A Love Letter to Homeworthy

And the case for putting yourself out there- no matter how cringe it may initially seem Trust me, your 'future self' will thank you.

Isn’t it funny how, in the middle of a moment, you don’t realize just how pivotal it is? How it’s about to change everything?

The summer of 2022 was one of the hardest seasons of my life. I got incredibly sick—like hazmat suits, infectious disease unit kind of sick. A tiny cut that wouldn’t heal spiraled into a trip to the ER, six days in the hospital, and a whirlwind of COVID, parainfluenza, and myocarditis (yes, heart inflammation).

When I was finally discharged, weak and still wearing my hospital bracelet, three days later I dragged myself out of bed at 4 a.m., booked glam, and arranged some flowers because I had a Homeworthy shoot.

To be clear: I’d already rescheduled this shoot once (I try to avoid rescheduling unless I’m literally dying- which sadly has felt far too often the past 4 years following my hospitalization as I battled autoimmune issues, Lyme disease and a blood parasite, especially when someone’s driving up from Manhattan to film with me). But this time, I was determined. I didn’t know much about Homeworthy or its audience—just that Alison Kenworthy, its lovely founder, had reached out and sounded so warm over the phone. What I didn’t know was that this little video would become a career-launching moment.

Up until then, I’d been laser-focused on getting published. My upstate home had been featured in NYC&G/HC&G (thanks to the amazing editor-in-chief Kendell Cronstrom, who let me write the article myself—a true love letter to my mother, my muse, who tragically passed away in April of 2020 and spurred the creation of Hollis Loudon).

I was also featured in Rue Magazine (showcasing Paige DeSorbo—one of my childhood friend’s—first “Big Girl” apartment in NYC). These were bucket-list moments for me.

I used to sit up at night with my mom as a child, pouring over pages ripped from design magazines, telling her that one day I’d be a famous designer, published in one of those glossy pages. Achieving those dreams meant everything to me, but it turns out, I’d perhaps been chasing the wrong goal.

Here’s the truth: the game has changed. Social media and video content are where it’s at- even with the potential ban of TikTok. And as much as I grapple with imposter syndrome (and trust me, I do—it’s a constant companion), I’ve learned that self-promotion isn’t “braggy”—it’s necessary. If you don’t think you’re awesome, who else will?

When my first Homeworthy episode went live, I’ll admit I cringed watching myself. My voice? Nervous. Vocal fry? Definitely. Did the comments roast me? Of course. (“God bless this woman’s husband” was a personal favorite—plot twist, no husband here, just a very supportive father!).

But for all the snark, there was also an outpouring of positivity, and even with the nerves and the awkwardness, I felt something I hadn’t expected: pride.

Imposter syndrome will always whisper, “Who do you think you are?” But the truth is, putting yourself out there—taking the risk to be seen, to try, to fail, even to embarrass yourself—is always worth it in the end. That Homeworthy episode brought me more exposure than I ever could have dreamed of—far more than any glossy magazine spread. It opened doors I didn’t even know existed.

Since then, I’ve been shamelessly back on Homeworthy not once, but three times. Christmas at my home Upstate? Check. My new Dumbo apartment? Also check. Will I do it again? Let’s just say if they’ll have me again- not to sound crass (my mother would be mortified at me saying this)- but it’s a resounding f*ck yes.

So, to Alison and the Homeworthy team: thank you. And to aspiring designers, creatives, and anyone trying to break into an industry, here’s my advice: put yourself out there. Be shameless. The worst someone can say is, “I’d blow my brains out if I had to live in that space.” (True story.) But who cares? At least they’re talking about you.

It won’t be perfect. You’ll feel awkward, vulnerable, and maybe even embarrassed. But in the end, the reward—the growth, the pride, the opportunities—is always worth it.

And that’s what matters.

xx,

Hollis