The Art of Feeling at Home - What Makes a Home a Joe's Home

One of the questions Joe and I get asked more than any other is surprisingly simple: "What makes a home a Joe's home?" Most people assume they already know the answer. They picture sprawling estates tucked into the hills above Napa Valley, infinity pools overlooking vineyards, imported stone, chef's kitchens, wine cellars, and every luxury amenity imaginable. And don't get me wrong—we love those homes too. We have many of them on The Joes. But that's not what makes a home belong here. If I'm being completely honest, we'd choose a home with heart over a home with marble every single time. Because what we're really looking for isn't luxury. We're looking for soul.

Some of my earliest memories involve houses. Long before I ever thought about hospitality, I was fascinated by residential architecture. I earned my degree in structural engineering and minored in architecture in college, but my obsession started much earlier than that. When I was in high school, one of my favorite things to do was drive around looking for homes under construction. Before the doors were installed and locked, I'd quietly wander through unfinished houses, imagining what they would become. I loved studying the framing, the flow of the rooms, the way the light moved through the windows, and the little design decisions that would someday shape someone's daily life.

I still do something similar today. If I see an interesting home while I'm out driving, there's a good chance I'll slow down for a second look. I love open houses. I love touring neighborhoods I've never been to before. Today, thanks to The Joes, I get to spend my days discovering remarkable homes and meeting the people who created them. For me, it never gets old. I honestly can't imagine a better way to spend a day than walking through a beautiful home, hearing the stories behind it, and imagining how someone else might one day make memories there.

One of the things I love most about The Joes is that we don't curate homes based on a formula. Quite the opposite. We're actually trying to avoid homes that feel like they came from one. So many vacation rentals today are almost impossible to tell apart. The same gray sofa. The same mass-produced artwork. The same furniture ordered from the same catalog. Every room feels perfectly staged, but somehow nobody actually lives there. It almost feels like an AI designed the home using the same handful of furniture and décor over and over again.

Beautiful? Maybe. Memorable? Not usually.

That's not what we're looking for.

The homes that capture our attention are the ones that tell us something about the people who have loved them. Maybe it's a library filled with books collected over decades. Maybe it's artwork gathered while traveling the world. Maybe it's a kitchen that's clearly hosted countless holiday dinners. Maybe it's a garden that someone has patiently tended for twenty years. Maybe it's an old reading chair positioned perfectly to catch the morning sun. Those aren't imperfections. They're fingerprints. They tell a story. And stories are what make people feel at home.

One thing that surprised both of us early on was how often Joe R. and I agreed. If you looked at our personal design preferences, you'd probably expect us to disagree on almost every house. I tend to gravitate toward timeless architecture, natural materials, and homes that feel warm, layered, and connected to their surroundings. Joe has a real appreciation for clean lines, modern architecture, and a slightly more industrial aesthetic. He loves sleek spaces that are thoughtfully designed and beautifully executed. On paper, it sounds like we'd be debating every property we toured.

Instead, something unexpected happened.

Without fail, within just a few minutes of walking through a home, we almost always know exactly how the other person is feeling. We may notice different details, but we almost always reach the same conclusion. We've fallen in love with restored farmhouses, modern glass homes, mountain retreats, historic Victorians, and contemporary architectural gems. We've also walked away from homes that checked every box on paper. What we've realized is that style doesn't matter nearly as much as feeling. A Joe's home has personality. It feels authentic. More than anything, it feels like someone genuinely loved living there.

I'll never forget one of the first homes we toured together in Sonoma. There was a lot to like. The kitchen had been beautifully remodeled. There was a large backyard with a swimming pool. It checked many of the boxes we were looking for. And to be honest, at that point we were eager to find more homes for The Joes. We wanted it to work.

But the longer we stayed, the more something felt off.

The windows had condensation trapped between the panes. The concrete around the pool was heavily stained. The walkways were uneven. The furnishings felt tired. The rest of the house hadn't kept pace with the beautiful kitchen renovation. None of those things, individually, were deal breakers. So instead of leaving, we sat down in the living room.

And we talked.

For nearly an hour and a half.

At one point we started laughing, wondering if the owners had security cameras and were listening to two strangers politely debating every corner of their home. The funny part is that we weren't really talking about the kitchen or the windows or the pool. We were trying to answer a much bigger question: Does this feel like a Joe's home?

Eventually we realized what was missing. The house had good bones. It even had moments of real beauty. But somehow it no longer felt like someone's home. It felt like a property. There were very few personal touches. Nothing that hinted at the family who had lived there. Nothing that made us imagine ourselves settling in for a month. Honestly, with a little love, some thoughtful updates, and someone willing to breathe life back into it, I think it could become an incredible Joe's home. But it wasn't there yet. As difficult as it was, we passed.

Looking back, I think that afternoon taught us more about The Joes than almost anything else. We realized that we aren't evaluating houses. We're evaluating how they make us feel. That's a much harder thing to define, but it's also what makes our collection different.

Years before The Joes existed, I had the opportunity to help build and shape Farmhouse Inn. One of the things I loved most about that project was creating a hotel that never felt like a hotel. We obsessed over residential scale. We wanted guests to feel comfortable enough to kick off their shoes, curl up with a book, pour a glass of wine, and completely relax. The best luxury hotels understand something important. Luxury isn't about making people feel impressed. It's about making people feel comfortable.

Great homes do exactly the same thing. They're beautiful without feeling intimidating. They're thoughtfully designed without feeling overly designed. They're elegant enough to be memorable and comfortable enough to forget you're staying somewhere that isn't your own. That balance is incredibly difficult to achieve, but when we find it, we know.

Just this week I toured a home tucked into the hills above Dry Creek Road. The owners had lived there for nearly thirty years. They had raised their family there before recently downsizing, and now they were considering sharing it with future guests through The Joes. They were in the middle of renovating, but what impressed me most was what they weren't changing. They were preserving the personality that made the home theirs.

Then came my favorite moment. A quiet staircase disappeared down the hillside. I followed it, not knowing where it led. At the bottom was a spectacular pool hidden among the trees, completely invisible from the house above. It was one of those wonderful surprise-and-delight moments that no real estate listing could ever fully capture. Those are the discoveries I love—not because they're expensive, but because they're unforgettable.

People sometimes assume we're building a collection of the most luxurious homes we can find. The truth is a little different.

We're collecting homes that people have loved.

Homes with stories.

Homes with personality.

Homes where you immediately start imagining your morning coffee, your evening walks, dinners with friends, birthdays, holidays, quiet afternoons reading on the porch, and all the little moments that make a month feel like home.

The architecture might be modern. It might be traditional. It might be rustic. It might be something completely unexpected. It doesn't matter. What matters is how it makes you feel.

Because at The Joes, we don't curate houses.

We curate the places people have called home.

And when you walk through the front door, we hope you'll feel exactly what Joe and I felt the very first time we stepped inside.

You'll know you're home.