(A disclaimer: I rarely speak negatively about my past work experiences. It’s not a good look. But more than a decade has passed, this company no longer exists, and I’ve always felt that I’ve had the right to tell this story.)

In 2015, I found myself in the worst, most toxic work environment I’ve ever experienced.

I was in my late twenties, and was brought in to be Executive Editor of a celebrity-backed content website that meant to promote female empowerment. This site had recently been acquired by a large media entity and had a glossy, promising future.

It ended up being one of the darkest periods of my life, so traumatizing that once a year, I go back and read my notes, just to remind myself that I wasn’t crazy or in the wrong.

What I needed to get through this time, I would discover, were objects of intention and a transformation of my home.

This site was co-founded by a woman (we’ll call her CEO) and a popular female actress at the time (let’s call her Meg) and the two were supposedly “BFFs,” although Meg had zero involvement and I never even met or corresponded with her.

At first, it was a dream job. I had a team of highly intelligent and funny women. Our office felt like a clubhouse, its bookshelves lined with Baby-Sitter’s Club volumes and ‘90s games like Girl Talk. The lounge was filled with plants, illustrated artwork, and fluffy bean bags, a gigantic rose quartz crystal in the corner. (A gift from a pop star.)

Like many other “viral internet” publications of the time, we were writing all types of regurgitated news — celeb stuff, sex stuff, DIY hacks, etc. It was a constant battle between keeping traffic up (those Kim K and Justin Bieber stories worked magic) and establishing a real brand with original, meaningful content.

I was let in on our traffic secret: We had access to Meg’s Facebook page and it had over 1 million followers. At first, I was led to believe that Meg had given us access and was on board with the strategy. It later became clear that she had no idea what was going on.

I was told to post our highest performing content to Meg’s page, thereby giving all of it an extra boost. I was then instructed by the General Manager (let’s call her Sue) to “hide” any content from Meg’s feed/page that could be deemed risqué — mostly anything about celebs or sex. Sue didn’t want CEO to understand the extent to which we were basically spamming the page. And CEO didn’t know about the “hide” feature, so she’d go to Meg’s FB page and see all these innocuous stories about books and avocados and be utterly confused: “I swear I saw a post on here about anal sex and now I’m not seeing it.” I would stay silent, not sure where my loyalty was supposed to lay. CEO was my boss. But Sue seemed to call the shots.

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In 2016, Facebook (our main traffic driver) changed its algorithm and I was blamed for all traffic drops. I was leading a team of 12 people, divided between NYC, L.A., and London, and overnight, Sue upped our quotas: the team would need to produce 75 posts per day (!!!! c’mon!). After a while, it understandably led to employee frustration.

Then things truly went off the rails. Any time I brought up burnout, Sue accused me of “protecting my team” too much. My team and I were “lazy.” Sue would nitpick anything about my employees, accusing them of taking too much vacation (they didn’t, and when they did, they worked overtime to backfill content) on our “unlimited” vacation policy.

Sue also made it clear: Don’t talk to our parent company’s HR, ever. And so we all felt that if we did speak with HR, Sue would come for us. She was a bully — and I don’t use the term “bully” lightly; it was echoed by other staffers and I heard it again and again even after I left.

I used to get a fun, exuberant whoosh every morning when I sat at my desk. Now, all the “good vibes only” decor seemed like a creepy fun house—over-the-top positivity masquerading darkness. My tiny office began to feel like a fishbowl, the glass wall exposing me anytime I let my mask drop.

Every day, I’d alternate between blood-boiling rage and intense fear. My nervous system was wrecked. And so, in an act of desperation, and in a move that can only be described as “very Los Angeles,” I called in a witch.

I started seeing Amanda on a regular basis. At the time, Amanda lived in a huge, rickety craftsman house in West Adams. Her workspace was a wonderland of treasures: clothes from her ancestors, crystals, feathers…books about witchcraft, philosophy, religion. Amanda isn’t just a witch; she’s a scholar and is incredibly informed on ancient cultures, mythology, herbalism…and so much more. She seriously deserves an honorary Ph.D.

Every visit felt like a magical bubble where a remote control would hit pause the second I passed through her doorway, suspending all of the world around us. I’d sit in her sun-filled living room, sensing a type of love and alchemy she’d created in this environment.

It was the first time I realized that my own home could contain so much more meaning. At the time, I was living in a tiny garage apartment in the hills of Silver Lake. It was my first “real” apartment and I had decorated it with intention, but I didn’t understand how much my space could work for me.

(And before I go further, I’d like to say something to the witch community: I hope not to offend. I respect witchcraft but I don’t claim to understand it. But believe me when I say that I was in severe crisis and it saved me during this time.)

I learned how to pull Tarot cards and use them in a way more akin to psychology. Every day, I’d draw two cards and look up their meanings — not to predict the future, but to use them as frameworks through which to examine my trauma. I’d leave them on my altar and revisit them after work.

Soon, my shelves filled with crystals: quartz, citrine, rose quartz. I bought multiple pieces of tourmaline (thought to absorb negative energy) and I’d keep small bits in my pockets at work.

Look, I can’t say I knew what I was doing, but every week or so, a trip to House of Intuition seemed to bolster my confidence. After work, I would light intention candles and attempt to meditate.

I loved this corner of my home. It was a special little spot, and anytime I’d visit it, I’d feel calm.

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All of it worked. Well, it didn’t change my bosses or shift office dynamics. But it gave me the clarity and confidence I needed to get through the mess.

Sue and CEO decided to lay off half of my team. I was devastated and I didn’t get any say in it. (Except they did seem to take into consideration some things I called out as pretty racist.)

On the day the layoffs were announced, CEO cried as she broke the news to the company. She said she’d be available in the conference room for anyone who wanted to talk. But for the short time she was there, she sat behind the glass walls with an employee she was especially close to. No one went in. From where we sat, it felt like she was less there to talk to us than to talk about us. Then CEO left to go on a digital retreat — no phone, no email, no internet.

I felt awful about the people who lost their jobs. They were wonderful writers, wonderful humans. I knew they blamed me. And even after I left and contacted them to express my regret, some didn’t forgive me.

But I at least got through it without a nervous breakdown. And I felt reassured in knowing the value of my next move.

I quit shortly after — something I wouldn’t have had the strength to do without all the work I did. I couldn’t even inform CEO first hand because she was on that retreat. We never talked again.

These days, I’m not relying on witchcraft so much to get me through tough times. But it taught me to believe in the power and magic of meaningful objects, and so my home still has little “altars”: a mantel filled with pieces that feel more powerful when bunched together. Special dishes for my grandmother’s jewelry. Polaroids next to childhood relics.

I finally feel protected.

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[I’m running a “Birthday Month Special” on paid subscriptions for all of August. Only $4.80/month and you’ll have access to all my Ultimate Home Shopping Guides!]

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Do you know why Zillow is called Zillow? It’s a portmanteau of “zillion” and “pillow”: “zillion” for the enormous amount of real estate information on the platform, and “pillow” for a place to rest your head, something that evokes home. Make of that what you will.

(That’s a fairly random way into this post, but it came up in my research and I refuse to waste a perfectly good piece of Zillow trivia.)

Anyway, today’s post is about a much tinier piece of Zillow real estate: the little upper-left blurb agents get to put on a listing that appears in search results. Internally, Zillow calls it a “headline.”

Ostensibly, this is a realtor’s chance to stop a buyer mid-scroll. For the most part, agents stick to the standards:

• High ceilings

• New roof

• Wood-burning fireplace

• Modern updates

• Blah blah blah

Interestingly, Zillow has a guide for writing successful descriptions that include words statistically proven to add value including:

Captivating: Homes with a median estimated value in the top third of the market sold for 6.5% more than their expected price when listings included this word.

Other words found to add value: Stainless (appliances), granite, basketball (hoop or court), landscaped, pergola, remodel, tile, upgraded and updated, impeccable and beautiful.

— Zillow Real Estate Description Guide

But when it comes to that little “headline,” sometimes realtors use this space to editorialize and “get creative,” and I love to see it. There’s two categories of amusement: 1) the realtors who are straight-up lying and 2) people who are really trying to sell it. I’ve collected a bunch that caught my attention, taken from listings across the country and across budgets.

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“Sweet” side porch, dude.

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Great news, y’all. Noihsaf Bazaar is going to give one of you $200 to spend on whatever you please. Read on to find out entry rules.

If you’re unfamiliar: Noihsaf (“fashion” backwards) is one of my favorite resale marketplaces for clothing (contemporary and vintage) and homegoods. It’s curated, and features lots of great independent brands.

My picks for c…

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I first became aware of Anna Dawson’s work when I visited the Upper East Side outpost of Big Night. Hanging above a dining table was this glowing red orb, almost alien-like in presence. , Big Night’s owner, was in the shop that day and she told me who made the light — Anna Dawson.

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I had promised you a part 2 to the dining chairs guide, but I gotta say — I’m just not up for it.

This week, some insane stuff went down in my life that honestly turned my world upside down. I’m in a state of shock. I have no words.

It’s one more thing to add onto my pile of anxiety and uncertainty, which has been steadily mounting over the past tw…

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We have a bit of an aberration today in our regularly scheduled design-design-design! programming. But it this will all start to make sense, I promise.

And, please, if you like Schmatta, think about upgrading to a paid membership. I put a lot of time and thought into this content and I’m a real human trying to make the whole Substack thing work. Also: If you decide to become a founding member, I will help you design a room and/or create a personalized shopping list if you are in the market for a couch, table, whatever!

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Margaret Wise Brown. You know her books. Goodnight Moon. Runaway Bunny. The more I read these books to my 4-year-old, the more I feel like I’m losing my grip on reality.

Because contained within a series of four books — The Runaway Bunny (1942), Goodnight Moon (1947), My World (1949), and Good Day, Good Night (published posthumously in 2017) — are overlapping multiverses and patterns that make you seriously consider the viability of the Simulation Hypothesis.

But only if you look very, very closely.

We must, of course, give credit to Brown’s illustrator, Clement Hurd, for his work in crafting the environments of the first three books; and Loren Long for picking up Hurd’s work in Good Day, Good Night.

The decor world has long adored the Goodnight Moon bedroom with its generous striped drapery, Rococo mantel clock, and curious animal skin rug. But something sinister is lurking in this room. It should be a warning to us all.

Let’s start with the first book, The Runaway Bunny. First off, Runaway Bunny (henceforth referred to as RB) is a terrible child. All he wants is to get away from his mother bunny (MB), who is always one step ahead of RB. It’s 1942. It’s, uh, a weird time, to say the least. Americans are shipping off their sons to fight a deadly war in Europe.

First thing to pay attention to in The Runaway Bunny is the full-color image of MB baiting RB with a carrot in a stream. Remember this. It will become very important.

Second important spread in The Runaway Bunny is this fireside scene close to the end. Note that RB is now wearing blue striped pajamas, akin to Goodnight Moon. And I don’t know what we do with this information…but remember it’s 1942. Blue-and-white stripes are being used elsewhere across the Atlantic in the most diabolical of circumstances. But let’s look closer at this tableau. The furniture is similar to that of the nursery in Goodnight Moon, but more importantly, there is a full-color painting of a “cow jumping over the moon”:

Let’s now thumb over to Goodnight Moon. And I’d like to point out that the curtains on the cover are orange and red NOT yellow and green. What kind of trickery is this? Anyhow…

The first overlap we can detect is that RB and MB are now recurring characters, although in Goodnight Moon, there is no established familial relationship. MB is just an “old lady” (rude).

We are immediately re-introduced to the cow-jumping-over-the-moon painting.

We’re also going to take a look at the clock on the mantel — the time is going to advance as the book goes on. When we start the book, it’s 7 p.m.

And we finish at nearly 8 p.m.

Also, I’m sure, if you have read this book billions of times like I have, you’ll notice that the little mouse moves around the room in every illustration. Plotting something, clearly.

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Now let’s inspect that three little bears painting. Because within that painting, on the wall, is a duplicate of the cow-jumping-over-the-moon painting.

This is the point at which the sign has become untethered from reality. The cow-jumping-over-the-moon image is no longer depicting an event. It is depicting a depiction of an event. At this point, Baudrillard is having a field day.

Now, the dollhouse.

Which is clearly…where the three little bears live, because aren’t those the same curtains?? This is all becoming very “THE CALL IS COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE!”

This can be referred to as a “recursive sign system.” I refer to it as a dollhouse operating a shadow government.

But we also need to examine the bookshelf, because on it, in very teeny tiny writing, on one of the books, we can make out the title, The Runaway Bunny.

It’s fully weird at this point because now we have to consider the possibility that The Runaway Bunny ceases to be a story and becomes an artifact within its own universe.

And when we zoom out further, above the bookcase is a black-and-white painting of MB trying to bait RB in the stream.

Okay. But the true, rule-bending mindfuck comes when we can more clearly discern what is on the little bunny’s nightstand. It’s A COPY. OF. GOODNIGHT. MOON.

This is now full-on psychological warfare!!! We’ve been Black Mirrored. If the bunny in Goodnight Moon is reading Goodnight Moon, is there another bunny inside that copy reading another copy of Goodnight Moon? It’s a hall of infinite mirrors.

After some ujjayi breathing to calm us down, we can continue on to My World.

It’s 1949 and the war is over, thank Jesus. And all of a sudden MB and RB have a father figure in the picture — perhaps he’s returned unscathed (physically, yet not emotionally amirite?) from the war?

For the most part we have some super nuclear family stuff going on in this volume. MB, previously a badass mountaineer/shapeshifter/tightrope walker/the fucking “wind” as portrayed in The Runaway Bunny…

Is now relegated to the realm of women’s domestic work, multitasking between making breakfast, feeding multiple animals, and presumably moderating the behavior of both her son and husband.

Everything’s going pretty well until bam bam bam!! What the fuck is that?? It’s dinner with the in-laws and in that dining room is…a framed image of MB wrangling her motherfucking son in that G-D river that she did seven years earlier.

Are we beginning to suspect that this image is MB’s silent rebellion? An attempt to remind the patriarchy: DO YOU NOT SEE WHAT I HAVE BEEN THROUGH?

We will never escape this image. It simply persists.

We can all finally recover from our collective heart attacks in Good Day, Good Night, where things at least feel like a more quiet, logical progression.

The bakery — or the Bunbunnyrie — takes inspiration from Goodnight Moon’s green-and-gold curtains.

As does the bunny’s bedding:

Thankfully, there are no ominous paintings following us around. Just these “cow jumping over the moon” bookends.

Thank the lord.

Now, Goodnight, Substack people.

Goodnight, .

And Goodnight, .

Goodnight restacks everywhere.

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I used to adamantly believe that one could never trust a person in possession of a black toilet. After my experience in Milan, I might be changing my tune seeing as black toilets are everywhere there. Thus, black toilets + European city known for superior design must = some form of redemption.

Thanks to a postpartum bladder that is still very much postpartumy some four years on, I had the opportunity to experience many different toilets, toilet papers, and of course, bidets across Milan.

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Day 3

In the morning, a group of us headed out to Fondazione Prada. It was an optional activity, but I figured it would be good to spend some of my time in Milan doing something I might otherwise do as a no…

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Hello folks,

As many of you know, I just returned from Salone del Mobile, Milan’s annual, v. v. important design festival. You can catch up with my adventure by reading about my packing list, and my first installment about my experience as a first-timer. Today, I’ll give you a …

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Hello Schmattaworld!

Greetings from bed where I’ve been put out by a god-awful stomach bug. I’m on the mend and thankful it happened before Saturday, which is when I depart for Salone del Mobile aka the biggest design festival of the year. FYI, likely no letter next week as I’ll be in the thick of it, but you can count on a rundown of my experience the following week. I’ve never been to Salone, so I’ll be telling the tale as an outsider. You can read about my previous adventures in Design Industryland here:

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P.S.: Don’t forget that this month’s giveaway is open to all subscribers. Like and comment to enter!

Ahead, what I’m packing for my trip. Feel free to share your favorite travel things in the comments.

4 nights in Milan…lezzzgooooo!

Because I am someone who cares about what everyone else thinks of me, the first thing I realized after getting invited to Milan is that I wanted to look cool. Sorry if that’s lame, but whatever—I just want to look really, really cool!

Clothes & Accessories:

I acquired a bunch of new stuff from my favorite “cool mom” label, Roucha. Many many thanks to my pal, Jill Wenger, for straight up sending me a care package from heaven. I genuinely recommend Roucha for some very specific reasons—many of the jeans feature adjustable drawstrings, and are made of the softest denim I’ve ever felt; the pieces have an architectural edge without feeling too austere; and Roucha also has a points system to get free stuff! Here’s my haul:

• The Oko coat, a voluminous trench that I accessorized with the Postmodern pin. And it really is all about the pin.

  

• For pants, I got two pairs of jeans: Duchamp Stud Denim and Dessau Vintage Denim.

• The Sota shirt, an oversized short sleeve button up.

• The Toyen shirt, which I plan to wear as a light jacket option.

• The Keaton sweater, which can be worn buttoned up, or open over a tank top.

• The Gauguin sunglasses because obviously.

For bags:

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Welcome to April. I’ve been keeping an eye out for some good April Fool’s design jokes. So far, the winner is this “toilet cover” by Piglet in Bed:

But what is NOT an April Fool’s joke is this month’s giveaway for Schmatta subscribers: A copy of A Field Guide to American Houses by Virginia McAlester. More importantly, it’s truly not a joke when people refer to McAlester as “The Queen of Historic Preservation.” She spent her life advocating for the landmarking and preservation of homes and neighborhoods across Dallas.

While Schmatta giveaways are usually for paid subscribers only, this month is open to all subscribers because this book means so much to me and it’s something I want everyone to have a chance to win. (More details on entry at the end of this post.)

The Field Guide, originally published in 1984 and updated and revised in 2013, has long been considered an architectural bible for both professionals and enthusiasts. It begins over 400 years ago, detailing construction techniques of Native Americans and covering every major American domestic architectural style up to the McMansion (which she calls the “Millennial Mansion”).

My copy of this tome is well-worn: pages marked with notes in different colored inks, dog-eared, and ripped in places. I use it frequently for work (when writing about architecture and I’m unsure of a style or name of a specific architectural feature) and for pleasure (each chapter is like a fascinating mini history lesson).

I’m proud to say that I knew Virginia (she passed in 2020). My friend Amy Talkington is Virginia’s daughter, and for a time, we were all linked as family when my sister was married to Amy’s step-brother (it’s complicated but all you need to know is that we have a lot of love for each other). I spent Christmases at Virginia’s amazing mission-style home on Swiss Avenue in Dallas and we shared many family dinners together here in L.A. She was classy, kind, supremely intelligent, and the kind of older woman I looked at with respect and reverence. I only wish I had developed my interest in design and architecture before her death; I have so many questions now I’d love to ask her.

Virginia’s work lives on through one of my all-time favorite Instagram accounts, @afieldguidetoamericanhouses, where you can get a flavor of the book through posts that feature passages and illustrations. Trust me, it’s very educational!

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To enter to win your copy of A Field Guide to American Houses, you must:

• Be a Schmatta subscriber. If you’re not, sign up here.

• LIKE and COMMENT on this post.

• Follow @afieldguidetoamericanhouses on IG.

Best of luck to you all!

We have a slightly unconventional newsletter this week (and yes, late—my apologies). The past few weeks have been a particular cocktail of anticipation and low-grade chaos: waiting on answers alongside some health issues that have been…persistent. More on both in a moment, but I thought I’d take this time to talk a bit about where where my brain is at these days.

We returned back to our Pasadena home on January 1st. It was a breath of fresh air after 4+ months in NYC. “You seem like a different person,” a friend who doesn’t even know me that well texted me after just two IG Story posts from my front porch. (If you’re new here, in a nutshell, we rented our house and moved in with my parents in NYC following a series of unfortunate career blows and financial uncertainty. We’re back now, trying to “make it work” but, um, basically living off savings.)

26% off subscription sale!

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This month, one lucky paid Schmatta reader will receive 4 sets of Lazy Jamie flatware…

…as well as a Lazy Jamie cheese knife set.

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Take it from me: I have the cutlery and I love it. Compliments galore from every guest who eats in our home. (If you want to skip the whole giveaway thing and buy some now, you can use code LEONORA15 at checkout for 15% off.)

You’ve definitely heard me talk about Lazy Jamie before, in fact I included the brand’s TV tray in my “Best in Design 2025” awards.

This tray has a bunch of features that make it award-worthy: the base can slide under your couch and the tray is removable/portable. It doesn’t just need to be for TV-eating, either. It fits a laptop perfectly, so all you small space dwellers now have a new WFH option.

To enter to win the flatware and cheese knife set, you must be a paid Schmatta subscriber. To upgrade your subscription, click below:

Upgrade

Once you’ve signed up for paid, you’ll be automatically entered to win for this giveaway—and every one of our monthly giveaways. Best of luck to you!

Again, if there’s something at Lazy Jamie you’ve had your eye on, feel free to use my code LEONORA15 to get 15% off your purchase.

Today, we’re talking with my friend Robert Khederian about our love for old houses. Robert’s the author of one of my top three favorite Substacks, Second Story, which covers historic NYC real estate and antiques, among other things. He and I share an obsession with history and “old fashioned-ness.” In the comments, we’d love to hear about your own old h…

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Howdy!

Welcome to the home stretch of winter. For all you east coasters, hang in there!

I’m pleased to announce our February giveaway for paid Schmatta subscribers is…the Loftie Lamp. I say this with 1000% honesty: I love my Loftie lamp. It’s definite…

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Hello! This will be the last Schmatta post of 2025. I’ll be back in January (I’m taking a wee bit of time off as we are moving back to LA and have A LOT to deal with). Also, quick reminder that you only have one day left to enter our biggest giveaway yet — a Louis Poulsen lamp worth $1,700. To enter, you must be a paid Schmatta subscriber. Upgrade here.

Anyhow, today’s post is all about what Schmatta posts you read the most this year and some other info. Let’s take a look…

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Welcome to November and to this slightly belated announcement of our November giveaway: a solid bronze soap dish hand-forged by De Winter Metalworks.

Let me tell you a bit about De Winter because this L.A.-based metalworks shop is near and dear to my heart. It’s run by husband-and-wife team Martin and Margaux De Winter and…their adorable son is my daughter’s BEST FRIEND!

But I actually knew about Martin’s business before our kids met because I was already following his IG account, and was utterly fascinated by all the behind-the-scenes videos and content, which shows how complex, custom brass designs are made.

Martin is very in-demand on the L.A. design scene, often executing custom orders from designers like Jake Arnold, Pierce & Ward, and Amber Interiors.

But he and Margaux also work on their own creative pieces, which are just so good. See…

This snake-topped gate Martin made for their home:

This adorable mirror + candle holder:

These fun marble and brass tables:

But back to our Schmatta giveaway! De Winter Metalworks is offering one paid Schmatta reader this flower-shaped brass soap dish (or jewelry dish, coaster, whatever you like). It’s unlacquered, so it will develop a lovely natural patina over time.

If you are new here, here’s the deal: All paid Schmatta subscribers are automatically entered into a monthly giveaway featuring an item of decor handpicked by moi.

If you aren’t a paid subscriber yet, you can sign up below to support all my writing and content, which I pour my heart into:

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Otherwise, best of luck to all of you! And go give De Winter Metalworks a follow to keep up on their product launches.

xxoo,

Leo

Over the past few years, Maine has become such a staple of the east coast millennial summer, you’d think the state’s tourism board launched a wildly successful social campaign. From June to early September, my feed is filled with perky boiled lobsters, tasteful (but not ostentatious) grey shingled homes, and harbor upon harbor. Oh, the harbors!

In the interest of full disclosure, my parents do “summer” in Maine, in a rather rudimentary lakeside cabin they bought some 20 years ago. So yes, I’ve been to the state a lot, and I too am under the spell of Maine’s magic.

Despite the frustration of feeling like every cheffy influencer has outed all of Maine’s best-kept secrets — the little pottery shacks on the side of the road, the handpainted dishware in Blue Hill, the antique treasure trove known as the Chicken Barn — one remains. Meet Elms Puzzles, a handcut wooden jigsaw puzzle company founded in 1987. The name comes from the initials of the founder (Elizabeth Lee McShane Stuart), who ran the company out of her log cabin for 20 years (adorable).

It’s since been taken over by Chris Danner, who grew up doing Elms puzzles. (FYI, there is a small but mighty faction of avid Elms fans, which includes the likes of Hillary Clinton and, um, Oprah.)

As a “puzzler” myself (proof here), I was charmed by this independent, Maine-rooted company. The experience of doing an Elms puzzle is truly different than your off-the-shelf big box product — they sent me a 200-piece puzzle, which should be child’s play to an experience puzzler. This thing took me HOURS.

What I love love love about Elms:

• Each puzzle is completely unique as the pieces are handcut by a member of the Elms team.

• The pieces can be wildly inventive. (Just wait until we start talking about “whimsy” pieces.)

• Elms can create custom puzzles! (I am truly hoping someone who is planning to propose over the holidays contacts them and ends up creating some sort of engagement puzzle.)

• Caveat: They are pricey. But worth it as a truly memorable gift. Otherwise, there’s a very cool and affordable rental program.

Schmatta: Chris, what is your background? How did you come to own a puzzle company?

Chris: My connection with Elms goes back to my childhood. Elms has always had a rental program, and my parents were instantly hooked on that idea — that you could rent out a puzzle and take it on vacation. We had Elms puzzles around all the time.

But professionally, I have no background in puzzle-making or anything like that. In my early twenties, I had a tech startup — it was a men’s fashion thing — that went bust. But it brought me into product management and software development. Ultimately, I wanted to get into the intersection of tech and social impact so I took a role as director of product of charity: water, which is the largest nonprofit dedicated to solving the global water crisis. We deploy somewhere between $60 and $80 million every year to bring clean and safe drinking water to some of the poorest and most remote communities in the world.

Schmatta: Okay, so you’re getting into heaven. But so you have this day job…how did taking over Elms come about?

My dad and I have always loved talking about companies and business models, and more often than not, those conversations happened over an Elms puzzle. We reached out to the Elms owner at the time, who was the founder’s widower, and said, “Hey, if you’re ever thinking of retiring, please give me a call.” That didn’t happen, and the company changed hands a few times, but we always kept in touch, and eventually, the opportunity presented itself.

Schmatta: Right place, right time?

Kind of. But funnily enough, in the first year of running Elms, I probably talked to three other customers who, similarly, had dreams of running Elms. There’s this lovely couple in Illinois, who, for years, wanted to retire to Maine and run Elms.

Schmatta: So what has given Elms its cult status?

When everything else in our world has gone mass produced or digital, the things that have stayed true to their artisanal roots can really take a hold on folks. And in the case of puzzles, it’s one of those things where the handcrafted version is just a better experience. Also, there are only two companies left making puzzles the way we do. There’s a lot of nostalgia.

Schmatta: Tell me about these “whimsy” pieces.

Whimsy pieces are pieces that resemble objects or animals. There’s a long tradition of our artisans including their own whimsy that represents themselves within each puzzle. The whimsies can be quite clever, too: If you’re doing a puzzle of a beautiful Italian landscape, you might as well have a piece in the shape of a wine glass; or a sailboat if it’s a harbor.

Schmatta: So is the cutting all freehand?

With the exception of the whimsy pieces, it is 100% freehand. Otherwise, there’s no template or guide. The cutter literally sits down and just manipulates the board around a scroll saw to freehand craft every single piece.

Schmatta: Tell me about the range of artwork you have for the puzzles. You have categories like “folk art” which feels like traditional puzzle illustration; there’s also “cats” and “plant moms.”

One category of our art is just stuff that that has always resonated with our customer base. And I know Schmatta is a design newsletter, so these pictures might not be the pinnacle of taste —

Schmatta: Let me stop you right there. I’ve always thought that the ugliest puzzles are the best puzzles! Which category do you gravitate to?

I was an art history major, so the fine art category is my go-to. Museums can sometimes be an intimidating and frustrating way to view art. For me, a puzzle allows you to spend hours with the artwork and really understand how the artist pieced together each brushstroke.

But we do have a lot of plans to bring in fresh takes on art, and to make our artwork more diverse.

Schmatta: Okay, last question. I have to know if there are any good stories of people requesting custom puzzles.

We LOVE getting custom puzzle requests because we really are down to work with you on anything. But one of my favorites is a woman who commissioned a giant puzzle to commemorate her debut novel. So we did a puzzle of the book’s cover but incorporated all these whimsy pieces that spoke to the characters and the plot.

See Elms’ full collection at elmspuzzles.com. Be sure to check out the newly launched holiday shop as well!

ELMS GIVEAWAY

Schmatta readers! Would you like your very own Elms puzzle? For free? I picked out this 200-piece beauty titled “The Bookshop at Christmas”. Is it the most designy puzzle out there? Nope. But during cozy season, this is EXACTLY what I want in a puzzle.

To win:

• You must be a Schmatta subscriber. If you’re not, sign up here!

• Heart this post AND leave a comment.

I’ll pick a random winner on November 14th. Best of luck to you and happy puzzling!