such elegance and clarity.

And I feel very close to the design language of Patricia Urquiola, especially in her works for brands such as Moroso and B&B Italia. I like the way she brings together contemporary form, comfort, texture and craft. Her designs often feel soft but strong, sophisticated but never cold. They have a human quality, and this is something I deeply value, especially in hospitality design.

For me, a favorite design is not necessarily the most famous or the most decorative one. I am drawn to designs that have a strong idea behind them, but still create emotion. I like when an object feels intelligent, useful, poetic and effortless at the same time. That balance is very inspiring for me and it is also connected to my own idea of slow glamour: sophistication without force, beauty with intelligence, and design that feels deeply human.

It is difficult for me to choose only one project, because every design belongs to a different period of my life and teaches me something different. But if I have to name one, I would say House of Bohem has a very special place in my heart.

House of Bohem was not only an interior design or architecture project for me; it was a complete world that I created from the beginning. I designed the architecture, interiors, branding, furniture language, uniforms, menu identity, signage and the general atmosphere as one holistic story. This is why I see it as one of my most complete works.

What makes it strong for me is its emotional clarity. It is located on Cleopatra Beach in Alanya, and I wanted it to carry the Mediterranean light, the bohemian spirit of the coast, the relaxed rhythm of beach life and the warmth of gathering around food, music and conversation.

The design is not trying to impress with conventional luxury. Its strength comes from natural materials, honest textures, warm colors, open-air feeling and a sense of freedom. It represents what I like to call slow glamour: relaxed, soulful, effortless, but still refined.

For me, House of Bohem is great because it has a clear identity and a real heartbeat. It is not a decorated place; it is a lived atmosphere.

I think the first step is to stay curious. A designer should not only look at other designs, but also observe life, people, rituals, cities, materials, light, mistakes and emotions. Good design does not come only from inspiration boards; it comes from truly understanding how people live and feel.

In my own journey, architectural education gave me discipline and structure, but real projects taught me another kind of intelligence. Construction sites, craftsmen, clients, budgets, unexpected problems and material limits taught me how to think more practically and more creatively at the same time. You have to face reality, but without losing the crazy spirit of creation. For me, this balance is very important. Design is not only about imagining something beautiful; it is also about protecting the strength of the idea while making it possible.

I also believe designers improve by developing their own eye. This takes time. You need to travel, read, visit buildings, touch materials, study details, look at art, furniture, fashion, food, music and even daily habits. Everything can educate your eye if you are open enough.

For me, working on hospitality projects has been a very important school. A hotel, restaurant or beach club teaches you rhythm, atmosphere and human behavior. You need to understand morning and night, privacy and social energy, comfort and surprise, function and emotion. This is where my idea of slow glamour also developed — by trying to create spaces that feel refined, relaxed and alive at the same time.

I think people become better designers when they learn to listen deeply, question themselves honestly and never stop refining. Talent is important, but patience, empathy and consistency are even more important. Design is a lifelong practice; you become better by staying awake to the world.

If I hadn’t become a designer, I think I would still have chosen a path connected to creativity, storytelling and human emotion.

Maybe I would have been a writer, a filmmaker, or someone working with art and culture. I have always been drawn to observing people, places, atmospheres and the invisible feelings behind them. So even if the profession was different, I believe the core would have been the same: creating meaning and touching people in some way.

But honestly, I decided to become an architect very early in life, when I was in the 7th grade. Even in my high school yearbook, it was written that I wanted to become an architect. So in a way, I feel that design was not only a career choice for me, but something I naturally moved toward.

Architecture allowed me to bring together many things I love: creativity, problem-solving, art, psychology, materials, light, and life itself. So maybe I could have done something else, but I think I would still have been designing; perhaps not buildings, but stories, experiences or emotions.

I see design as a bridge between function and feeling. Whether it is a space, an object, a piece of furniture, a product or a visual identity, design should work well, but it should also have a soul. It should make people feel comfortable, inspired, connected or even quietly moved.

For me, design is also a way of telling stories. Materials, light, proportions, textures, colors, details and even empty spaces all speak together. In an object, this story may be told through its form, touch, weight or craftsmanship; in a space, through atmosphere, rhythm and experience.

I believe good design should feel effortless, although there is a lot of thinking behind it. It should be honest, human, timeless and emotionally sustainable. If people feel something before they fully analyze why, then I think design has done its job.

My biggest supporters have always been my family, especially my brother and the people who truly believed in my vision, especially during the moments when the path was not easy. Their trust gave me courage, but I also believe that inner discipline and not giving up were very important in my journey.

I have also learned a lot from my clients, colleagues, fellow architects, fellow designers, collaborators, craftsmen, teams and even from difficult situations. Architecture and design are not solitary acts; they are created through dialogue, patience and trust.

So I would say my biggest support came from a combination of love, belief, experience and resilience. The people around me helped me grow, but the desire to keep learning and creating has always been my inner engine.

I think what helped me most was curiosity, discipline and the courage to keep questioning.

Design is not only about talent. Talent is important, of course, but it has to be supported by observation, patience, experience and hard work. I have always tried to understand not only how a place or an object looks, but how it works, how it feels and how it affects people.

My architectural education gave me a strong foundation, especially in thinking through space, structure, proportion, context and function. But real life projects taught me another kind of knowledge: how to listen, how to solve problems, how to work with people, how to make decisions and how to stay calm during difficult moments.

I also believe that being open to different disciplines helped me a lot. Art, fashion, travel, nature, music, food, craftsmanship and daily life all feed my design perspective. For me, becoming a designer is not a fixed achievement; it is a continuous process of learning, observing and refining your sensitivity.

Maybe what helped me most was never losing my emotional connection with design. I still feel excited by a material, a light, a color, a detail, or the first moment when a place begins to find its soul.

I do not know if a designer ever truly becomes a “master,” because design is a field where you keep learning all your life. But of course, there were many obstacles on the way.

One of the biggest challenges was learning how to protect my vision while also working with real-life limitations: budgets, deadlines, construction problems, technical issues and different expectations. Architecture is not only about imagination; it is also about patience, negotiation and problem solving.

Another challenge was being a woman in a demanding profession, especially in construction environments where you constantly have to prove your knowledge, strength and clarity. Over time, I learned that calm confidence is more powerful than trying to be louder.

There were also moments of uncertainty, difficult clients, delays, financial pressures and projects that tested me emotionally. But each difficulty made me more resilient and more precise. I think obstacles refined my design language. They taught me to be flexible without losing my identity, and strong without losing sensitivity.

I think designers should present their work with clarity, honesty, excitement and passion.

Of course, visuals are very important, but I believe people should also understand the thinking behind the project: the concept, the context, the problem, the decisions, the materials and the atmosphere.

For me, presenting a design is also a kind of storytelling. A good presentation should show not only what was created, but why it was created. It should communicate the journey from the first idea to the final experience.

I also think designers should be sincere when they present their work. They should not hide behind complicated words or fashionable expressions. The strongest presentations are usually the ones that feel clear, personal and real.

In the end, a designer should present the work in a way that allows people to feel the project, not only look at it. Good images, drawings, details and words should all support the same story.

At the moment, I am about to complete the design of a faculty building for Mesa, one of the leading construction companies in Türkiye. It is a very meaningful project for me, because educational buildings carry a strong social responsibility. They are not only functional spaces; they shape the daily life, learning experience and future memories of young people.

After this, I will begin working on an aesthetic surgery hospital project. I find this field very interesting because healthcare design requires a delicate balance between technical precision, comfort, trust and emotional sensitivity. A hospital should not only function perfectly; it should also make people feel safe, calm and cared for.

At the same time, I am especially passionate about hospitality design, because it brings together everything I love: architecture, interiors, branding, atmosphere, food, music, light and human experience.

After House of Bohem and my hotel projects in Alanya, I feel even more connected to Mediterranean hospitality. I would like to continue designing spaces that are relaxed but refined, emotional but functional, and rooted in their context. This is where my idea of “slow glamour” becomes very important: a kind of quiet elegance that does not need to shout.

In the future, I also want to publish a book or create an exhibition about my hospitality projects. I would love to bring together the sketches, materials, stories, design decisions and emotions behind these places. So I hope people can expect from me more meaningful spaces, more layered stories and a deeper exploration of hospitality as a way of life.

My ultimate goal as a designer is to create spaces and experiences that remain meaningful over time.

Of course, I would love to become a well-known and sought-after architect, someone whose work is remembered with respect and affection. But for me, recognition is meaningful only when it comes from creating sincere, lasting and valuable work.

More than anything, I would like to touch people’s lives through the designs I create. I believe spaces can influence how people feel, think, meet, rest, work and even dream. In this sense, design has the power to guide people in a positive way, sometimes quietly, sometimes deeply.

I do not want to design only beautiful places. I want to create places that people remember, feel connected to and want to return to. A successful design should continue to live with people after they leave the space.

In the end, my ultimate goal is not only to design spaces, but to create memories, emotions and a sense of belonging. If one day people remember my work as beautiful, thoughtful and meaningful, then I feel I have achieved something truly valuable.

I think people expect more than just a beautiful result from an experienced designer. They expect vision, trust, clarity and a strong sense of responsibility.

They want to feel that the designer understands not only the project, but also the people, the context, the needs and the emotions behind it. Especially in architecture and interior design, people are not only asking for walls, furniture or materials. They are trusting you with a part of their lives, their business, their memories or their future.

I believe they also expect originality and consistency. A designer should bring a clear point of view, but also listen carefully. Good design is not about imposing an idea; it is about transforming needs into something more meaningful, beautiful and lasting.

For me, the most important expectation is trust. People should feel that their project is in good hands, that every detail is considered, and that the final result will not only look good, but also feel right and function well.

In the end, I think people expect an esteemed designer to create value; emotional, aesthetic, functional and sometimes even cultural value. That is a responsibility I take very seriously.

Design helps create a better society by shaping the quality of everyday life and the way people share the world together.

The spaces we live in, work in, learn in, heal in and gather in influence our mood, behavior, relationships and sense of belonging. A well designed school can encourage curiosity. A thoughtful hospital can reduce anxiety. A welcoming public space can bring people together and create a stronger sense of community.

For me, public space is one of the most powerful responsibilities of architecture. Streets, squares, parks, cultural buildings and shared interiors are not only physical environments; they are places where society meets itself. When these places are designed with care, accessibility, light, proportion, shade, comfort and human scale, they can make people feel more included, respected and connected.

I also believe that design can guide society toward more responsible habits. Longlasting materials, flexible spaces, respect for local culture, less waste and a deeper connection with nature are all part of a better future.

In the end, design helps society when it improves life without forcing itself into the center. It can create dignity, comfort, beauty and emotional balance. Even a small, carefully designed detail can change the way someone feels during the day and this is where design becomes truly meaningful.

What excites me most at the moment is that I am working on projects with very different emotional and social layers.

I am about to complete the design of a faculty building for Mesa, one of the leading construction companies in Türkiye. This project excites me because it is connected to education and young people. I like the idea that a building can become part of someone’s learning journey, daily routine and future memories. It is a different kind of responsibility than designing a hotel or a restaurant.

I am also preparing to start an aesthetic surgery hospital project, which opens another field of sensitivity for me. In this type of project, the atmosphere has to create trust, calmness and confidence. I am interested in how architecture can make people feel safe and cared for, while still being elegant and highly functional.

Beyond the program of each project, what excites me is the possibility of designing emotions in different contexts: learning, healing, resting, gathering, celebrating. Each one requires a different tone, a different rhythm and a different kind of empathy.

So I feel I am in a very inspiring period of my career. I am moving between education, healthcare and hospitality, and this diversity keeps my mind fresh. It reminds me that design is always alive, always changing, and always asking new questions.

Some projects give satisfaction because they are successful, and some give satisfaction because they become part of your personal journey. For me, the projects that gave me the most satisfaction are the ones where I could create not only a design, but a complete atmosphere, identity and emotion.

House of Bohem is one of these projects. I designed it almost from A to Z — architecture, interiors, branding, furniture language, signage, uniforms, menu feeling and overall atmosphere. It was not only a restaurant project for me; it became a lifestyle story. Seeing people connect with the place, take photographs, celebrate, relax and feel its bohemian spirit gave me a very deep satisfaction.

My hotel projects in Alanya, especially Cook’s Club Alanya, Ananea Kleopatra Beach and Calimera Sunpark Garden, also gave me great satisfaction. Hospitality design is very alive; you immediately see how people use a space, how they move, meet, rest and enjoy the day. Creating that day to night rhythm, that Mediterranean ease and that feeling of relaxed refinement was very meaningful for me.

Another project that is very close to my heart is the Tarabya Penthouse Project on the Bosphorus. It was a very special challenge because the apartment was located in a historical waterfront mansion. The main question was how to bring such an old and characterful Bosphorus building into contemporary life without losing its soul. For me, this balance was extremely important: respecting the memory of the building, while creating a fresh, elegant and livable home for today.vI was very proud of the result, because it did not try to erase the past or imitate it. It created a dialogue between old Istanbul, the Bosphorus, art, contemporary comfort and personal identity. In that sense, I honestly felt it was a very valuable and award-worthy project. I was a little sad that it was not fully understood or recognized in the way I had hoped, because sometimes the quiet complexity of a project is not immediately visible. But this does not change how meaningful it is for me.

In the end, the projects that satisfy me most are the ones where people feel something real. When a design becomes lived, loved and remembered, that is the greatest reward for me.

I would like to see the design industry become more sincere, more responsible and less obsessed with fast visual impact.

Today, many things are designed to look impressive for a short moment, especially on social media. Of course, visibility is important, but I believe design should not become only an image. It should have depth, function, emotion, context and a real connection with people.

I would also like to see more respect for long-lasting design. We need fewer disposable interiors, fewer trend-driven copies and more spaces that age beautifully. Materials, craftsmanship, local culture and sustainability should not be used only as fashionable words; they should become real design values.

Another important change would be more collaboration and less ego in the industry. Architecture and design are collective fields. Clients, architects, designers, engineers, craftsmen and users all contribute to the final result. When this dialogue is respectful, the work becomes stronger.

In the coming years, I hope the industry values not only what looks new, but what feels true. For me, the future of design should be more human, more thoughtful and more emotionally sustainable.

I think the design field is moving toward a more holistic and experience-based direction.

In the past, design was often evaluated through form, style or aesthetics. Today, and even more in the future, I believe design will be judged by the quality of the experience it creates. People will care more about how a place makes them feel, how it supports their lifestyle, how flexible it is, how sustainable it is and how deeply it connects with its context.

Technology and artificial intelligence will definitely change the way we design. They will make some processes faster, more visual and more experimental. But I do not believe technology can replace the emotional intelligence of a designer. The future will belong to designers who can use technology as a tool, while still keeping human intuition, empathy and cultural sensitivity at the center.

I also think boundaries between disciplines will continue to disappear. Architecture, interiors, product design, branding, art, fashion, food, music and digital experience will become more connected. This is especially true in hospitality, where people do not experience a space as separate categories; they experience it as one atmosphere.

So I believe the future of design is not only smarter, but also more emotional, more responsible and more layered. The next step is not just designing objects or spaces, but designing complete experiences that feel meaningful, human and alive.

It really depends on the scale, complexity and emotional depth of the project.

A small interior or a focused design detail can sometimes be finalized quite quickly, but a complete architectural or hospitality project needs much more time. For me, finalizing a design does not only mean preparing drawings. It means understanding the brief, feeling the context, developing the concept, testing ideas, choosing materials, solving technical issues and making sure that every detail belongs to the same story.

Some projects become clear very naturally, almost intuitively. Some projects need more research, more dialogue and more time to mature. I do not believe in rushing the design process too much, because good design needs both discipline and breathing space.

Of course, in professional life there are always deadlines, budgets and construction schedules. So the challenge is to be creative and precise within real conditions. I try to move fast when decisions are clear, but I also know when a project needs patience.

In general, a project can take from a few weeks to several months, depending on its nature. But the real answer is: I finalize a project when the design feels complete, coherent and ready to live.

When I have a new design project, I usually start with the site plan.

For me, the site already gives many answers. I study the orientation, views, access points, surrounding buildings, landscape, sun, wind, levels and the relationship between indoor and outdoor spaces. Before thinking about style or image, I try to understand what the place allows, what it needs and what it is trying to tell me.

After that, I move into sections and plans. Sections are very important for me because they reveal the real spatial character of a project: levels, heights, light, volume, proportions and how people will experience the space vertically as well as horizontally. Plans help me organize function, circulation and daily life, but sections often help me feel the soul of the space.

Of course, while working on these technical layers, I also begin to search for the emotional story of the project. A strong concept should grow from the site, the program and the people who will use the place.

So my design process usually starts very architectural: site plan, sections and plans. Then gradually, this structure becomes a complete atmosphere with materials, light, furniture, details and identity.

For me, design is not a calm and linear journey. It is full of excitement, questions, doubts, discoveries and sometimes chaos. But this is what makes it alive. I love that moment when an idea suddenly appears, when a space starts to breathe, when all the details begin to speak the same language.

I believe a designer should always stay curious and brave. You have to protect your imagination, even when reality brings limits, deadlines, budgets or difficulties. A good design often needs both passion and endurance.

So my motto is about keeping the fire alive. Keep feeling, keep searching, keep creating, keep believing. Even when something is difficult, I try to remind myself that every project has a soul waiting to be discovered.

And of course: never ever give up.

I think both can happen, but truly strong design should not simply follow trends.

Trends are part of the world we live in. They reflect culture, technology, social habits, fashion, economy and even collective emotions. So as designers, we cannot completely ignore them. They can inspire us, show us what people are interested in, or reveal how lifestyles are changing.

But I believe the best designs are not created by copying trends. They come from a deeper place: the context, the user, the function, the material, the story and the designer’s own point of view. When a design is honest and meaningful, it can sometimes set a new trend naturally.

For me, trends should be observed, not obeyed. A designer should understand the spirit of the time, but not become its prisoner. Otherwise, projects age very quickly.

I prefer designs that feel contemporary but not temporary. A good design can belong to its time, but still carry enough depth and character to remain valuable after the trend has passed.

Technology is a very important tool in my design process, but it is never the starting point or the soul of the project.

For me, technology helps ideas become clearer, faster and more communicable. It allows us to test alternatives, study proportions, visualize materials, understand light, solve technical details and share the project more effectively with clients and teams.

I also find digital tools and artificial intelligence very inspiring when they are used correctly. They can open new possibilities, create faster visual explorations and help us see options that we may not have imagined at the beginning.

But I believe technology should support the designer, not replace the designer. The real decisions still come from human intuition, experience, empathy and taste. A computer can generate an image, but it cannot fully understand the memory of a place, the emotion of a client, the rhythm of daily life or the quiet soul of a space.

So I see technology as a powerful assistant. It makes the design process richer and more efficient, but the heart of the project must still come from the designer’s vision.

In my work, I use different design tools depending on the stage and scale of the project.

For architectural drawings and technical documentation, I mainly use AutoCAD and ArchiCAD. For three-dimensional studies, modeling and visual presentations, I work with programs such as 3ds Max and rendering tools that help me study proportions, materials, light and atmosphere more clearly.

I also use graphic design and presentation tools for moodboards, concept presentations, branding details, signage, uniform studies and visual identity work. Since my projects are often holistic, I need to move between architecture, interiors, furniture, materials, graphics and storytelling.

Besides digital tools, I still believe very much in the power of hand sketches, material samples, site photographs and direct observation. Sometimes a quick sketch or touching a material tells me more than a perfect digital image.

So my equipment is not only software. It is also my sketchbook, camera, samples, measuring tools, site visits and my own eyes. Technology helps me develop and communicate the project, but observation and sensitivity are still my most important tools

Color, materials and ambience are not secondary elements in my design process; they are part of the soul of the project.

Color is one of my strongest passions. I believe I am known as an architect who uses color with courage. I do not avoid color, and I am not afraid of using it. I am also aware that a bold color decision can be risky, but I accept that risk when I believe it gives the project character and emotion. For me, courage does not mean using color randomly. A strong color decision should still be sensitive, balanced and connected to the story of the project.

Materials are equally important because they bring honesty, texture and depth to design. I love materials that have a natural character — wood, stone, concrete, linen, rattan, handmade surfaces and textured plaster. I like when materials can be touched, aged and felt. They should not only look good in a photograph; they should create a real physical and emotional experience.

Ambience is where everything comes together. Light, sound, smell, temperature, texture, color, furniture, music and even the rhythm of movement all create the final feeling of a place. For me, ambience is not decoration; it is the invisible architecture of emotion.

In the end, color, materials and ambience are what make a design alive. They turn a space from something correct into something unforgettable

I wish people would ask more about why I made certain decisions before they judge or criticize the result.

Of course, it is always nice when people say that a space or an object is beautiful. But for me, the more meaningful questions are: Why did you choose this material? Why this color? Why this proportion? What was the problem you were trying to solve? What emotion did you want to create?

I believe every design decision has a reason behind it. Sometimes a detail that looks simple from the outside carries a long process of thinking, testing and feeling. The direction of light, the position of a wall, the scale of a chair, the color of a surface or the rhythm of circulation may all be part of a bigger story.

So before criticism, I would love people to be curious. I would like them to ask about the intention, the context and the emotion behind the design.

Maybe the question I love most is: “Why did you do it this way?”

Because this question opens a dialogue. And design, for me, becomes much more meaningful when it is understood as a thoughtful journey, not only as a final image.

When I see a truly great design or product, I first feel very excited. I feel happy that I had the chance to see it, experience it and learn from it.

Then, very honestly, I often think: “Why didn’t I think of this before?”

Yes, I definitely believe in co-design, when there is real trust, respect and a shared design language.

My ideal design partner is someone who can challenge me intellectually, but also understand my intuition. Design collaboration is not only about dividing tasks; it is about speaking the same language, listening carefully and making the project stronger together.

One of the people I feel this with is Sinem Konu, my classmate from my master’s degree and also my fellow architect. Because we come from a similar architectural background, there is a natural understanding between us. We can discuss ideas, question decisions and look at a project from different angles without losing the main spirit.

For me, good co-design does not mean that everyone thinks the same. On the contrary, it becomes valuable when different minds bring depth, but still move toward the same vision. The important thing is ego-free dialogue.

I believe the best collaborations happen when people trust each other enough to be honest, generous and brave. In that kind of partnership, design becomes richer than what one person could create alone.

Many people I interacted with had an influence on my design, sometimes directly and sometimes without even knowing it.

My professors during my architectural education shaped my way of thinking in a very important way. They taught me to question, to analyze, to respect context and to understand architecture beyond appearance. My education gave me a strong discipline, but also a critical eye.

My colleagues and fellow architects also influenced me through dialogue. I believe every serious conversation about design leaves something in you. Sometimes another designer’s question or criticism can open a completely new perspective.

Clients have also influenced me deeply. Each client brings a different life, personality, need and dream to the project. Listening to them helped me understand that design is not only about my own vision, but also about translating someone else’s world into space.

Craftsmen and construction teams have been very important as well. They taught me the reality of materials, details, limits and possibilities. A beautiful idea becomes meaningful only when it can be built with care.

And of course, the people who use my spaces influence me the most. Watching how people sit, walk, gather, relax, celebrate or feel in a place teaches me something that no book can fully teach. In the end, design is shaped by people, and it returns to people.

One of the books that influenced me most is A Pattern Language by Christopher Alexander. It was very important for me not only as a book, but also as a way of understanding architecture through human life, behavior, scale, memory and everyday experience.

I also used A Pattern Language as an important reference while preparing my master’s thesis. Its way of reading places through patterns, relationships and human needs helped me look at architecture beyond form. It taught me that a space is not only shaped by walls and functions, but also by the invisible habits, emotions and rituals of people.

Architecture: Form, Space, and Order by Francis D. K. Ching was one of the fundamental books of my architectural education. It helped me understand the basic language of architecture: proportion, organization, hierarchy, rhythm, circulation, form and space.

I was also influenced by the essential architectural texts and thinkers such as Vitruvius, Le Corbusier, Robert Venturi and Peter Zumthor. Vitruvius reminds us of the timeless balance between strength, function and beauty. Le Corbusier opened my mind to modern architecture and the courage to rethink life through space. Venturi showed that architecture can be complex, contradictory, layered and rich. Zumthor influenced me deeply with his sensitivity to atmosphere, material, silence, memory and emotion.

Another book that stayed with me is The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand, especially the character of Howard Roark. I would not say that this book shaped my design language directly, but it had an important effect on my formation as an architect. His determination, independence and refusal to give up his vision stayed with me. I do not relate to the book as a complete philosophy, but I believe it strengthened my belief that an architect needs courage, persistence and inner discipline.

So these books influenced me in different ways: Christopher Alexander shaped my human-centered thinking, Ching built my architectural foundation, Vitruvius, Le Corbusier, Venturi and Zumthor deepened my architectural culture, and The Fountainhead strengthened my professional attitude as an architect.

I developed my skills through education, practice, observation and never-ending curiosity.

My architectural education gave me a strong foundation. It taught me how to think about space, proportion, structure, context, function and detail. But I believe real design skills grow mostly through experience; by working on real projects, facing real problems and learning how to transform ideas into something that can actually be built and lived.

Construction sites taught me a lot. They taught me the reality of materials, measurements, details, timing and teamwork. I have learned how to make decisions, how to stay calm, how to protect the main idea and how to adapt without losing the soul of the project especially at renovation sites.

I also developed my skills by observing life very carefully. I watch how people move, sit, gather, rest, celebrate or feel in a place. I believe sensitivity and emphaty are skills too, and it becomes stronger when you keep looking, listening and questioning.

Over the years, I also learned from mistakes, difficult projects, good collaborations, demanding clients and inspiring places. Every project refined my eye and my judgment.

So I would say my skills developed through a combination of discipline and intuition. I keep learning, practicing and improving. For me, being a good designer is not a final title; it is a continuous process of becoming more precise, more sensitive and more courageous.

If time and space were not a limitation, I would love to meet and talk with Frank Gehry and Santiago Calatrava.

With Frank Gehry, I would love to discuss creative freedom, intuition and the courage to break expectations. His architecture has a strong sense of movement, emotion and artistic energy. I would be very curious to understand how he protects an idea when it looks almost impossible at the beginning, and how he transforms that first intuition into something real and buildable.

With Santiago Calatrava, I would love to talk about the relationship between structure, movement and beauty. His architecture feels almost like a dialogue between engineering and poetry. I would ask him how he thinks about balance, rhythm, tension, lightness and the almost body-like quality of buildings.

What interests me in both of them is that they do not treat architecture as something static. Their buildings seem to move, breathe or perform in some way. They remind me that architecture can be functional, but also emotional, sculptural and unforgettable.

I think it would be an incredibly inspiring conversation; full of sketches, questions, disagreements and excitement. I would love to sit at the same table with them and discuss how far architecture can go when imagination, technique and courage come together.

Awards and recognition make me very happy, of course. They are a beautiful confirmation that the work, the effort, the long nights, the difficult decisions and the emotional energy behind a project are seen and appreciated.

For me, each recognition is more like encouragement to continue, to improve and to dream bigger. I am grateful for every award I have received, but I also feel that there is always a next step.

And honestly, I have a playful side about it too. I am very happy with the awards I have received, but of course, next time I am expecting a platinum award :)

So I would say recognition is beautiful, but it also brings responsibility. It makes me want to work harder, stay original and create projects that deserve to be remembered.

My favorite color is Mediterranean blue. It reminds me of depth, light, freedom and the sea; all the things I feel naturally connected to.

My favorite places are Italy and the Greek islands. I love their atmosphere, their relationship with the sea, the beauty of everyday life and the way history, simplicity and style live together so naturally.

My favorite food is fish. I think it reflects the Mediterranean way of life that I love so much; fresh, light, simple and full of character.

My favorite season is summer. I love its energy, light, spontaneity and the feeling of being more open to life.

My favorite thing is probably my designer sunglasses. They are not only an accessory for me; they are part of my mood, my style and maybe even the way I look at the world.

And my favorite brand is Prada. I admire its architectural and sharp simplicity. I like the way Prada can be minimal but never boring, intellectual but still sensual, bold but always refined. It has a strong design language, and I feel very close to that balance.

Architecture is a serious profession, but construction sites are also full of human warmth, jokes, small negotiations and unexpected moments.

For me, the funniest part is that sometimes people laugh at a detail before they understand it — and later, that same detail becomes the thing they are most proud of.

A great day as a designer can start with very small but beautiful things.

It can be the smell of good coffee in my office, beautiful music playing in the background, fresh flowers sent by a client as a thank-you, or an inspiring architecture or design book brought by a friend from abroad. These little moments feed my mood, my imagination and my desire to create.

But the most meaningful motivation often comes from people. Once, a client sent me a very sincere message saying something like: “Today I discovered another beautiful detail in my home. Every day I notice something new.” For me, this is one of the most beautiful compliments a designer can receive.

Sometimes it can also be something very simple and emotional on a construction site; arriving early in the morning and finding my craftsmen waiting for me with a breakfast they prepared. These moments remind me that design is not only about drawings, materials or details; it is also about human relationships, trust and shared effort.

What motivates me most is seeing a project slowly come alive. I love the moment when ideas, plans, materials, colors, light and atmosphere begin to speak the same language.

For me, motivation is not always something big. Sometimes it is a cup of coffee, a flower, a book, a song, a sincere message from a client, a morning breakfast on site — or simply the feeling that I am exactly where I should be.

I think the signs were there very early.

As a child, I was always creating something. I remember making little ships from pieces I removed from pine tree trunks, spending hours building bridges and cities with Lego, filling endless coloring books, and playing real-estate games almost like a small businesswoman. I loved anything that involved imagination, construction, color, planning and problem-solving.

In the evenings, I used to perform shadow theatre plays with my friends. I also remember trying to create communication systems between houses by stretching strings from one place to another. Looking back now, these were not only games; they were small experiments with space, storytelling, connection and imagination.

I was not only playing; I was trying to build little worlds. I was interested in how things came together, how a city could be organized, how a bridge could stand, how colors could change a page, or how a simple material could become something else in my hands.

I decided to become an architect when I was in the 7th grade. It was not a random decision for me; it felt very natural. Even in my high school yearbook, it was written that I wanted to become an architect.

Of course, I could not know then what kind of designer I would become. But I think the instinct was already there: curiosity, imagination, persistence and the pleasure of shaping ideas into reality.

So yes, maybe it was obvious. I was already designing before I knew the word “design.”

Maybe in a thousand years, design will not only happen on Earth. Humanity may live in different environments, maybe even beyond this planet. But wherever people go, they will still try to create “home.” They will still need spaces that make life meaningful, not only possible.

So my hope for the future is that design will become wiser: more connected to nature, more respectful to life, and more aware of its responsibility.

Technology may change everything around us, but I believe the deepest question will remain the same: how can we create a better life for human beings?

Sometimes a small detail, a conversation, a journey, a texture or a light can stay in my mind and become part of a future project.

For me, design is about creating places and experiences that feel alive. I want my work to be beautiful, of course, but also sincere, functional, emotional and memorable. I want people to feel something when they enter a space I designed; maybe comfort, joy, curiosity, calmness or belonging.

I also want people to know that I am still excited, still curious and still dreaming. Every project teaches me something new, and I believe this is the most beautiful part of being a designer.

So maybe what I wish to say is this: I design with my mind, my heart and my whole life experience. And I hope that this feeling reaches people through the spaces, objects and stories I create.

For many people, becoming an architect is often associated with drawing beautifully from childhood. In my case, it was a little different. I was not a child who only expressed herself through perfect drawings; I drew in a normal way. But since I was very young, I was always attracted to games, subjects and activities that required creativity, imagination and problem-solving. I loved thinking, inventing, finding solutions and imagining how things could be different. I think this is what naturally led me to architecture.

I decided to become an architect when I was in the seventh grade, and it is even written in my school yearbook. At that age, I did not fully know what architecture meant, but I knew that I loved creating, solving and imagining spaces.

Later, I studied architecture at Middle East Technical University and completed my master’s degree in architecture, with a thesis on tourism architecture on the Mediterranean coast of Turkey. Looking back, I can see that my interest in hospitality, Mediterranean life, light, nature, material and atmosphere was already there.

Architecture became more than a profession for me. It became my way of understanding life, people and emotions.

NOM Architecture is an architecture and interior design studio founded in 1998. Our main office is based in Istanbul, and we also have a branch in Alanya, a Mediterranean city that deeply inspires my work.

We work on hospitality, residential, restaurant, retail, educational, healthcare and lifestyle projects. What makes our studio special is our holistic and human-centric approach. We do not only design walls, furniture or decoration; we design the full experience of a place.

For us, architecture begins with people. We try to understand how they live, move, rest, gather, work and feel in a space. Then we bring together architecture, interiors, outdoors, landscape design, furniture, lighting, materials, branding, signage and even uniforms as parts of the same story.

We like to create spaces that feel warm, natural, refined and memorable.

For me, design is not only about how something looks. It is about how it makes people feel.

Design is the connection between beauty and function, emotion and logic, dreams and real life. A good design should solve a problem, but it should also create a feeling.

I believe design should be felt, not shouted. Sometimes the most powerful spaces are not the loudest ones, but the ones that make people feel good naturally.

If people feel good in a space, even without knowing exactly why, it means the design has gone beyond appearance and has created a real emotional connection.

I love designing hospitality spaces most; hotels, restaurants, beach clubs and lifestyle destinations.

Hospitality design is very alive. It has movement, rhythm, music, food, light, people and memory. It is not only about creating a beautiful place; it is about creating an atmosphere where people can relax, celebrate, meet, travel and feel inspired.

I love the idea that a space can become part of someone’s memory.

One of my favorite projects is House of Bohem in Alanya, on Cleopatra Beach.

It is very close to my heart because I designed it as a complete world — architecture, interiors, branding, uniforms, menu identity and the whole atmosphere. It carries many things I believe in: Mediterranean lightness, natural materials, relaxed elegance,slow glamour and a bohemian spirit.

House of Bohem is not only a restaurant or a beach club. For me, it is a life style with a soul.

My first professional project was a large-scale development in Kuşadası, a beautiful Aegean city in Turkey. The project was located on a sloped site and included 45 villas together with a shopping center.

Looking back, I realize how important this first experience was for me. From the very beginning of my career, I was introduced to large-scale thinking, complex site conditions and the importance of designing in harmony with the land.

It also brought a holistic approach into my professional life very early. I had to think not only about individual buildings, but also about the relationship between architecture, landscape, circulation, views, daily life and the overall atmosphere of the place.

That project taught me that architecture is never just about a single structure. It is about creating a meaningful relationship between people, buildings, surroundings and the site.

I love honest, tactile and natural materials. Since I am deeply inspired by modern and Brutalist architecture, I have always been attracted to the strong combination of steel, concrete, wood and glass.

For me, these materials create a beautiful balance between strength and warmth, transparency and solidity, rawness and refinement. Concrete gives a sense of structure and honesty, steel brings precision, wood adds warmth and humanity, and glass connects the space with light, nature and its surroundings.

I also love linen, rattan, handmade ceramics, textured plaster and natural fabrics. I like materials that age beautifully and carry a sense of time.

Technology is very helpful, of course, but for me the soul of a project still begins with material, light, proportion and feeling.

I feel most creative when I am observing life; traveling, walking in a city, looking at an old building, touching a material sample, seeing a beautiful shadow, listening to music or watching how people use a place can all inspire me.

I also feel very creative at the beginning of a project, when everything is still open and full of possibilities. That moment is very exciting for me.

I focus on atmosphere, function, proportion, materiality and emotional impact.

A space must work well first. Circulation, comfort, light, scale and functionality are very important. But beyond that, I always ask myself: What will people feel here? What will they remember? What is the soul of this place?

For me, design is successful when all these layers come together naturally.

When I design, I feel excitement, curiosity and sometimes a little uncertainty.

I think uncertainty is part of the creative process. At the beginning, you are searching for something that does not exist yet. You feel the direction, but you still have to discover the answer.

When the concept starts to become clear, I feel a very strong energy. It is like the project begins to speak.

When a design is realized, I feel happiness, relief and gratitude.

Seeing a project come to life is always emotional because behind every finished space there are so many ideas, drawings, decisions, conversations, revisions and efforts.

But the most beautiful moment is when people start using the space naturally. When I see people feeling comfortable, happy and connected, I feel that the design has found its purpose.

A design is successful when it feels natural and effortless, even if there is a lot of work behind it.

It should function well, have a clear identity and create an emotional connection. For me, successful design is not only beautiful in photographs; it must also feel good in real life.

If people remember the feeling of a place, if they want to come back, if the space becomes part of their memory, then I think the design has succeeded.

A design is successful when it feels natural and effortless, even if there is a lot of work behind it.

It should function well, have a clear identity and create an emotional connection. For me, successful design is not only beautiful in photographs; it must also feel good in real life.

If people remember the feeling of a place, if they want to come back, if the space becomes part of their memory, then I think the design has succeeded.

Designers have a responsibility because we shape the spaces where people live, work, rest, meet and remember.

For me, this responsibility is not only about using sustainable materials, although that is very important. It is also about creating meaningful, long-lasting and respectful places.

I believe emotional sustainability is important too. If people love a place, they take care of it. A space should not only consume attention; it should give something back to people, to its surroundings, to the city and to life.

I think design is becoming more holistic, more sensitive and more human.

It is no longer only about form or style. It is about experience, emotion, identity, sustainability and how people really live. Technology and artificial intelligence will change many tools and processes, but I believe the human side of design will become even more important.

The future belongs to designs that can combine intelligence with emotion, innovation with empathy and beauty with responsibility.

As an architect, my work is usually exhibited through realized spaces rather than classical exhibitions. I like the idea that architecture is not only seen in a gallery, but lived in real life.

Earlier in my career, my works were exhibited through local architectural competitions in Turkey, where I received first prizes in 1998 and 2002.

In the future, I would love to create a publication or exhibition about my hospitality design projects, bringing together sketches, materials, photographs, stories and the emotions behind them. I would especially love to publish a book about my hospitality design journey.

My inspiration comes from life itself.

Travel, Mediterranean culture, nature, art, old buildings, materials, music, fashion, daily rituals and human behavior all inspire me. Sometimes a color, a texture, a shadow or a conversation can become the starting point of a project.

I feed my creativity by observing carefully. I believe good design begins with seeing, listening and feeling.

I would describe my style as warm, timeless, layered and emotionally refined.

My work often carries a Mediterranean spirit, with natural materials, soft textures, honest surfaces and a sense of relaxed elegance. I am interested in what I call “slow glamour”: an elegance that is not loud, a sophistication that still feels comfortable and human.

My approach is holistic. I like every element of a project to speak the same language — architecture, interiors, outdoors, furniture, lighting, graphics, materials and atmosphere.

I live in Istanbul and work between Istanbul and Alanya.

Living in Turkey affects my work deeply. Turkey has a rich cultural heritage, strong craft traditions and a very special relationship with light, materials, hospitality and outdoor living. Istanbul gives me layers, history and contrast; the Mediterranean coast gives me light, nature and a sense of ease.

The advantage is this richness. The challenge is sometimes the complexity of the construction process and the need to balance contemporary design with practical realities. But I think this also makes design more alive and layered.

I work closely and collaboratively with companies.

At the beginning, I try to understand their brand, goals, audience, operational needs and emotional direction. Then I translate these into a spatial concept and design language.

Especially in hospitality projects, I believe design should support both the guest experience and the business model. The best collaborations happen when there is trust, clear communication and a shared belief in the value of design.

Companies should choose a designer whose vision they trust, but also someone who has experience in the specific field of the project.

A good designer does not only make things look beautiful. A good designer listens, understands the brand, solves problems, knows the local conditions and creates long-term value. Especially in architecture and hospitality projects, understanding the context, climate, construction culture, materials, regulations and user habits is very important.

My suggestion is to involve the designer early in the process and allow enough time for concept development. The best results come from mutual trust, open communication and respect for the creative process.

My design process usually begins with listening, observing and researching.

Before starting a project, I make detailed research about the subject, the context, the users and the lifestyle around it. I try to understand not only what the project needs functionally, but also what kind of life, feeling and experience it should create.

I also spend time with my clients. I listen to them carefully, observe their habits, preferences and lifestyle, and sometimes even prepare questionnaires to understand what makes them feel happy, comfortable and inspired.

After this research and discovery phase, I develop a concept that connects function, atmosphere and identity. Then I work on plans, materials, colors, furniture, lighting and details.

For me, the design process is not completely linear. It is a dialogue between research, intuition, technical precision, the client, the place and real life.

I love objects that have character, memory and a strong design story behind them.

Some of my favorite design items at home are the LC4 Chaise Longue by Le Corbusier, the Juicy Salif lemon squeezer by Philippe Starck for Alessi, the Wiggle Chair by Frank Gehry, the No Waste Table by Moroso, and the Aalto Vase by Alvar Aalto for Iittala.

What I love about these pieces is that they are not only functional objects. Each of them has a clear idea, a strong form and a certain courage. They remind me that design can be playful, sculptural, intelligent and timeless at the same time.

For me, these objects are more than decorative pieces. They are small daily reminders of creativity, innovation and the emotional power of design.

My days are usually very dynamic and never exactly the same.

I may start with emails, drawings or project coordination, then continue with meetings, site visits, material selections or concept work. Since I work between architecture, interiors and branding, every day has a different rhythm.

When I have many projects at the same time, I can easily work both day and night. Design does not always fit into fixed working hours; sometimes an idea, a detail or a solution comes late at night.

Apart from work, I love spending time doing sports, shopping, seeing my friends and being with my family. I think these moments also feed my creativity, because design is not only at the desk. It is everywhere.

My advice to young designers is to stay curious, patient and brave.

Do not only look at images. Look at real life. Observe how people move, sit, eat, rest, gather and feel. Learn materials, construction and details, because beauty needs knowledge to become real.

Trust your intuition, but support it with discipline. And never give up easily. Design is a long journey, and every project teaches something.

The most beautiful part of being a designer is the ability to transform ideas into reality.

It is very meaningful to create places where people live moments, feel emotions and make memories. This is a powerful part of design.

The difficult part is that design requires constant attention, responsibility and emotional energy. As designers, we meet many different kinds of people, clients, teams and situations. So I believe we need to be strong not only creatively and technically, but also emotionally.

The process can be stressful, especially during construction, when many decisions must be made quickly and many different expectations need to be balanced. But when the project becomes real and people connect with the space, all the effort feels worthwhile.

My golden rule is: design should serve life and create feeling.

For me, architecture is always human-centric. A space should not only impress people at first sight; it should make them feel comfortable, happy, inspired and emotionally connected over time.

I always try to understand the user and design around their real needs, habits and emotions. If a space supports life naturally and makes people feel good, then I believe the design is in the right place.

I think the most important skills are observation, empathy, creativity, technical knowledge and communication.

A designer should be able to imagine, but also to realize. They should understand people, materials, construction, proportion and context.

Good communication is also essential because design is always a collaboration between many people.

My toolbox includes sketches, drawings, moodboards, material samples, photographs, books, travel notes and digital design tools.

I use software for architectural drawings, presentations and visual communication, but I still believe the most important tools are observation and intuition.

Materials are also part of my toolbox. A piece of wood, a fabric, a stone sample or a color card can sometimes tell the story of a project better than many words.

Time management in design is always challenging because creative work needs both structure and freedom.

I try to divide the process into clear phases: concept, design development, detailing, coordination and implementation. This helps me manage decisions step by step.

At the same time, I leave space for intuition and revision, because sometimes the best idea appears while the process is evolving.

It depends on the scale, complexity and nature of the project.

A small object or furniture piece may take a few weeks, while a complete architectural or hospitality project can take months. But for me, the most important thing is not to design in a rush. I prefer to move forward by really feeling, understanding and refining the project.

I believe the right decisions should be made from the very beginning, especially in architecture and construction. When the concept, function, materials and details are carefully considered at the start, the construction process becomes much healthier and fewer changes are needed on site.

For me, good design needs time, attention and maturity. It is not only about finishing quickly; it is about reaching a result that feels right and can be built properly.

People often ask me where my ideas come from.

I think ideas come from a combination of experience, observation, intuition and the specific story of each project. Every place has its own character, and every client has a different dream.

Another common question is how I create a certain feeling in a space. My answer is that atmosphere is created by many small decisions working together: light, proportion, material, color, sound, scent and rhythm.

Every project has taught me something important, but hospitality projects have been especially meaningful for my career.

Projects such as Cook’s Club Alanya and House of Bohem allowed me to design not only spaces, but complete experiences. They brought together architecture, interiors, branding, materials, furniture, uniforms and guest experience.

These projects strengthened my belief that hospitality design is one of the most powerful ways to create emotion through architecture.

I think there are several important experiences that shaped my design journey.

Early in my career, receiving first prizes in two local architectural competitions in 1998 and 2002 was very meaningful for me. These competitions gave me confidence and helped me understand the power of a strong architectural idea.

Another very important experience was my first professional project in Kuşadası, an Aegean city in Turkey. It was a large-scale project on a sloped site, including 45 villas and a shopping center. This project introduced me very early to large-scale thinking, complex site conditions, and the importance of designing in harmony with the land.

Later, hospitality projects such as Cook’s Club Alanya and House of Bohem became especially important in my career. They allowed me to design not only spaces, but complete experiences — bringing together architecture, interiors, branding, materials, furniture, uniforms and guest experience.

All these experiences shaped my belief that architecture is not only about buildings. It is about creating meaningful relationships between people, place, atmosphere and life.

I enjoy hospitality design the most because it combines many layers of design.

A hotel, restaurant or beach club is not only a space; it is an experience. People arrive, eat, rest, celebrate, meet, travel and remember. This gives the designer a chance to create not only visual beauty, but also emotion and memory.

I love this complexity. It allows me to think about architecture, interiors, identity and atmosphere as one complete story.

I would like to continue developing meaningful hospitality and lifestyle projects, especially those connected to Mediterranean culture, travel, leisure and emotional experience.

I also want to publish a book about my hospitality design projects, bringing together sketches, materials, stories, photographs and the feelings behind each space.

My goal is to keep designing places that feel timeless, human and memorable.

I develop the architectural project myself from beginning to end. The main concept, spatial decisions, planning, architectural language, material direction and design vision are all created and controlled by me.

Of course, architecture is always connected to many different disciplines, so during the process I work with engineers, contractors, suppliers, craftsmen and clients. Each project needs coordination, communication and technical collaboration to become real.

Sometimes I receive external support for presentation drawings, visuals or graphic communication, but the architectural design and the full creative direction belong to me.

For me, this is very important because I like to keep the vision consistent from the first idea to the final built result.

I am currently working on several projects that continue my interest in human-centric architecture, atmosphere and emotional design.

One of them is a faculty building that I am about to complete. Working on an educational building is very meaningful for me, because it is not only about designing classrooms or functional spaces; it is about creating an environment where young people learn, meet, think and grow.

After that, I will be working on an aesthetic surgery hospital. This is also an exciting field for me, because healthcare architecture requires a very sensitive balance between functionality, trust, comfort, privacy and emotional wellbeing.

Alongside these projects, I continue to develop hospitality and lifestyle spaces where architecture, interiors, branding and user experience are designed together. For me, each new project is a chance to understand people more deeply and create spaces that support their lives in a meaningful way.

People can contact me through NOM Architecture or directly through my professional channels.

Website: www.nomarchitecture.com

Instagram: @nom.architecture

Instagram: @designedbymag

LinkedIn: Müge Alanay Gücüoglu

Phone: +90 532 373 24 66

I would like to add that for me, design is deeply connected to emotion.

Architecture is not only about walls, furniture or materials. It is about how people feel, how they move, how they remember a place and how a space becomes part of their life.

I believe good design does not need to shout. It can be calm, sincere and powerful at the same time. It can touch people quietly — and sometimes that is the strongest kind of design.

I would also like to say that participating in the A’ Design Award has been a very important, useful and enjoyable experience for me. It gave me the opportunity to look at my work from a wider perspective, to share my design approach internationally and to feel part of a global design community.

I am truly grateful for this experience and would like to thank the A’ Design Award team for everything.

For me, the choreographic vision of Cooks Club Alanya crystallized the moment I stopped looking at the property as a collection of separate functions and started reading it as a sequence of moods. I remember walking through the existing site and feeling that the real potential was not hidden in one single dramatic gesture, but in the rhythm between spaces: the pause, the encounter, the shade, the sound of water, the transition from the calmness of the morning to the social energy of the evening.From that moment, the project became less about designing isolated areas and more about composing a living spatial score. I wanted guests to move almost intuitively through the resort, without feeling directed, yet always discovering a new atmosphere. Circulation was therefore treated not merely as movement from one point to another, but as an emotional journey. Paths, thresholds, pool edges, shaded corners, seating groups, bars and landscape elements were all positioned to create a natural flow of curiosity, relaxation and social connection.This approach also shaped the programming of the hotel. Instead of concentrating all social life around one dominant core, we distributed different social nodes across the property. Each one was given its own character and intensity. Some areas invite stillness and private contemplation; others encourage conversation, music, dining or gathering. This allowed the hotel to breathe. It gave guests the freedom to choose their own rhythm during the day, rather than being forced into a single resort narrative.The most important decision was to design the hotel as a day-to-night experience. Morning needed softness, shade and calm. Afternoon needed openness, poolside life and casual encounters. Evening needed warmer light, stronger atmosphere and a sense of collective energy. In this sense, spatial choreography was not an abstract concept for me; it was a very practical design tool. It helped me decide where people would slow down, where they would meet, where they would look toward the sea, where they would feel protected, and where the architecture should quietly disappear behind the experience.I believe hospitality design becomes powerful when people do not consciously notice every design decision, but they feel that the place understands them. At Cooks Club Alanya, the choreography was about creating this feeling: a resort that moves with its guests, changes with the light, and transforms throughout the day without losing its soul.

The material language of Cooks Club Alanya emerged from a very instinctive dialogue with Alanya itself. I did not want to create a resort that could belong to any coastline in the world. I wanted the project to carry the light, heat, salt, informality and raw beauty of the Mediterranean coast. For this reason, the palette had to feel honest, tactile and grounded, rather than polished in a conventional luxury sense.Raw materials such as concrete, wood, natural textures and earthy tones became the foundation of this language because they could express both strength and warmth at the same time. The coastal climate of Alanya is beautiful but demanding; the sun is strong, the air carries salt and humidity, and outdoor spaces are used intensely throughout the day. So the materials had to age with dignity. I was interested in surfaces that would not lose their character over time, but would become more meaningful through use, light, shadow and touch.This is where the idea of “slow glamour” became important for me. I see slow glamour as a kind of quiet confidence. It is not about shine, excess or decoration. It is about atmosphere, proportion, texture and emotional comfort. A rough concrete wall can become luxurious when it is balanced with warm wood, soft textiles, natural planting and the right light. A simple shaded corner can feel more memorable than an overdesigned lobby if it allows people to breathe, rest and feel connected to the place.Alanya also has a particular spirit that influenced me deeply. It is coastal, sunny and touristic, but it also carries a nomadic and bohemian memory. I wanted the design to reflect that relaxed Mediterranean freedom without becoming nostalgic or folkloric. The materials therefore needed to be contemporary, but not cold; natural, but not rustic; durable, but not heavy. This balance was essential.In the end, the palette was shaped by the desire to create a resort that feels effortless but carefully composed. The luxury of Cooks Club Alanya is not a loud luxury. It is in the feeling of bare feet on natural surfaces, the softness of shade after strong sun, the warmth of wood against concrete, the movement of fabric in the sea breeze, and the way daylight changes the mood of the spaces during the day. For me, that is the most authentic kind of Mediterranean luxury: quiet, sensual, resilient and deeply connected to place.

For me, the distributed social node approach was one of the main idea in Cooks Club Alanya that changed the way guests relate to the resort. A single-core resort often creates a hierarchy: one main place where everything happens and many secondary areas that remain passive. I wanted to avoid that. I wanted the entire property to work as a living network of different moods, different intensities and different possibilities for encounter.This approach gives guests freedom. They are not asked to experience the hotel in one predetermined way. They can choose their own rhythm according to their mood, energy and time of day. At Cooks Club Alanya, this meant creating a rich constellation of social and emotional stations: the main entertainment pool for energy and collective life; two quieter pool areas where guests can read, rest and withdraw from the crowd; the spa and wellness areas for a slower and more inward experience; the honesty bar for a more relaxed and spontaneous form of hospitality; and the FunLab area, with private disco spaces and even a rage room, for younger guests and for moments of playful release.These different nodes were not designed as isolated amenities. They were positioned and connected as parts of a larger spatial choreography. During the design process, we studied how guests would move through the property from morning to night, and how service flows could support this movement without becoming visible or disturbing. I was very interested in the difference between guest rhythm and operational rhythm. Guests should feel relaxed, spontaneous and free, while the hotel must function with precision behind the scenes.The final spatial configuration was shaped by balancing these two rhythms. We positioned each social node in relation to circulation paths, pool areas, shaded transitions, food and beverage points, visual connections and landscape pockets. Each node has its own role and atmosphere, but also remains connected to the larger narrative of the hotel. The lively pool does not cancel the quiet pools; the FunLab does not disturb the spa; the honesty bar does not compete with the dining areas. Instead, they all create different chapters of the same story.I believe this fundamentally changes the emotional relationship between a guest and the environment. When social life is distributed, guests feel that they are discovering the resort rather than consuming it. They can return to different places at different times of the day and find another mood, another light, another social possibility. This creates a sense of belonging, because the guest gradually builds a personal map of the place.For me, hospitality architecture should not only organize functions; it should understand human behavior. People need moments of privacy and moments of connection. They need openness, but also shelter. They need movement, but also pause. They may want silence in the morning, playful energy in the afternoon and collective atmosphere in the evening. The distributed social node model allowed Cooks Club Alanya to respond to these subtle human needs and to transform a large resort into a more intimate, layered and emotionally engaging experience.

Navigating the relationship between an established brand identity and an authentic local architectural character was one of the most meaningful parts of Cooks Club Apanya. I never saw the brand guidelines as a limitation. I saw them as a framework, a language that had to be understood deeply before it could be interpreted with sensitivity. A strong hospitality brand gives you a direction, but the architecture must still listen to the place.The concept direction by Remo Masala and Vision Alphabet already carried a clear lifestyle spirit: relaxed, social, contemporary and experience-oriented. From the very beginning, we established a very open and productive dialogue. I felt that we were speaking the same design language, and this allowed me to translate the brand vision into a spatial experience that could truly belong to Alanya. The challenge was not to copy a formula, but to create a version of Cooks Club Alanya that felt faithful to the brand and, at the same time, deeply rooted in its Mediterranean context.For me, this balance was achieved through atmosphere, materiality and spatial rhythm. The brand’s young, informal and social energy was interpreted through the distribution of social nodes, the day-to-night choreography, the pool areas, the signage, the landscape, the shaded transitions and the overall relaxed flow of the resort. At the same time, the raw concrete, warm wood, natural textures, coastal light, bohemian references and open-air living gave the project its local identity.I believe the best franchise projects are not the ones that repeat a visual code mechanically. They are the ones that understand the essence of the brand and allow it to breathe in a new place. This was my main intention at Cooks Club Alanya: to protect the spirit of the brand, but to make the hotel feel inevitable for its location, as if it could not have existed in exactly the same way anywhere else.Receiving the Bronze A’ Design Award in the Hospitality, Recreation, Travel and Tourism Design category is a very meaningful international recognition for me and for NOM Architecture. It confirms the value of a holistic design approach, where architecture, interiors, landscape, signage, materiality, atmosphere and guest experience are considered together.This recognition also feels deeply personal, because it resonates with the questions I have been asking since my master’s thesis on tourism architecture along the Mediterranean coast of Turkey. Since the early years of my architectural journey, I have been interested in how tourism buildings in the Mediterranean can belong to their climate, culture, landscape and human rhythm instead of becoming anonymous structures. I believe that a true Mediterranean hospitality project should not only be beautiful or commercially successful; it should also be environmentally conscious, climate-responsive, durable and respectful toward its natural context.In this sense, Cooks Club Alanya is not only a completed hospitality project for me; it is also a continuation of a long intellectual and emotional inquiry. It allowed me to explore how a resort can feel contemporary and international, while still being connected to the local climate, coastal life, material honesty and sustainable design thinking.For NOM Architecture, this recognition is not only an award for a single project. It is also a confirmation of a design attitude I have believed in for many years: that good hospitality design should have a soul, a sense of place, a human rhythm and an environmental conscience. Cooks Club Alanya allowed me to bring these values together within an international brand framework, and that makes the recognition especially valuable.

When I first encountered the property, the biggest challenge was not only the physical condition of the hotel, but the lack of a coherent identity. The interiors, outdoor areas, frontage, landscape, pool zones and circulation spaces all seemed to speak different languages. At that moment, I understood that the project could not be solved through isolated design interventions. It needed one strong architectural vision capable of bringing all these fragmented pieces into a single emotional and spatial narrative.One of the most decisive moments for me was during the early site process, when it became clear how many layers had to be handled at the same time: the brand expectations, the existing structural conditions, the coastal climate, the operational needs of the hotel, the construction schedule, and the emotional atmosphere we wanted to create. In a project like this, there is no luxury of designing slowly in a protected studio environment. You think, decide, revise and build almost simultaneously. This tested my discipline deeply, but it also sharpened my instincts as an architect.The coastal climate of Alanya added another level of responsibility. Wind, salt, humidity and strong sun are not abstract environmental factors there; they are daily realities. Every material, surface, joint, outdoor element and detail had to be considered with durability in mind. At the same time, I did not want this technical responsibility to make the project feel heavy or defensive. The hotel still had to feel relaxed, open, sensual and effortless. Protecting this balance between resilience and lightness was one of the most important professional challenges of the transformation.The compressed timeframe from September 2022 to May 2023 required great clarity. I had to make many decisions very quickly, but without losing the soul of the project. This experience reminded me that design is not only about inspiration; it is also about courage, endurance and responsibility. Sometimes the most important design act is to protect the main idea when hundreds of practical questions are trying to pull it apart.Personally, this project strengthened something I deeply believe in: never ever give up. There were moments of pressure, uncertainty and fatigue, but I always felt that the project had a strong potential waiting to be revealed. The transformation of Cooks Club Alanya taught me again that architecture can heal a fragmented place. It can give direction, atmosphere and identity to a property that had lost its voice.In the end, what emerged was not simply a renovated hotel, but a unified resort experience. The process confirmed for me that a clear vision is not a luxury in complex projects; it is a necessity. Without it, every decision becomes random. With it, even under pressure, every detail can begin to serve the same story.

“Less, but essential” is not minimalism for me. It is a form of courage. In hospitality design, especially in resort projects, there is always a temptation to add more: more decoration, more colors, more functions, more entertainment, more visual statements. But I believe that true atmosphere often appears when we know what to remove.At Cooks Club Alanya, the brief was rich and layered. There were pools, dining areas, wellness, entertainment, beach life, landscape, social spaces and a strong day-to-night rhythm. The challenge was to make this richness feel effortless, not crowded. I did not want the resort to become a collection of attractions. I wanted it to become a sequence of feelings.One of the most difficult decisions was to protect simplicity against the clichés of seaside resorts. I did not want to use the obvious signs of “holiday design.” I wanted the Mediterranean spirit to be felt through light, shade, texture, proportion, sea breeze, raw concrete, warm wood, soft fabrics and natural planting. The hotel should not shout its identity; it should slowly reveal it.I also wanted to question a very common sentence in hospitality: “It should feel like home.” I do not fully agree with this, at least not in a literal design sense. Why would someone travel to feel exactly at home? A hotel should not copy home. It should offer the emotional comfort of home — safety, ease, warmth, belonging — but also the excitement of being somewhere else. For me, that is the magic of hospitality: familiar enough to relax you, different enough to awaken you.Protecting open space was another essential decision. Sometimes the most powerful design move is not adding something, but leaving air, silence and distance. I wanted guests to feel the shade after the sun, the softness of a corner, the openness toward the sea, the possibility of being together or being alone. This required restraint. Every object, sign, color and material had to earn its place.With the client and stakeholders, I explained that restraint is not emptiness; it is clarity. It makes a project more timeless, more durable and more emotionally powerful. At Cooks Club Alanya, “less, but essential” allowed the resort to be lively without becoming chaotic, stylish without becoming artificial, and rich in experience without becoming overloaded.In the end, I believe the real luxury of the project is not excess. It is freedom. Freedom to move, to pause, to meet, to withdraw, to feel the sea, to feel the light, to feel alive. That is what I wanted Cooks Club Alanya to offer.

t Cooks Club Alanya Hotel, sustainability was not treated as a separate label added to the project at the end. It was embedded in the way the hotel was transformed, detailed and made ready to live in a demanding coastal climate. Alanya’s sun, salt, humidity and wind shaped many of our decisions, from material selection to shading, from outdoor continuity to long-term maintenance.The existing property had a fragmented identity, and one of the most sustainable decisions was to avoid unnecessary visual and physical excess. Instead of covering the building with temporary decorative gestures, we worked with a restrained and durable material language: raw concrete, warm wood, natural textures, shaded outdoor areas, resistant surfaces and details that could age with dignity. For me, beauty in a coastal project must have endurance.The façade murals were also very important in this transformation. I designed them not only as graphic or decorative surfaces, but as elements that would give the hotel a stronger public presence and contribute to the urban image of its surroundings. A resort should not only serve the guests inside its borders; it should also give something back to the street, to the city and to the visual memory of the place.We also integrated solar panels as a concrete part of the environmental strategy of the project. This was important because sustainability should not remain only in the atmosphere of a place; it should also be part of the operational intelligence of the building. Together with shaded transitions, open-air living, natural ventilation possibilities, planting, indoor-outdoor continuity and durable material choices, the solar panels supported a more responsible relationship with the climate.Cooks Club Alanya showed me once again that a resort can be contemporary and international without becoming disconnected from its place. It can be visually strong, but also respectful. It can be social and energetic, but also conscious of its environmental impact. For NOM Architecture, this project became a strong reference for how we want to design future hospitality spaces: not disposable, not generic, but resilient, contextual, memorable and generous to both people and place.The lesson I carry from Cooks Club Alanya is very clear: the future of hospitality design should not be about creating louder images. It should be about creating places that can last, age beautifully, contribute to their surroundings and continue to feel meaningful over time.

Looking back at Cooks Club Alanya, I hope the project tells the hospitality design community one clear thing: a contemporary seaside resort should not be a generic holiday image. It should be born from its place.For me, the real starting point was not style, but Alanya itself: the strong Mediterranean sun, the salty air, the coastal wind, the humidity, the orientation of the existing buildings, the slope of the site, the views, the position of the pools and the way the property naturally opens toward outdoor life. These conditions shaped the project more deeply than any decorative decision could.The orientation was important not only for light and heat, but also for view, atmosphere and movement. We studied how to benefit from the best visual connections, how to open certain areas toward the sea, how to protect others from harsh sun or wind, and how to use the existing slope of the land to create a more fluid sequence between different functions. Instead of treating level differences as a problem, we used them as part of the spatial experience, allowing the resort to unfold gradually from one atmosphere to another.This is why I believe hospitality architecture must listen before it speaks. At Cooks Club Alanya, the material palette, the shaded transitions, the indoor-outdoor continuity, the pool areas, the landscape, the murals, the lighting and the distribution of social nodes all came from this act of listening. The aim was to create a resort that feels contemporary and international, but still unmistakably connected to Alanya.The transformation was also important because the hotel had a fragmented identity before. What we created was not just a renovated property, but a new rhythm: calm in the morning, social during the day, warmer and more energetic at night. I wanted the resort to feel alive, as if it changed with the sun, the guests, the music, the breeze, the view and the light.One dimension I feel deserves more attention is the project’s contribution to its surroundings. The façade, the murals and the renewed frontage gave the building a stronger public presence. A resort should not turn its back on the city. Even when it serves its guests, it should also give something back to the street, the neighborhood and the visual memory of the place.In the end, I would like Cooks Alanya Club Hotel to be remembered as a resort with a soul. Not only a destination, but a living Mediterranean atmosphere: rooted, sensual, social, responsible and memorable.

At Cooks Club Alanya, openness toward the coast was not a decorative idea; it was a carefully controlled architectural decision. In Alanya, the sea brings beauty, but also salt, humidity, wind and strong sun. So the challenge was to create a hotel that feels light, open and relaxed, while being durable enough for the Mediterranean coast.We first studied orientation, view and exposure. The aim was not to open every space blindly, but to create selective permeability. Some areas were opened toward the sea, the pools and outdoor life; others were protected with shade, planting, semi-open transitions and material depth. The architecture had to invite the coast in, but also protect guests from its harshness.Material choices were essential, but I did not want them to dominate the experience. We preferred raw, natural and climate-resilient materials that could support the atmosphere and age with dignity. We avoided fragile or overly decorative solutions that would quickly suffer under sun, salt and humidity. In a coastal project, beauty must be supported by endurance.For me, indoor-outdoor continuity is not about erasing all boundaries. It is about softening them. Pergolas, shaded seating areas, pool edges, planting, semi-open zones and continuous materials helped guests move naturally from interior comfort to outdoor energy. These details may not be immediately noticed, but they are felt through comfort.In the end, the openness of Cooks Club Alanya is a balance between freedom and protection. Guests feel the breeze, the view, the shade and the effortless flow between spaces. Behind that ease, there is a very precise architectural discipline. For me, this is one of the most beautiful responsibilities of design: to make difficult conditions feel effortless.

What I would most like emerging hospitality designers to study at Cooks Club Alanya is how a large resort program can be made to feel intimate, legible and human. The project includes many functions, many room types, pools, wellness, beach life and social areas; but the real design question was not only how to place them on the property. The real question was how to connect them through rhythm, hierarchy and experience.One of the most important spatial decisions was the creation of a clear main axis, supported by smaller secondary axes and recurring spatial patterns. This gave the resort an understandable structure without making it feel rigid. Guests can move naturally along the main flow, but they also discover smaller paths, pauses, social pockets, shaded corners and unexpected atmospheres along the way. For me, this is essential in hospitality design: people should never feel lost, but they should still feel that there is something to discover.In this sense, Christopher Alexander’s A Pattern Language has always been a meaningful reference for me. I want to mention also that; good spatial organization is not only about form, but about recurring human situations: arrival, transition, gathering, privacy, threshold, view, shade, pause and encounter. A resort is not a collection of functions; it is a pattern of human behaviors.At Cooks Club Alanya, the distributed social node model grew from this understanding. Instead of concentrating all life in one dominant center, we created different points of attraction with different emotional temperatures: energetic, calm, playful, restorative, social or private. The main entertainment pool, the quiet pools, the spa, the honesty bar, the FunLab, the dining areas, the shaded corners and the open-air transitions all give guests different ways to inhabit the resort.I also believe designers should study on the site analysis, the relationship between orientation, view, level differences, landscape elements, surroundings and movement. The slope of the site and the existing spatial conditions were not treated as obstacles. They became part of the spatial pattern, helping the resort unfold gradually from one atmosphere to another. Views, shade, circulation and social nodes were considered together, not separately.The promise of the distributed social node model is that it respects human behavior. People do not want the same intensity all day. They want to be alone, then together; silent, then social; relaxed, then excited. A good resort should understand these changes and offer different emotional possibilities within one coherent identity.For me, the future of resort design lies in this sensitivity. Not bigger gestures, but richer rhythms. Not more spectacle, but more intelligence. Not one forced experience, but a generous pattern of possibilities. Cooks Club Alanya taught me again that hospitality design becomes truly powerful when it gives people freedom: the freedom to move, to pause, to discover, to connect, to withdraw and to remember.

The mural at House of Bohem Beach Club was not conceived as a decorative element, but as a narrative layer within the space. Although it is placed on an interior wall rather than on the facade, it plays an important role in expressing the identity and bohemian spirit of the venue.The composition carries visual clues about the rhythm of House of Bohem. It celebrates a ritual that begins in the morning and continues into the next morning, moving naturally between coffee and cocktails, day and night, feminine and masculine energy, calm moments and social encounters. A glass may be read as a cocktail glass or as a coffee cup, reflecting the fluid character of a place that changes throughout the day without losing its soul.The lettering of the name also became part of this visual story. Each letter was imagined with its own character: rule-free, expressive and bohemian. These individual letters and stylized forms come together on the wall like different personalities sharing the same atmosphere. It reflects a bohemian and nomadic sense of freedom, where different symbols, moods and characters coexist without strict rules. In this way, the mural gives House of Bohem an artistic memory from within. It does not simply decorate the space; it reveals how the place wants to be lived.

For me, the nomadic and bohemian philosophy behind House of Bohem is not a decorative theme, but a way of understanding life. It is about freedom, being present, slowing down, sharing, moving naturally between different moods, and feeling connected to the sea, the climate and the moment. It is a lifestyle.I translated these values into space by avoiding rigid boundaries. The project was designed as a fluid coastal experience where guests can move from the beach to the lounge, from a relaxed daytime moment to the bar and dining areas, from coffee to cocktails, and from daytime calm to evening energy. Different indoor and outdoor seating areas, shaded corners, open-air and semi-open spaces, and layered textures allow each guest to choose their own rhythm.Natural materials, handmade details, warm colors and a relaxed spatial flow were especially important. They create an atmosphere that feels sincere rather than staged. I believe the most successful design choice was this sense of effortless continuity. House of Bohem does not tell guests how to behave; it invites them to slow down, stay longer and live the moment in their own way. This spirit is also reflected in its motto: kind hearts, gentle spirits, brave souls, be here now.

Designing on the coastline means working with sun, salt, humidity, wind and very intensive daily use. Therefore, each material had to support both the atmosphere of the project and the long-term performance of the space.This process strengthened my understanding of sustainability in hospitality design. Sustainability is not only about choosing materials that look natural or ecological. It is also about longevity, maintenance, emotional durability and, most importantly, timeless design. If a project becomes visually outdated too quickly, or needs to be replaced only because it followed a short-lived trend, it cannot truly be sustainable.At House of Bohem, wood, natural stone, concrete, rattan, linen, handmade ceramics, textured plaster and woven details were used to create a sincere and lasting coastal atmosphere. These materials were chosen not only for their visual warmth, but also for their tactile quality and ability to age beautifully. I believe hospitality design should move away from temporary decoration and focus more on spaces that remain relevant, age gracefully and continue to be loved over time. For me, timelessness is one of the deepest forms of sustainability.

House of Bohem brings together several functions, but I did not approach them as separate zones placed side by side. From the beginning, I imagined the project as a continuous living scenario that could start in the morning and continue until the next morning. In line with the bohemian philosophy of the place, the rhythm of the sky became an important reference: the sun, the moon, the full moon, meteor showers, changing light and night rituals all inspired different moments of use and celebration.This idea helped me organize the bistro, beach lounge, dining area, bar and event spaces within one coherent identity. Each function has its own mood, but they all belong to the same story. The beach lounge carries the relaxed energy of the day, the dining area becomes more refined, the bar supports social encounters, and the event spaces allow celebrations connected to music, light, the sea and the sky.The unity came from a shared material language, natural textures, warm colors, lighting, furniture, signage and a consistent bohemian spirit. Because the project was designed holistically from A to Z, every layer could support the same identity. For me, hospitality design should not only solve functions; it should create a rhythm of life. House of Bohem offers different experiences, but they all flow within one memorable atmosphere.

One of the most difficult decisions in House of Bohem was finding the right balance between the poetic atmosphere of the place and the very real physical conditions of the coastline. In winter months, due to tide movements and strong waves, the sea can enter the beachfront areas and seriously damage what is placed there. This is a recurring challenge on this part of the coast, so the project could not be designed only through aesthetic decisions.This reality influenced several important choices. For example, I preferred concrete flooring in key areas because it could provide durability, stability and easier maintenance under demanding coastal conditions. I also designed high metal baskets filled with sand to be placed in front of the venue during winter months. These protective elements help reduce the impact of waves while responding to the seasonal character of the site.At the same time, the scale of the project was never something that frightened me. On the contrary, I believe that even in large-scale projects, unity can be achieved without repetition and without creating a monotonous atmosphere. The challenge is to keep one coherent identity while allowing different moments, materials and spatial experiences to enrich the whole.This process reshaped the way I think about large-scale hospitality environments. A beautiful coastal venue should not be fragile. It must be able to live with the climate, the sea, the wind and time. For me, the strongest design decisions are often the ones that remain almost invisible to the guest, but protect the life, continuity and atmosphere of the project.

In the early design stages of House of Bohem, the spatial narrative became clear after I observed the existing hospitality scene in Alanya. Many venues were moving toward a more urban, luxury and fine dining language, which did not always reflect the relaxed lifestyle of a coastal city. I wanted to create the opposite: a place that would introduce a softer, more natural and more effortless way of living by the sea.This is where the bohemian concept became meaningful for me. It was not chosen as a style trend, but as a response to the spirit of the coastline. I wanted House of Bohem to support quiet luxury, being present, relaxed living and emotional connection rather than performance. The idea crystallized around movement, light, material and rhythm: arriving from the beach, sitting in a relaxed lounge, moving toward dining, gathering around the bar, listening to music, and staying as the atmosphere becomes warmer in the evening.The most difficult part was translating this bohemian living concept without turning it into a cliché. I did not want a themed or overly decorated place. I wanted the bohemian spirit to be felt through freedom, layering, handmade details, natural textures, warm light and relaxed spatial flow. The response from guests showed me that this lifestyle had been waiting to be expressed in Alanya. Later, seeing similar interpretations appear around the area made me feel that House of Bohem had introduced not only a place, but also a new way of experiencing the coast.

House of Bohem strengthened my belief that hospitality design should create a lifestyle, not only a beautiful venue. For me, the most important lesson of this project is that people respond deeply to places that make them feel free, comfortable, present and emotionally connected. This philosophy will continue to influence my future work, especially in projects where architecture, interiors, outdoor living, branding and atmosphere need to become one coherent experience.I do not see House of Bohem as a visual formula to be repeated. Its real value lies in its method. The project was shaped by listening to the coastline, the climate, the light, the social habits of the city and the emotional needs of guests. These principles can be applied to other coastal hospitality contexts, but each place should create its own language.In future projects, I want to continue exploring this idea of slow glamour: spaces that feel relaxed but refined, natural but carefully designed, effortless but memorable. House of Bohem showed me that design can offer more than service or function. It can introduce a new rhythm of living.

When I look back at House of Bohem, I feel that one dimension that deserves more attention is how strongly the project depends on a living philosophy, not only on a completed design. The architecture, interiors, materials, lighting, branding and outdoor spaces are visible and felt by guests, but the spirit of the place must also be carried every day through people, service rhythm, music, attitude and hospitality culture.This was one of the most delicate aspects of the project. House of Bohem was designed as a place for kind hearts, gentle spirits, brave souls and people who can be present in the moment. Finding and building a team that truly understands this philosophy is not easy, because it requires more than professional service. It requires sensitivity, warmth and a genuine connection with the lifestyle of the place.One of the most difficult things for a designer is to see a project used in a way that weakens its original intention. For this reason, I believe observation after completion is very important. I like to revisit the places I design, understand how they are being used, notice what works, identify what may need correction, and learn from real life. At House of Bohem, I sometimes feel the need to intervene, but in general the spirit of the place is carried well.What I hope designers and clients take away from this project is that hospitality design does not end when the construction is completed. Architecture can create the stage, the atmosphere and the emotional framework, but the life of the place continues through the people who work in, visit and share it. For me, House of Bohem shows that a successful hospitality project is not only designed once; it is lived, observed, protected and renewed every day.

The compressed timeline of House of Bohem made the process intense, but it also made the decisions very clear. When a project has to be designed and delivered in such a short period, there is no space for unnecessary hesitation or decorative confusion. The concept must be strong from the beginning, and every decision must serve that concept.For me, the most important advantage was having a clear vision and a holistic control over the project. Architecture, interiors, furniture, lighting, materials, branding, uniforms and outdoor living were all considered together. This allowed the design language to remain consistent even while decisions were being made quickly. My previous experience in both design and implementation also helped me make practical decisions without weakening the atmosphere of the project.I also believe there is a special energy and creativity that comes with a deadline. When time is limited, people often work more efficiently, instincts become sharper, and the essential ideas become more visible. In some ways, the urgency made certain solutions stronger. It forced me to focus on what was essential: spatial flow, material harmony, guest comfort, day-to-night rhythm and the bohemian identity of the place.I believe speed can become a creative force when the designer knows the direction clearly. House of Bohem was demanding, but its energy came partly from that intensity.

The day-to-night transformation of House of Bohem was inspired first by the natural possibilities of the site. The venue faces south toward the Mediterranean, and this orientation allows guests to experience the movement of the sky in a very special way. While the sun sets beautifully in the west, the moon can rise from the east. In the morning, as the sun rises from the east, the moon may still be visible in the west. Watching this with the sound of the waves became one of the strongest inspirations behind the idea of a place that could live from morning until the next morning.For this reason, lighting was considered not only as a technical system, but as a way to respect and support the natural atmosphere. In some moments, the moon and stars are already enough. Artificial lighting should not compete with them; it should simply create warmth, comfort and orientation when needed.Warm light, soft shadows, textured walls, wood, rattan, linen, woven details and natural surfaces were carefully balanced so that the materials could change character throughout the day. Under daylight, they feel calm and tactile; under evening light, they become more intimate and layered. The aim was not to create a sudden dramatic change, but a natural rhythm. House of Bohem moves from seaside comfort to evening elegance as smoothly as the sky itself changes over the Mediterranean.