EP3- Why I Started This Podcast

Welcome to Designed for Desire, the podcast where luxury, kink, and home come together to create spaces that are anything but ordinary.

Hi, I’m Jenny, your host and the creative genius behind White Wave Design, a full-service interior design studio specializing in erotic interiors for badass soulmates. I design for the weird, the wonderful, and the unapologetically unconventional. For those who crave total freedom in the comfort and beauty of home, a place where you never have to hold back.

Because this niche doesn’t exist in mainstream design, I know you have questions, and this podcast is here to answer them. You’ll hear me switch between pronouns, plurals, and titles because the relationships I work with are as beautifully varied and expansive as the people themselves, and always between consenting adults.

Whatever twists of fate, coincidences, or hidden alignments the universe set in motion, I’m so happy you're here!

Before we begin, I want to take a moment to recognize the courage it takes to be here and to listen. What you’re about to hear isn’t just another design podcast. This is a conversation about intimacy, truth, and what it means to live fully expressed.

My work is built on devotion, devotion to beauty, to honesty, and to the people brave enough to live by desire rather than expectation. This is a space where art and sexuality are allowed to exist side by side, where design becomes language, and where a home can hold the same depth as a relationship built on trust.

In a society that still tells us to stay quiet about who we are and what we need, I’m choosing to speak. And that choice matters. Because every time one of us finds the courage to share our truth, it gives someone else permission to do the same.

Why do we start anything? Out of necessity, obligation, curiosity, or passion. Sometimes it’s because we can’t not. An idea takes root and refuses to let go. It hums beneath your skin, whispering at you in the middle of the night, tugging at your attention when you’re supposed to be doing something else. You try to ignore it, but it lingers, demanding to be created, spoken, or shared.

We start because something inside us needs expression. When it lights you up from the inside out, it’s all you can think about, and anyone who’ll listen gets caught in your excitement. We start because something inside us needs expression. Because staying silent starts to ache. Because the thought of not doing it feels heavier than the fear of trying. Sometimes it’s survival, sometimes it’s art, sometimes it’s both. But at its core, starting is an act of honesty. It’s admitting to yourself that the idea will not go away until you give it form.

For me, it was a mix of passion for the subject and the need to unleash. It felt like something inside me had been waiting for this exact outlet, like a creative storm building pressure with nowhere to go. I could feel it in my heart, that pull to express what I’ve been holding back, to finally give my thoughts and experiences a voice. Unleashing is not just about creating, it is about freeing the parts of myself that have been restrained for too long. This podcast is that release, raw, honest, and necessary.

I can design the most exquisite, sensual, and deeply personal homes, yet there’s still this silence around what I actually do and why I do it. So when speaking with a dear friend about how I feel lonely, and of course can’t express myself or my work on social media, she suggested I start my own podcast so I can talk about ALL THE THINGS and I’m forever grateful for her!!! 

And so here we are. Sitting together in this little corner of the universe I’ve carved out, where I can finally speak freely, laugh a little, and share everything that’s been locked inside my creative brain.

I love how podcasts make you feel like you are part of an intimate conversation, like you have been invited to sit in on something real and unfiltered.

The main three reasons I started the podcast are for both of us to feel seen, heard, and understood, to create a space where I don’t have to censor myself, and for marketing. Here I can speak openly about intimacy, design, and the human experience without worrying about being too much. It’s how you discover my work, my voice, and the deeper meaning behind what I do.

SPOTIFY LINK for your listening pleasure APPLE LINK

TO FEEL SEEN, HEARD, AND UNDERSTOOD

We all want to feel seen, heard, and understood. Oprah said that what she learned after thousands of interviews is that every person wants to know, Did you hear me? Did what I say matter? Was that okay?

This all started with a vulnerable and honest reflection reel I posted on Instagram. I was having one of those days where the loneliness felt heavy, so I decided to speak from the heart instead of staying quiet. That post sparked a conversation with a dear friend who saw how much I was craving connection and expression.

There are no real discussions among designers about incorporating the sex lives of their clients into their designs. And there are no conversations in kink about designing your home as an extension of your dynamic. Until now.

That’s why I started this podcast. To fill that space between the circles for the conversations I’ve always wanted to have. This led to recording a reel for IG that received mixed responses ranging from you go girl to check-ins from friends making sure that I was okay. Here’s a recap:

Journal Entry: Belonging, Bravery, and a Slightly Awkward DM

Do you ever feel like you don’t belong… even when you’re very confident that your vision is brilliant, bananas, and revolutionary?

Samesies.

Being a creative (or a freelancer, entrepreneur, designer, decorator, or any combo of the above) can be lonely as hell. I’m a lone wolf in my studio. My team is remote. And truthfully? I love it that way. I thrive in solitude as an introvert.

But every once in a while, I look up from the design I’m obsessing over and realize… there’s no one there. No one to high-five. No one to say, “wait, you’re doing what with the ceiling in the dungeon?” No one to say, “this is weird and amazing, tell me everything.”

And that, for a hot second, hurts. It’s like having this wild, wonderful thing inside you and no one to share it with. Even if what I do is a little misunderstood. Even if no one really wants to talk about it, or gets it, or joins me in giggling over kinky mood lighting I keep going.

What I do helps people feel less alone. It celebrates their quirks. It shows them that their weirdness is not just welcome, it's wanted. That they can be seen, heard, and understood without ever dialing it down.

Last week, I decided to do something bold (and slightly sweaty-palmed). I reached out to a few educators in the kink and BDSM space. Some I’ve admired for years. Some I’ve just started following in the last few months. What do they have in common? They’re putting smart, thoughtful, and actually helpful information for newbies, for experienced kinksters, and for the wonderfully curious. I absolutely adore what they’re doing.

I’ve been supporting them the way we all do now, liking posts, commenting, showing up in the feed to say, “I see you.” So when I finally messaged them, I was nervous. Putting myself out there felt vulnerable. My intention was to invite them into my creative space, where design centers on pleasure and sex, hoping to connect as kindred spirits.

The responses were a mixed bag. Some haven’t replied. Some politely said they’d keep it in mind. Some thought it was incredible and wanted to know more. Others thought it was a sales pitch.

Most designers pick a niche to build authority and become the go-to expert. I’ve done that too. But instead of biophilic design or coastal chic, I chose a niche that’s taboo. One that, to my knowledge, only one of us (me) is specializing in: erotic interiors for badass soulmates. Homes designed to enhance pleasure, sex, intimacy, and connection.

It’s a beautiful intersection, and a strange one. I live in the magical middle of that Venn diagram where I often feel like I’m straddling both worlds but don’t belong in either. I’m not a sex educator or actively involved in the kink and BDSM community. I’m not your mainstream high-end designer who does white-on-white linen with rattan light fixtures. My creative genius lives in the medium of interior design. That’s my paintbrush. And my canvas is the intimate, deeply personal lives of those who desire a romantic home.

Making friends as an adult is hard. As a creative? Even harder. As a creative who designs luxury BDSM homes? Let’s just say the networking events are... non existent.

But I have made friends this way. I called a boudoir photographer because I loved her work and wanted to refer her to clients. She thought I was a little too chipper, but that random phone call turned into a friendship, a few epic collaborations, and someone I’m endlessly grateful to have in my life.

So when one educator replied to my DM answering a sales pitch, I cringed. I felt gross. I wondered if I’d totally misjudged the vibe and should’ve just stayed quiet.

But then someone else responded saying my work was special and wanted to know more. And for a moment, I floated.

I sat with both reactions, because... well, I’m a human with feelings. And then I reminded myself that I can’t control how anyone else receives what I say. I can control how honest, intentional, and brave I’m willing to be.

Could I have worded the message better? Yes and I will next time so they don't think I'm asking them to be a client. Could I have not sent it at all? Absolutely. But I’m proud I didn’t talk myself out of it.

You never know when one message, one moment, one shared weird little passion will spark something meaningful. A connection. A collaboration. A “wait, you too?” friendship.

Have you ever felt like you’re creating something no one fully understands but deep down, you know it matters?

DON’T HAVE TO CENSOR MYSELF OR MY ART 

If your realm is also within the sexuality bubble, a boudoir photographer, sex therapist, toy brand, lingerie designer, sexual health and wellness educator, kink educator, or sex worker, then you also understand the effect of censorship. Perpetuating the idea that sex and sexuality are bad and something to be ashamed of.

I want to spell kink with an i instead of an exclamation point or pronounce it quink, or BDSM with an s instead of a dollar sign. To drive this point home about censoring myself, when I was writing sex therapist, my brain and hand started to write secs. 

Self-censorship is the quietest kind of betrayal. It doesn’t announce itself the way shame does. It sneaks in quietly, with good intentions. It tells you that you’re protecting yourself, your reputation, your relationships, your work. It tells you that softening is safer. That certain truths are better left implied. You convince yourself that it’s safer that way. That maybe you’re protecting your career, your relationships, your reputation. But what you’re really protecting is fear. Fear of rejection, judgment, ridicule, or losing something you’ve worked hard to build. And so, you edit. You dilute. You sand down the edges of your brilliance until what’s left is something digestible, polite, and painfully forgettable.

When you censor your art, you don’t just silence your ideas, you silence yourself. Every time you choose safety over honesty, a small part of your authenticity erodes. You feel it in your chest when you look at your own work and know it’s missing something raw, something true. Creativity needs danger. It needs friction, tension, and the willingness to make someone uncomfortable, including yourself. Without it, art becomes predictable, relationships become shallow, and culture becomes beige. The cost of self-censorship isn’t comfort, it’s connection, vitality, artistic freedom, and the exquisite edge that makes your work worth doing in the first place.

Cultural censorship is just self-censorship on a larger scale. It’s what happens when an entire society decides what’s acceptable to create, desire, or discuss, and quietly erases everything else. It flattens the edges of expression until art, sexuality, and identity all start to look the same. Cultural censorship breeds conformity disguised as taste. It rewards safety, not truth, and teaches creators to fear their own power. When culture censors, it doesn’t just silence the artist, it silences transformation itself.

This is why we have so many Pinterest boards filled with the samesy safe ideas, why every house on the block is white with light wood. It’s why the majority of people react with confusion or even outrage at the idea of a black room. Cultural censorship trains us to believe that sameness equals beauty and that anything different, adventurous, or sexually free is a threat.

The price we pay is soul-deep. Every time we trade authenticity for approval, we lose a little of our magic, our wildness, our meaning. When we censor ourselves, we start to shrink. Our confidence fades, our instincts dull, and the fire that once drove us begins to flicker. The result is disconnection. You become a stranger to your own voice, second-guessing every impulse that once felt certain. The art feels forced, the joy fades, and the freedom that once lived in your work is replaced by a quiet, gnawing emptiness.

Lately, I’ve felt like I’ve been losing my words. Getting back to writing has been difficult because I catch myself second-guessing and altering what I want to say, the way so many of us who use social media do. After years of that, I’ve come back to journaling, where I can write freely again. Sometimes what I write turns into a design idea or a concept for the podcast, and other times it stays just for me.

I began creating fictional love stories for my portfolio pieces. I need a love story to design a room, and sometimes that means imagining the couple myself. One of those stories is Smoke & Mirrors. It’s about Damian and Aster, a high protocol Dom and sub exploring the edge where pain meets pleasure. A sadist found his masochist 🖤

They requested a cage somewhere in the room for pet play, and under the bed is where I placed it, a soft and inviting home for a good kitty, complete with a plush pet bed and a blankie for when it’s time to rest or relax, as Damian sees fit. The sunken round sofa became the obvious answer for the next design challenge, solving the issue of the sofa-back height getting in the way. From the sofa, you can see the entire room, and doesn’t block the view from the bar or the bed. Every angle was intentional, giving Damian a perfect line of sight to Aster no matter where he has displayed her for his viewing pleasure.

Even though Damian and Aster are fictional, the process of bringing them to life is real. These stories let me design freely and explore intimacy, power, and connection without apology. When I stop worrying about who might flinch, the work gets bolder. The spaces come alive. And even the imagined love stories feel real.

I’m able to explore and share my art with those who want to experience it, both of us deriving pleasure and joy from this shared connection. There’s something deeply intimate about that exchange, the unspoken bond between creator and witness. It’s a dialogue without words, a moment where vulnerability meets curiosity. My work becomes an invitation to feel, to imagine, to explore, and in that space, both of us are changed. It’s not just about creating; it’s about sharing something real enough to move someone, and letting that energy move me in return.

When I’m creating, instead of sub space it feels like I’m floating in creative space. I lose track of time, not realizing it’s gone from morning to evening. Not realizing that I need to eat or remembering that I went to the washroom. Everything else fades away until it’s just me and the idea, pulling me in deeper. It’s quiet and consuming and somehow freeing all at once. It’s about freedom and the liberation that comes from creating without restraint, without worrying about who’s watching or judging. Maybe you know that feeling too, when you’re so deep in what you love that nothing else exists for a while. It doesn’t matter if you’re designing, painting, cooking, or running your fingers through rope as you plan your next scene, that moment of being fully absorbed feels the same. Maybe that’s what we’re all searching for, that space where we lose ourselves just enough to finally feel free.

MARKETING AND MISSION

You know how scary it is to put yourself out there, to be vulnerable, no longer hiding your weird and wonderful self. You have drive and went for your hopes and dreams. Putting your notes and lyrics out into the ether, starting your now billion-dollar business in your garage, or waking up at the ass crack of dawn to lace up for your practice. Instead of hiding, you write dark romance that seduces and unsettles your readers, equal parts nervous and excited knowing your family or friends might read it and wonder how you even know about this stuff or if you’ve ever tried it, lol. Think Navessa Allen’s Lights Out and those pulse-quickening knife play scenes. Swoon.

For years I’ve had a blog on my website. I’m able to write, share design ideas, and imagery. It’s beautiful and I love it. Leading up to deciding that I was going to commit to creating a podcast there were two things that sealed the deal. 1. A very good and wise friend kicked my butt and 2. There is a podcast that I look forward to every week. Don’t tell anyone but sometimes I keep refreshing Spotify to see if the new episode is there!!! During one of the episodes the host let us know there was a new blog post. I of course immediately after listening went to their website to read it. Keep in mind that I’m like a kid at Christmas waiting for Santa-level excitement to tune into the podcast every week... I read two maybe three paragraphs and stopped. To me that was a huge aha moment. You may take the time to sit and read a 20-minute blog but I did not. That’s when I knew I needed more than just my blog. I needed a way to speak, to laugh, and to connect in real time. Something alive, something you could feel. I knew I needed to start a podcast.

I listen to podcasts when out for a walk or hike, driving, cleaning the house, getting ready for the day, or folding laundry and you might too.

I believe this podcast is the ultimate marketing tool. Every time I hesitate to share my work or water down my voice, I think about the people who might need to see themselves reflected in it. The ones searching for permission, inspiration, or proof that they’re not alone. Holding back doesn’t protect us. It just keeps the very people who need our truth from finding it. If you don't know my work exists, you’re left with an unfulfilled yearning.

But beyond marketing, this podcast is my mission. My mission is to bring erotic interiors into the light to make space for those who have always craved something deeper, darker, and more honest in their homes. I want to change the way we talk about design, intimacy, and identity. I want to dismantle the belief that luxury and sexuality can’t coexist, that erotic expression has no place in sophistication. Because it does. It belongs in the same conversation as art, architecture, and beauty. It belongs in our homes, in our relationships, and in ourselves. 

There are so many incredible design podcasts out there that I genuinely love. They share trends, design tips, and business insights that keep our industry moving forward, and I admire that. But that’s not what this is.

This is not a place for quick tips or color-of-the-year predictions. This isn’t about how to add a touch of romance to your bedroom or make your home look like what’s trending right now. Designed for Desire is something entirely different.

We talk about the realities of a BDSM dynamic and how design can support it. The submissive’s kneeling height at the foot of the bed. The curve of a chair designed for a body to bend over its armrest. Hidden restraint points that blend into custom millwork. The balance of comfort and control in a playroom. The art of creating a dungeon that feels as luxurious as a penthouse suite.

This podcast exists because the design industry isn’t having these conversations. I want desire and design to sit at the same table without apology. I started this podcast to remind both of us that we don’t need permission to be who we are. 

So here’s my question for you: what would you create, say, or explore if you stopped worrying about being too much and create for yourself first?

More than design. This is identity.

My intention for this episode was for you to know that you’re not alone. To feel seen, heard, and understood. To know that your desires are valid and that a home designed to enhance your sex life is not only possible, it’s waiting for you.

Maybe you laughed. Maybe a memory tugged at your heartstrings. Maybe you had an aha moment, or whispered “she gets me.” 

Thank you for spending this time with me and for allowing me to be part of your journey. Until next time…have joy!

Jenny 💀