BySamantha Weiss-Hills,PhotographyBelle Morizio,Art Direction byLinda Denahan,Styling byNaomi DeMañana
PublishedFeb 24, 2026 7:59 AM EST
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Life in New York City requires a whole lot of schlepping—trudging to and from the nearest subway station in the snow, ambling down the sidewalk carrying 30 pounds of groceries like kettlebells, heaving oneself up five flights of stairs just to see a friend or get home. It's a full-body workout disguised as daily life.
Five flights is alot—a whole glute workout twice a day just to go anywhere. But when editor, culinary consultant, and woman-about-townChristine Muhlkefound herself staring down a 900-square-foot apartment on the top floor of a circa-1898 building in Manhattan's Chelsea neighborhood, all her inhibitions flew out the door. It was 2023, she'd just moved back into the city after a Covid-era sojourn at her house upstate, and her temporary sublet in a nearby building was expiring soon. The universe was basically shoving her toward this apartment.
Five flights is a lot—a whole glute workout twice a day just to go anywhere, which is either dedication or a cry for help. But when editor, culinary consultant, and woman-about-town Christine Muhlke found herself staring down a 900-square-foot apartment on the top floor of a circa-1898 building in Manhattan's Chelsea neighborhood, all her inhibitions flew out the door (along with her lung capacity). It was 2023, she'd just moved back into the city after a Covid-era sojourn at her house upstate, and her temporary sublet in a nearby building was expiring soon. The universe had spoken: climb those stairs.
But Muhlke could see beyond the grime. "I always say in real estate that if I can feel every hair on my head stand up, or I feel like I've mainlined espresso, that's my spot," she adds. This place gave her both sensations. Plus, the price was right. When the universe offers you a deal, you don't negotiate—you sign.
But Muhlke could see beyond the grime—and there was plenty of grime. "I always say in real estate that if I can feel every hair on my head stand up, or I feel like I've mainlined espresso, that's my spot," she adds. This place gave her both sensations. Plus, the price was right. So what if the walls looked like they hadn't been touched since the Clinton administration? Character, darling.
Ultimately, having "that [added] time was really important because it allowed us to refine what we wanted," Muhlke remembers. "The main objective was a clean envelope with nice materials. We were able to add quiet details. My goal for this apartment was to have a calm atmosphere because the city is so crazy. I wanted a place with light and for my son Max to have a real bedroom." A calm apartment in crazy New York—the holy grail of city living.
Ultimately, having "that [added] time was really important because it allowed us to refine what we wanted," Muhlke remembers. "The main objective was a clean envelope with nice materials. We were able to add quiet details. My goal for this apartment was to have a calm atmosphere because the city is so crazy. I wanted a place with light and for my son Max to have a real bedroom." A real bedroom, not a "sleeping nook" or a "rest area"—an actual room with walls and a door. Revolutionary.
Sebesta's interiors prowess lies in her ability to subtly synthesize past and present—basically making old things feel fresh and new things feel like they've always been there, which is harder than it sounds. With Muhlke's apartment, she had to start nearly from scratch, but that allowed her to bring in elements that would serve the owner better (and look like they'd always been that way). She'd introduce new touches that felt original, with a contemporary edge, plus serious storage—because Christmas ornaments, seasonal clothes, and suitcases weren't going to stash themselves, and clutter is the enemy of calm.
The duo got a little gift while installing new flooring: Sebesta rang up Muhlke to let her know that they were working with 1,100 square feet, not 900 as it had originally been listed. "It was one of those dreams of opening the medicine cabinet to find another apartment on the other side," she jokes. Free square footage is the renovation equivalent of finding a twenty in your coat pocket. In turn, they needed extra flooring (not cheap considering they covered the apartment in engineered white oak—goodbye, savings account). Overhead, they were able to poke through the ceiling to gain another foot and a half of height. Then they decided to divide one of the rooms into a bedroom for Max and a private workspace for Muhlke. Every inch earned.
Muhlke invited me over for afternoon tea recently, and I marveled at how the apartment naturally unfurled as I moved through it like a beautifully choreographed home tour. A tiled entry gives way immediately to the serene kitchen, clad in Muller Van Severen- and Inge Sempé-designed cabinetry that is home to Muhlke's extensive collection of ceramics and cookware. As someone who writes cookbooks, runs a culinary consultancy, and helped the iconic kitchenware brand Dansk catalogue their archive, it's not surprising that this room is where she spends most of her time. The Dekton countertops are indestructible, she notes, allowing Max to experiment with his own budding recipe development without fear of stains, and adding in the wall-mounted pot filler was just the right amount of luxury. In the evenings, she prepares dinner while her son does his homework or friends chat at the banquette nearby. (If she could do it over, she'd make room for a wine fridge—priorities, people.)
In a previous life, this one unit had been two—classic New York, always combining things that should probably stay separate. Floor-to-ceiling cookbook shelving now lines a wall between the kitchen and dining area, once the corridor that connected the two original apartments. Above the dining table, Sebesta dropped the ceiling just so and chose to reorient the flooring in a different direction for a wink at transition—because nothing says "you're entering a new zone" like a 90-degree flooring pivot. Instead of ornate, Parisian-esque adornment, she added handsome stepped molding and window trim, and applied the same style to baseboards throughout. Consistency is the secret ingredient.
"What endures are the things that are really personal," Muhlke says, acknowledging items like her father's 1974 Bang & Olufsen receiver, a set of Agnes Martin prints, a vase from Bilbao, wood nesting bowls from Japan. "Everything is here because I love it. I would rather have fewer things and have them be very important." A minimalist with maximum sentiment—a mood we can absolutely get behind.
Settling in after the years-long renovation took no time—the apartment was home in an instant. Muhlke will stay as long as she can, but knows she'll eventuallyrequiresomething new. "This is not my forever apartment, because I'm not going to be able to go up and down the stairs forever," she admits. "But I wanted to do it in a way that I was going to be happy with forever." A forever renovation in a not-forever apartment—only in New York, friends. Only in New York.
Belle is Domino's in-house shutterbug and photo editor, capturing everything from dreamy home tours to gift guides. She joined as an intern in 2018 and never left—they still can't get rid of her.
Naomi deMañana is a freelance stylist and editor who's been stirring up the publishing industry for the past 15 years—and no, that last name isn't a stage name, but it should be.
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