In this edition of Into the Fold, we visit the Berlin home and studio of architect Sigurd Larsen. Set in an intimate space that reflects his personal style, we talk about architecture, design, and Larsen’s passions for music, culture, and thoughtful living. With a long-standing appreciation for craftsmanship, Larsen shares reflections on his creative journey, grounded in a love for timeless aesthetics, intentional design, and the subtle balance between functionality and beauty, both in the spaces he creates and in everyday life.
As an architect, how does material integrity and attention to detail shape your creative philosophy?
Material integrity and attention to detail are foundational to architectural design. Early in the design process, we establish a material palette that defines the character of the building, whether it leans more towards wood, stone, or another material. This choice informs every detail, from structural joints to the interplay between different materials. For instance, in some of our projects, we combine a heavy brick structure for stability with cantilevered wooden elements, which requires careful consideration of how these materials meet and interact.
Beyond aesthetics and structural logic, I also consider the building’s context. We strive to source materials locally whenever possible and to work with local craftsmanship. Each region has its own building traditions, and by studying vernacular architecture, like how older buildings in Greece stay cool without air conditioning, we can integrate sustainable and practical techniques into our designs.
What does craftsmanship mean to you, and how does it inform the way you design both spaces and your home?
Craftsmanship is central to everything we do. It guides our material choices, informs how we respond to local building traditions, and shapes the way spaces handle light, air, and circulation.
At home, craftsmanship means creating spaces that genuinely fit our lives. Our Berlin apartment started as a blank slate, allowing us to design it around how we live. I love being on the top floor, overlooking rooftops and open sky - it gives me a sense of space and perspective, reminiscent of the ocean near where I grew up. It’s about making a home that feels alive, comfortable, and carefully considered, where every detail matters.
Where do you go for inspiration? Are there particular books, cultural movements, or historical references that consistently influence your thinking?
I draw inspiration from many sources - architecture, art, fashion, history, but I especially value books. Even though information is online, reading gives a break from screens and sparks unexpected ideas. I also find movement essential: walking, traveling, or simply changing focus between projects helps ideas incubate and evolve.
In design, the real challenge is turning abstract ideas into precise, functional spaces. Sometimes constraints or paradoxes, like fitting a room into a limited space, force creativity. Those moments often lead to surprising and rewarding solutions, where something new emerges from making the impossible work.
Your work often fuses modern minimalism with subtle nods to tradition. Do you intentionally incorporate elements of heritage or nostalgia, either in your spaces or your wardrobe?
I’m more focused on creating buildings that reflect contemporary life than nostalgia. When working in historic contexts, I pay attention to the natural scale and character of the surroundings so the building feels “right,” but I don’t try to make it look older than it is. Contemporary design allows us to be more open, inviting, and functional, more glass, more transparency, spaces people want to inhabit.
I do study historic architecture carefully, learning the tricks of craftsmanship and material use, but I don’t replicate it. Often, older methods aren’t practical today. Even with modern technology like 3D printing, actual construction still relies on traditional techniques. I try to strip away unnecessary machinery and complexity, focusing on architecture’s fundamental principles, which remain timeless.
Do you remember the first piece you ever wore from Tiger of Sweden? Has it stood the test of time in your wardrobe, and what does it reveal about timeless design?
Yes, during my studies, I began wearing Tiger of Sweden quite frequently. I realised early on that the sizing and cut suited my Danish body proportions perfectly. Back then, I was a size 48, and unlike Italian or Japanese tailoring, which can be designed for slightly different silhouettes, Scandinavian sizing just fit me effortlessly. I could put a suit on, and it worked without any alterations, which made the process so easy and enjoyable.
My first experiences with Tiger of Sweden were mainly suits, which is where the brand really clicked for me. Over time, as my size gradually changed to 50, the brand’s designs continued to fit beautifully, the proportions, the length, the width, everything felt balanced and well-considered. It’s that combination of thoughtful tailoring and consistency in sizing that made me loyal to the brand.
Tiger of Sweden emphasises craftsmanship and longevity in fashion. How do those principles align with your own design ethos? How important is durability when selecting clothing or designing a space?
Durability, whether in clothing or design, isn’t just a preference, it’s a core principle. As an architect, creating things that are meant to be discarded goes against everything I believe in. I have no pleasure in generating waste.
In architecture, we focus on “cradle-to-cradle” design, meaning that everything we build is designed to be dismantled and repurposed later. I apply the same mindset to fashion, ideally, every component of a jacket, for example, could be separated and reused, giving it a future beyond its initial use.
Sustainability is central to both progressive architecture and fashion. What does sustainability mean to you in your daily life, whether in the studio or your wardrobe?
Sustainability has been central to my thinking since I started studying architecture. It’s unavoidable, essential, and increasingly reflected in laws and regulations across Europe. In practice, it means making thoughtful choices in every project, even when it requires extra effort to reduce impact on the environment.
That mindset extends beyond work. I want my food, clothes, and lifestyle to reflect the same principles. It can be frustrating when other industries don’t keep up, because it feels like the effort we put into doing things responsibly is wasted. That’s why I value longevity and quality in fashion, for example, buying pieces that last becomes a form of sustainability in itself.
Sustainability isn’t just a buzzword; it’s about integrating responsibility into every aspect of life, from architecture to everyday choices.
Being originally from Denmark, how has Scandinavian design shaped your creative process and aesthetic sensibility?
I’ve never deliberately tried to design in a Scandinavian way, but growing up and studying there naturally left a mark, it’s part of my design “language.” Certain preferences, like working with natural materials and designing for durability, are ingrained, likely due to the climate and lifestyle in Scandinavia.
However, I try to work primarily with the local context. For example, in our summer house in Greece, I focused on practical solutions suited to the Cycladic climate, white walls for light reflection, furniture built to allow air circulation, and materials that prevent mold. The design was about responding to the environment, not achieving a particular aesthetic.
In the end, it’s less about copying a style and more about applying principles like simplicity, practicality, and material integrity, which happen to align with some Scandinavian ideals. Even in southern Europe, minimalism and the cubic, white architecture of the Cycladic Islands echo some of the same modernist inspirations found in Northern design.
Are there materials, whether in architecture or fashion, you gravitate toward their low environmental impact or lasting quality? Has becoming more sustainability-conscious shifted the way you design or shop?
Yes, absolutely. I’m drawn to materials that age beautifully and become more unique over time. For example, in furniture, the copper table in my kitchen is designed to acquire a patina, the older it gets, the more beautiful it becomes. The same applies to leather jackets and shoes: well-made pieces can improve with age, developing a unique character.
Some of my favorite items are leather jackets I’ve owned for over fifteen years, they’re still in excellent condition and never go out of style. Even the bench you’re sitting on, made of robust leather, inspired a jacket for me because of its colour and quality.
This mindset carries over into architecture and furniture design as well. Materials like natural stone, high-quality wood, and durable metals can withstand time and use, maintain their beauty, while reduce environmental impact. I try to apply this thinking in fashion too, appreciating pieces that develop with time and have longevity.
Do you own a piece of clothing that’s been repaired, reworked, or repurposed—something with a story that extends beyond its original form?
Yes, I have jackets that I’ve repaired over the years. In Kreuzberg, there are small local tailor, often tiny shops, where you can do everything from basic adjustments to more complicated repairs, like replacing a zipper. Visiting them is a creative and collaborative process: you bring an idea, they contribute theirs, and together you rework the piece. These local businesses are invaluable for sustainability because they allow clothes to have a longer life, and they bring craftsmanship into everyday life in a way most people don’t realise is possible.
When dressing for an event or exhibition opening, how do you balance form, function, and personality?
I like to keep my style diverse because I don’t want to get bored. Over time, I realised that you generally have a better evening if you overdress rather than underdress. There’s no real downside to putting in the effort, and people often notice and respond to it, it can even spark conversation.
For me, dressing up is also about respect for the event and the people attending. Whether it’s a gallery opening, an exhibition, or even a friend’s birthday, I want to arrive ready, presentable, and in the right mindset to engage.
Does your approach to clothing mirror your approach to architecture (intention over excess), or is fashion where you allow yourself more freedom to experiment?
In professional settings, my focus is always on the project rather than myself. When presenting ideas, I’m usually standing next to large projected images, and I want people to engage with the work, not be distracted by my outfit. That means I rarely wear bold patterns, statement t-shirts, or anything that draws attention away from the ideas I’m presenting. It’s not a strict rule, it’s just never been my aim. The wardrobe becomes about complementing the work, not competing with it.
In my personal life, there’s more freedom. I still lean toward monochrome and clean silhouettes, but there’s a spectrum, and tailoring remains important. Clothes are part of the expression, but they’re secondary to intention. In that sense, brands like Tiger of Sweden are a perfect fit, they offer pieces that are thoughtful, smart, and versatile without being showy.
Which cities, restaurants, or galleries are currently feeding your visual imagination? Are there any spots in Berlin that you consider design hubs?
One of my favourite institutions in Berlin is the Neue Nationalgalerie. It reopened a few years ago as an open house, welcoming the entire city, and it feels very un-elitist. Despite being around 70 years old, the building itself feels contemporary, with large public spaces and exhibitions that are relevant both to locals and visitors. The permanent collection is also remarkable, with impressive post-war and contemporary works.
Berlin’s restaurant scene is another source of inspiration. Over the past decade, it has evolved into a contemporary gastronomic hub, reflecting its diverse, international population. The city’s culinary culture expresses its character.
How do you consume culture, through architecture, music, or fashion, and do you find these disciplines feed into one another in unexpected ways?
I spend a lot of time listening to music and podcasts. As an architect, I often have hours for drawing or other project work, and during those moments, music becomes a companion. I also listen while walking, exercising, or travelling, which gives me the freedom to explore new genres, discover hidden tracks, or dive into demos and lesser-known versions of familiar songs.
Podcasts are another major source of cultural engagement. I love exploring how music is made, breaking down layers of production, or learning the story behind a track. This approach feels similar to architecture, where every element has a purpose and intention.
What’s your ideal evening in Berlin, one that blends great food, inspiring architecture, and creative stimulation?
My ideal evening in Berlin is simple, social, and a little spontaneous. I love going to a neighbourhood restaurant, especially in the summer when the nights are pleasant. Often, you end up sitting near people you know, even if you didn’t plan to meet them. The evening can slowly transform, guests leave, tables shift, conversations spread and suddenly the restaurant feels like someone’s living room. These improvised, communal moments are what make the night special.
It’s the charm of unplanned interactions and the relaxed rhythm of summer nights that make Berlin evenings feel unique.
A huge thanks to Sigurd Larsen for taking part in the Into the Fold series. You can follow his creative journey on Instagram @sigurdlarsen_architecture.
