HOW WE DESIGN FOR BILLIONAIRES

The story of homes that will never grace a magazine – and why that is the greatest reward

THE PARADOX OF WEALTH

Designing for the world’s most discerning clients is not about gold-plated excess or the pursuit of passing trends. Over more than twenty years at ALTER EGO Project Group we have learned the most important thing: true luxury lives far beyond the familiar symbols of wealth.

Our clients are visionary individuals. Members of royal families. Fortune 500 top executives. High-level politicians. People whose names everyone knows, but whose homes no one has seen.

They are not looking to replicate what has already been done, even by the most celebrated architects and designers. Instead, they seek to create something distinctly their own: an environment that expresses their unique identity, ambitions and legacy.

In the rarefied world of ultra-high-net-worth individuals, taste is deeply personal, privacy is paramount, and the measure of success is not just comfort, but the creation of a one-of-a-kind universe.

This expectation transforms the entire process, redefining what luxury means.

THE BEAUTIFUL MUSEUM SYNDROME

For many, luxury is synonymous with certain materials, brands or designer signatures.

"I have Philippe Starck furniture."

"A Baccarat chandelier for $180,000."

"Calacatta Gold marble from Tuscany."

For our clients, that is never enough.

Recently a woman came to see me. An entrepreneur’s wife. Five residences: London, Miami, Monaco, Moscow, Dubai. She lives in none of them.

She spoke quietly, almost in a whisper:

– Do you know what’s most frightening? I have homes in five countries. But when people ask me, "Where are you from?", I don’t know what to answer. Because I am not at home anywhere.

A pause.

– I want to wake up in the morning and not have to remember which country I am in. Not look at my phone to understand what day of the week it is. I want to wake up... at home. Just at home.

We spent a week not on sketches, but on conversations.

About her childhood in Odessa. About the smell of the Black Sea in the morning. About the creak of the wooden floor in her grandmother’s apartment. About how her mother cooked Sunday lunch and the whole stairwell smelled of dill and garlic. About the courtyard where someone was always playing guitar.

About what "home" is – when it is not an address in a passport, but a feeling.

Two and a half years later she moved in.

She sent one message: "I cried. For the first time in 15 years - from happiness. Thank you for helping me come home."

ONE QUESTION THAT CHANGES EVERYTHING

I ask it to every new client. Not right away, but only when the silence grows long enough for the truth to surface.

‘Why do you want this home?’

Not "What style do you prefer."

Not "What is your budget."

Not "Which references inspire you."

Why.

Silence. That client takes an old, worn photograph from his wallet. A boy of about seven by a window. The curtains are moving in the wind.

– My grandfather’s house. I was nine. Every morning I woke up to the smell of fresh bread and coffee. Sat by this window. Watched the wind sway the apple tree. I was... happy. Since then – nowhere.

Another pause. Longer.

– Can you bring that feeling back?

In this silence, true architecture is born.

SOUL ARCHAEOLOGY

The ultimate ambition of our clients is authenticity.

Our task is to uncover the client’s personal narrative:

• Their values

• Their passions

• Their memories (often forgotten, yet still alive somewhere deep within)

• Their aspirations

• And even the fears they never acknowledge

And to translate all of this into a space that reaches beyond the visible.

It is not just about choosing rare materials (although we do work with marble from quarries that closed a hundred years ago).

It is not just about commissioning bespoke furniture (although we collaborate with artisans whose waiting lists are three years long).

It is about capturing the intangible qualities that make the client unique. That which cannot be seen in a photograph, but can be felt in the space.

The result is always a signature project. A place that could exist nowhere else and belong to no one else.

THE PRINCE’S STORY

A Saudi prince. No references. No Pinterest boards. Just one request:

– Can we just sit in the garden? In silence?

We sat in the park of a villa in Milan for three hours. I observed. How he looked at the old oaks. How he listened to the rustle of the leaves. How he closed his eyes when a bird flew past and the wind brought the scent of jasmine.

Then he said quietly:

– The last time I felt at home, I was eight. My grandfather’s house on the outskirts of Riyadh. A small inner courtyard. A date palm. A fountain that gurgled at night. I fell asleep to that sound. It smelled of jasmine, cardamom and old books. I was just a boy, not a prince.

A pause. He opens his eyes.

– Let this place come alive– in the home that will become mine.

He did not need yet another luxurious residence with marble and gold. He needed to return to the moment when he was simply a child who felt safe.

We were not building a palace. We were building a time machine out of architecture.

In a couple of years, when he moved in, he brought his mother there. She walked through the house in silence. Then she hugged him and said:

"At last, you have come home."

CREATIVE AUTHORSHIP

True luxury at this level is profoundly personal. It becomes a form of creative authorship, where every detail, every line, every material is chosen to reflect the client’s singular vision.

The most discerning clients understand that design does not end with aesthetics – it defines the very universe where their individuality can take shape and flourish.

One of them – a tech founder from Silicon Valley, a $2.1B exit, 38 years old – came to us exhausted:

– You know what? I’m tired of smart homes. All the voice control, AI, automation, sensors, notifications. I built a technology company. I live in code. At home I want... silence. Analogue. Wood. Simplicity. So that nothing glows, beeps or asks for updates.

We designed a home without a single "smart" system.

Switches – vintage brass toggles with a satisfying click.

Curtains – on manual cords with small copper weights.

Fireplace – real, wood-burning (the smell of smoke was meditation for him).

Music – only vinyl, a 1970s Thorens TD 160 turntable.

Lighting – dimmable, but with mechanical dimmers, with a slow, deliberate glide.

His friends from Silicon Valley do not understand.

"Dude, you could run all of this from your Apple Watch!"

He smiles and answers:

"That is exactly why I don’t. This is my detox from the future."