There’s a moment in every listing prep or dinner party planning session when someone asks: “Should we do flowers?” And while I respect the gesture—those tightly wound peonies and spray roses craning for attention—I find myself reaching for something else. A wooden board. A few figs. Maybe a tangle of cherries, stems still attached. Because when it comes to evoking beauty, bounty, and grace, I believe fruit does what florals try to do—but with less fuss and far more soul.

I learned this slowly, almost by accident. Years ago, in a rush to host friends for an impromptu Sunday brunch, I skipped the florist and instead walked down the produce aisle with beginner’s eyes. What caught my gaze? Blood oranges with scarlet seams. Blackberries so glossy they looked lacquered. A bunch of basil, floppy and fragrant. I took them home, sliced, piled, and scattered them on a wooden cutting board. And just like that, the table came alive. Not staged. Not stiff. Just alive.

Fruit Has Nothing to Prove
Unlike flowers—bred, clipped, styled, and shipped—fruit is unabashedly honest. It doesn’t ask to be arranged in a vase. It doesn’t wilt when the room heats up. And it certainly doesn’t require florist foam or artisanal twine. It wants to be eaten, savored, shared. That gives it a presence that feels both generous and grounded—exactly the energy I want in a home.

Less Styling, More Sensing
I often tell clients: don’t just decorate your home, animate it. Fruit does this effortlessly. It has scent, texture, story. The fuzz on a peach. The burst of a Concord grape. A fig’s surprise interior. This sensuality can’t be manufactured—and doesn’t need to be explained. People enter a room with a small citrus pyramid on the counter and instantly relax. The eye softens. The mood warms. It’s design, without declaring itself as such.

Luxury in Restraint
There’s a quiet power in holding back. One perfect white platter with plums arranged like still life can whisper elegance more convincingly than a dozen roses ever could. It’s the kind of restraint that feels confident rather than austere. The kind that says: I know who I am, and I know what makes this place feel beautiful.

Ritual and Replenishment
In my own home, the fruit board rotates seasonally—stone fruits in summer, citrus in winter, pomegranates in fall. It’s a living centerpiece, one that gets eaten, replenished, rearranged. This act—tiny, daily, delicious—grounds me in the rhythms of the year and the pleasures of care.

A Final Thought, Happily Ever Always™
When we live with intention, beauty doesn’t have to shout. It glows quietly from the details. A pear on a plate. A fig split open. A lemon, whole and sun-warm. These are my favorite things—not because they’re expensive or rare, but because they remind me that joy isn’t found in the ornate. It’s found in the offered. The shared. The real.

So the next time you feel your home needs a lift, skip the florist and head to the farmer’s market. Bring home something soft-skinned, ripe, and ready. Set it out. Watch what happens. Chances are, you’ll feel it too: the abundance of less.