In the Hamptons, designers Evan Krenzien and Pierce Jordan of Shane & Pierce turn a bare shell into a home that feels like it’s been collecting summers for decades.

There is a particular kind of Hamptons house that announces itself before you ever walk through the door. White walls, white linen, white oak — the whole thing art-directed within an inch of its life and somehow completely devoid of personality. It is a look so pervasive it has become its own kind of wallpaper. Evan Krenzien and Pierce Jordan, the principals of Los Angeles-based Shane & Pierce, have seen it too. And when a young bi-coastal family came to them with a five-bedroom shell on the East End and a single non-negotiable directive — not that — they knew exactly where to begin.

“That was a day-one conversation,” says Jordan. “Our clients wanted a cozy, distinctive home that didn’t feel cookie-cutter or developer-driven. We never want to create something that looks like five other houses on the same block.”

The house, purchased directly from a local builder, arrived essentially as a promise — framing, no finishes, a blank slate of considerable square footage. For most designers, that might read as an invitation to start slowly, to feel out the bones before committing. Krenzien and Jordan didn’t have that luxury. With a summer opening date on the line — non-negotiable in the Hamptons, where the season waits for no one — every decision had to come quickly and with conviction. “We had to be quick and decisive,” Krenzien says. “Construction timelines out East are their own kind of pressure.”

What they built in its place is a house that feels, improbably, like it has always been there.

Two Coasts, One House

The clients are a young couple with a daughter, their daily life rooted in Los Angeles but their history — family, memory, summers — firmly planted on the East Coast. On paper, designing a home for two such distinct sensibilities might seem like a study in contradiction. In practice, Krenzien and Jordan found the distance between them narrower than expected.

“There’s a shared casualness between life in L.A. and summers in the Hamptons that isn’t as different as one might expect,” Jordan explains. “We love mixing styles and eras in our work, so we saw the bi-coastal identity as an advantage rather than a constraint.” What united the two worlds, ultimately, was a priority that transcended geography: this house was built for people. For large, multigenerational gatherings. For guests who would arrive from across the country and need a room to call their own. For a family that wanted a second home — not a rental, not an investment — but an extension of themselves.

The architecture, designed by a respected local firm before Krenzien and Jordan came on board, gave them a strong foundation to work with. The house has what Jordan describes as “built-in quirks” — narrower hallways that lend an older, more intimate feel, real dormers that create interesting rooflines in the upper bedrooms, and rooms scaled for comfort rather than grandeur. Even the great room, which opens the kitchen, dining, and living areas into one generous sweep, never tips into impersonal. “The home is large,” Pierce says, “but never impersonal.”

Against the White

Walk into the kitchen and the commitment to that founding directive becomes immediately clear. Floor-to-ceiling cabinetry in a near-black finish commands the entire cooking wall, punctuated by unlacquered brass hardware that will only improve with age and use. A marble island anchors the center of the room, its veining warm against the dark surround. A terracotta vessel spills branches across the counter. It is a kitchen that means it — one that would look at home in a Notting Hill townhouse or a converted farmhouse in the Hudson Valley, and manages to feel entirely right here, in a shingled summer house on the East End.

The restraint of the main living room works differently, but toward the same end. A vaulted ceiling with exposed wood beams draws the eye upward. Two generous sofas face each other across a vintage rug — the kind that has earned its worn edges — and a sculptural woven pendant hangs above like a dropped moon. A long textile wall hanging above the fireplace anchors the symmetry. The room is quiet in the best sense: nothing is performing. Paired indoor trees flank the windows in an unmistakably California move, one that somehow makes the room feel more grounded rather than out of place.

“Durability is a priority for nearly all of our clients,” says Krenzien, “regardless of lifestyle.” Natural materials — real wood, stone, fabrics that can survive a wet swimsuit — were chosen not just for aesthetics but for the reality of how summer houses are actually used. Vintage rugs that can show wear, custom sofas in performance fabrics, unlacquered brass that will patina: every material choice was made with the understanding that beauty and livability are not in opposition.

A House of Many Rooms

The most unusual part of the brief — and the one that gives this project its particular warmth — was the directive to give each guest room its own distinct identity. The goal was not stylistic variety for its own sake, but something more emotionally specific: the designers wanted guests to return summer after summer and feel the pull of a particular room, a particular mood, a place that felt like theirs.

“We imagined a young guest falling in love with the blue sailboat room and looking forward to returning each summer,” Jordan says. “That kind of memory can last a lifetime.”

The sailboat room earns that aspiration. Deep navy wallpaper printed with vintage-style racing sails wraps the sloped walls of an upper bedroom, paired with a raffia-wrapped bed and a patchwork quilt that manages to feel nostalgic without tipping into kitsch. Down the hall, the daughter’s room takes a different kind of joy — blush wallpaper printed with giraffes, zebras, and tropical flora frames a black spool bed layered with block-print bedding and an olive quilt. It is a child’s room that doesn’t condescend. Elsewhere, a downstairs guest suite offers something altogether more serene, while an upstairs lounge-study — the room Krenzien names as the most challenging to resolve, given its dual function and the complications of two dormers — arrives at a moody, inhabitable green and navy palette that feels more like a private club than a spare bedroom.

And then there is the powder room (pictured above) — the one place in the house where Krenzien and Jordan allowed themselves to be fully, unapologetically theatrical. Dark forest green subway tile meets floor-to-ceiling botanical wallpaper in a riot of sunflowers and pansies and climbing vines. A gilded antique mirror reflects it all back. The effect is lush and a little wild, and the contrast with the considered restraint elsewhere makes it feel earned rather than gratuitous.

The Art of Making It Feel Old

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about this house is how thoroughly it resists its own newness. The gallery wall running along an upstairs hallway is the clearest expression of this: a loose, accumulative arrangement of vintage frames, a carved wooden horse panel, a ship print, an antique snowshoe, a painted iron coat hook, small botanical studies. It looks like the result of decades of slow gathering. It was assembled intentionally, instinctively, by designers who knew exactly what they were chasing.

“We approached it with the intention that it would continue to grow over time,” Jordan says. “We sourced from antique markets, local vendors, and online dealers, often choosing pieces instinctively rather than overthinking.”

The art program across the house is equally considered. A massive arched canvas in deep, swirling sienna and brown dominates one sitting area — dramatic and slightly mysterious, the kind of piece that makes you want to know its story. An abstract floral painting in dark, energetic strokes hangs above an antique mahogany sideboard. An inky media room lined in dark grasscloth provides the backdrop for two paintings that pop against it: one loose and colorful, one cool and architectural. The collection came together in layers, with Krenzien and Pierce sourcing from vintage shops, collaborating with artists, and enlisting a close friend who works as a curator to help guide the overall program. As the project deepened, the clients became collectors themselves.

“Initially they saw this as a vacation home,” says Krenzien, “but it quickly became clear it would function as a true second home — one they’d use extensively for months at a time. As the design deepened, so did their engagement with art.”

The sourcing story across the full house follows a similar logic: Lawson-Fenning pieces from Los Angeles sit alongside vintage finds from Round Top, Texas, and eclectic objects sourced from shops in the charming towns scattered across Long Island’s East End. The combination should not cohere as well as it does. “When we choose pieces we genuinely love,” Jordan explains, “the result naturally feels curated.”

The Chairs That Got Lost at Sea

There is one detail in this house that Krenzien offers with particular pride, and it has nothing to do with a perfectly chosen paint color or an extraordinary piece of art.

When sourcing dining chairs — a set of eight vintage Henning Kjærnulf ladderback chairs, their carved backs and green striped seats a quietly witty presence in an otherwise unfussy dining room — two chairs were lost in transit. Literally lost at sea. Rather than source replacements or abandon the idea entirely, Krenzien and Jordan found a second set they loved, confirmed the seat heights matched, and leaned into the mismatch. Four of one, four of another, extras nearby for flexibility. What began as a logistical problem became one of the most characterful moments in the house.

“It became a moment where constraint led to creativity,” Krenzien says.

It is a good story. But it is also something more: a small illustration of how this entire house came together. Not according to a fixed plan, but through decisive instinct, a tolerance for the unexpected, and an abiding commitment to the idea that a home should feel like it has a history — even when you are the ones writing it from scratch.

When the family walks through the door for their first summer, Krenzien and Jordan say they want the house to prompt a single, wordless response. “We want them to exhale,” Jordan says. “Feel immediately at home. We want it to feel unmistakably theirs.”

Looking at what they built, it is hard to imagine they won’t.

Credits:

Written by Kacey Perez | @the.house.studios

Photography by Tim Lenz | @timlenzphoto