As floral designers, we’re often asked to define our design style. By planners and brides. By colleagues. By the algorithms. We’re asked to put ourselves into this box or that. Garden-inspired? Sculptural? Modern abstract? We’re asked to pick.

It can feel insulting, but the truth is that every designer develops preferences. We gravitate toward particular flowers, specific color palettes, and certain ways of arranging them. We collect images that inspire us. We become known for certain kinds of work.

But the best floral design doesn’t begin with the designer’s preferences.

It begins with the client.

One of the projects currently on my worktable couldn’t be more different from the romantic, whimsical wedding flowers that often fill these pages. Instead of layered blushes, heirloom roses, and subtle tonal palettes, this project calls for bright blocks of color: orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple.

These flowers are for an event benefiting Pittsburgh’s Children’s Hospital, and those colors are woven throughout the hospital itself. They are familiar, welcoming, energetic, and joyful. The goal isn’t softness or nostalgia. The goal is energy. It is optimism.

And that distinction matters.

One of the most important lessons I learned long ago is that good design is not about imposing your personal taste on every project. It’s about understanding what a particular event needs to communicate and using my skills to accomplish that vision as beautifully as possible.

For a wedding, that may mean restraint and romance.

For a gala, it may mean elegance and drama.

For a children’s hospital, it may mean vibrant color, bold shapes, and a sense of play.

The flowers themselves become part of a larger story.

Designers sometimes talk about finding their voice, but listening is maybe more important. Every project arrives with its own audience, purpose, and personality. The challenge—and the privilege—is figuring out what that story is and translating it into flowers.

That doesn’t mean abandoning craftsmanship or artistic standards. Quite the opposite. The same principles of proportion, balance, movement, texture, and color theory apply whether I’m working with a palette of blush garden roses or a rainbow of brightly saturated blooms.

The mechanics change. The flowers change. The mood changes.

The underlying discipline remains the same.

In many ways, versatility is an overlooked design skill. It requires curiosity, empathy, and a willingness to step outside your own preferences in service of someone else’s vision. It asks designers to solve different kinds of creative problems rather than repeating the same solution over and over again.

The result is work that feels authentic to the event itself.

This Children’s Hospital project is a reminder that beauty takes many forms. Sometimes it arrives in soft, layered petals and muted tones. Sometimes it arrives in bright blocks of orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple.

The real goal is not to make every project look like the designer.

The goal is to make every project look like it belongs exactly where it is.