Hello my design-loving friends,

Some cities grow. Others curate themselves.

Santa Barbara did the latter.

Last weekend I was there with Veranda Design Society, spending a few days immersed in architecture, textiles, gardens, and antiques. It’s a place where the built environment feels unusually intentional—and once you notice it, you can’t unsee it.

That intention traces back nearly a century to a decision that permanently shaped the city.

One of the most resonant themes for me (and something that sits at the heart of my work) was preservation.

It showed up everywhere we looked:

• Lotusland — the storied botanical gardens created by the eccentric, opera-aspiring Polish-born Ganna Walska.
• Raoul Textiles — founded in 1981 by Sally McQuillan and now helmed by her children Madeleine and Gene.
• San Ysidro Ranch — carefully regenerated after the devastating 2018 mudslides.

Yes, the dramatic mountains framing the red-tiled roofs certainly help. There’s a reason it’s called the American Riviera.

But the truth is that what we see today is the result of a city making a deliberate architectural decision nearly a century ago—one that still shapes the experience of the place.

Design Dispatch | The City That Chose Its Architecture

It’s difficult to imagine Santa Barbara looking any different than she does today. But in the early 1900s the city was a patchwork of Victorian, Craftsman, and commercial buildings with little architectural cohesion.

Then in 1925, a major earthquake struck the city, destroying much of downtown. Instead of simply rebuilding what had been lost, civic leaders and architects saw an opportunity to rethink the city entirely.

Within two weeks of the quake, civic leader Bernhard Hoffmann helped establish an Architectural Review Board to guide rebuilding efforts. The board itself only lasted about six months—resistance came quickly, as it often does when people try to impose order on rapid development—but its influence proved lasting.

Many property owners ultimately embraced Spanish Colonial Revival, a style rooted in California’s early architectural heritage and well suited to the coastal climate.

No architect is more closely associated with this movement than George Washington Smith, whose refined interpretation of Spanish Colonial architecture helped define the aesthetic identity of Santa Barbara. What followed was not accidental development, but coordinated design.

Facades along State Street were rebuilt in Spanish Colonial forms. Arcades, clay tile roofs, white stucco walls, and wrought iron details became the architectural language of the city.

Nearly a century later, that decision still defines Santa Barbara.

A contemporary architect continuing to shape the city today is Jeff Shelton, whose whimsical buildings carry a subtle echo of Antoni Gaudí—playful, textured, and deeply tied to place.

Walking the streets now, the lesson becomes clear:

Cities that protect their architectural identity age far better than those that do not.

In the Mix | Preservation as Stewardship

One of the more meaningful moments of the trip was hearing Jaime Rummerfield, co-founder of Save Iconic Architecture (SIA), speak about their work.

She shared sobering examples of significant buildings lost simply because there were no meaningful guardrails in place—a gap between cultural value and the permitting process that often determines a building’s fate.

Their mission is straightforward: identify architecturally significant structures before they disappear and advocate for their protection through landmark designation, documentation, and public awareness.

What surprised many in the room—myself included—is that Los Angeles still lacks a comprehensive historic landmark program robust enough to protect many culturally significant properties.

Organizations like SIA are working to change that by:

• documenting historic architecture
• advocating for landmark designation
• raising public awareness around preservation
• educating communities on why these buildings matter

Preservation is often misunderstood as nostalgia.

In reality, it is stewardship.

Cities that retain their architectural lineage maintain identity, cultural memory, and long-term value. Those that erase it rarely get it back.

Perhaps part of the challenge is that we are a relatively young country. The instinct to preserve architecture can feel more natural in Europe—or even older East Coast cities—where history is embedded in the built environment.

But places like Santa Barbara remind us that thoughtful stewardship can create architectural heritage just as surely as time can.

Off the Clock | Santa Barbara With My Favorite Local Guide

The professional itinerary was fantastic—Lotusland, a behind-the-scenes tour of Raoul Textiles, and a day antiquing through Montecito.

But the real highlight was spending time with my son, who recently moved there.

I actually attended school in Santa Barbara back in the day, so I had fun introducing him to a few of the nostalgic spots that somehow—miraculously—are still around from my time there a hundred years ago.

Every trip includes one mandatory stop: La Super-Rica Taqueria — complete with the same family and faces I saw in my early 20s.

It’s a tiny, no-frills Mexican restaurant with plastic chairs, a perpetual line out the door, and food that makes you understand immediately why people keep coming back.

Julia Child famously called it one of her favorite places to eat—and once you’ve had their tacos, you understand why.

Some places become institutions because they are polished.

Others because they are simply that good.

La Super-Rica falls squarely in the second category.

Next edition our secretary we redid should be completed- excited to share and see what you think! A few more reflections from the trip in the next edition —including the textile craftsmanship coming out of Raoul and why their work continues to influence high-end interiors.

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Until then,

🤍

Lisa

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