The Problem with Pinterest Weddings

Pinterest has taught couples how to collect images, but not how to design a wedding.

Boards fill quickly—arches from Italy, tables from France, color palettes borrowed from strangers. What’s often missing is cohesion. Intention. A sense of authorship. The result is not a vision, but a collage.

At Lilly & Iris, we see this constantly: beautiful references that don’t speak to each other, let alone to the space they’re meant to live in.

Design doesn’t begin with images. It begins with understanding.

Inspiration vs. Interpretation

There is nothing wrong with inspiration. The issue is imitation without interpretation.

When images are lifted wholesale, they lose their power. A ceremony that felt sculptural in a stone villa can feel misplaced in a ballroom. A tablescape designed for candlelight falls flat under skylights. Context matters more than reference.

We don’t ask, What do you like?

We ask, What do you want this to feel like?

The answers are rarely visual. They’re emotional. Atmospheric. Architectural.

Why Copying Kills Cohesion

Pinterest weddings tend to over-explain. Too many moments. Too many ideas competing for attention. Florals become decorative instead of directional.

Luxury design requires editing.

The most compelling weddings aren’t the ones with the most ideas—they’re the ones with the strongest point of view. Every floral decision should reinforce a single narrative, not dilute it.

That narrative cannot be downloaded.

Designing From the Inside Out

Our process begins long before flowers are selected. We consider scale, proportion, movement, negative space. We study how guests will enter a room, where the eye will rest, what moments deserve emphasis—and which deserve restraint.

This is how atmosphere is built.

Flowers are not the star of the wedding. They are the medium through which the story is told.

A Different Starting Point

We don’t design Pinterest weddings.

We design environments.

When clients trust us with that distinction, the result is something unrepeatable—something that feels inevitable in its setting, timeless in its execution, and deeply personal without being literal.

That is the difference between collecting images and creating a world.