Be Our Guest Vol. 4 | Taylor Rose Berry of Shou Sugi Ban House
Welcome back to Be Our Guest, our series celebrating the people who set the tone and always get invited back.
Shou Sugi Ban House takes its name from the centuries-old Japanese practice of preserving wood through fire. The process leaves behind a protective layer that is stronger, more resilient, and unexpectedly beautiful. It's a philosophy that values patience, intention, and the transformative power of time.
Set in Water Mill, the retreat draws on those same principles. Every detail feels considered, from the architecture and materials to the pace of the experience itself.
Our next guest, Taylor Rose Berry, has spent much of her life in hospitality, moving between spas, restaurants, and creative spaces before taking the helm as Executive Director of Shou Sugi Ban House.
Today, she oversees one of the country's most distinctive wellness destinations, bringing together hospitality, design, and a thoughtful understanding of what allows people to truly slow down.
Are you more drawn to objects, experiences, or states of feeling?
States of feeling
A place, real or imagined, where everything goes quiet.
Home
The first thing you notice when someone enters a space.
What they look at first, and their posture. Not in an overly “energy” way, but in a body language way — how they carry themselves, whether they immediately settle into the space or stay a little guarded, how aware they are of their surroundings. Those quiet, unspoken things always stand out to me first.
Before anything else, what should a guest feel on arrival?
Welcome
A detail that tells you a space has been properly considered.
What you don’t notice. I was once taught that if you don’t notice the temperature, it’s because it’s perfect. The same with the scent and the sound. None of it should call attention to itself or compete for your attention. Everything should feel just right without you immediately realizing why.
What makes something feel unmistakably Shou Sugi Ban?
Restraint. A kind of quiet confidence. Nothing fighting for attention, yet every detail considered. Natural materials, softened light, warmth without heaviness, service that feels deeply present but never intrusive. A space that allows you to hear yourself think again.
A daily ritual the House quietly insists on.
A moment of pause. Every morning we send a Morning Musings and it’s a nice little touch to set the day.
A moment at the House that has stayed with you.
The blessing of the Buddha by the monks… And the after party of Cassie and Josh’s wedding. We were perched on the relocated couches in the conference room and had a bird’s-eye view of the bride in her disco ball dress on the dance floor. It was a really special, very exhausted kind of moment.
A place that reliably recalibrates you.
Anywhere next to Him.
A material or texture that defines the House for you.
Shou Sugi Ban, but of course.
The most intuitive host you’ve known.
My mother
Tea or coffee, and did the House change your answer?
Both, each has its place in time.
Where does chaos still slip in?
My inbox. And meeting when all of the leadership team is together and we order lunch.
An object that feels essential to the rhythm of the House.
All of our sound sacred tools — the gongs, wind chime, tuning forks…
The light that best defines the property.
There’s a moment in the fall when the ornamental grasses are high, silvery pink, and sun-washed, and golden hour arrives with a slow breeze. The light catches the tops of the grasses and everything begins to shimmer softly. To me, that feeling is essentially Shou Sugi Ban House.
Your spot on the property, if no one else were around.
The sunny spot on the fountain side of the meditation hall, always.
When things feel off, what brings the space back into balance?
Palo Santo, the right essential oils and a collective deep breath.
What has shaping environments taught you about people?
That everyone needs something different, and all we can really do is try to meet people where they are. What feels relaxing and comforting to one person can feel entirely unsettling to someone else. It’s remarkable how much people’s lives, experiences, and histories shape the way they move through and respond to a space.
What did growing up around pace teach you about stillness?
You’ll hear me reference deep breaths a lot, or “a pause.” To me, they all mean the same thing. I think even the smallest moment of stillness has the ability to shift everything, to interrupt whatever momentum we’re trapped in and return us to ourselves, even briefly.
A belief about wellness or design you’ve let go of.
That there is one right way.
The most memorable table the House could set.
The stone table when the cherry blossoms in full bloom for a Chefs Table dinner.
If you had to leave the House with one thing, what would it be?
In case of emergency? The resident stray cat we all seem to believe moved in as a familiar. But otherwise, probably the enormous rose quartz that lives in our Healing Arts spaces. It weighs close to twenty pounds and somehow feels like the heart of the space.
The hardest feeling to create for a guest.
Ease. Real ease. Not luxury in the obvious sense, but the feeling that someone can fully let their guard down and exhale. You can anticipate needs, create beautiful spaces, and orchestrate seamless service, but true comfort is deeply personal. Earning enough trust for someone to genuinely relax is probably the hardest, and most meaningful, part of hospitality.
What do you remove, again and again?
Anything that creates friction. Noise, clutter, confusion, unnecessary formality, anything that pulls someone out of the experience of simply being present. …And weeds. We don’t use chemicals, so we are constantly pulling weeds from the paths. Honestly, it feels somewhat metaphorical to the work itself.
What’s something guests don’t notice at first - but remember later?
The warmth of our hosts
The sound you associate most with the House.
528 Hz
The smell that instantly places you there.
Rose, geranium, bergamot, and ylang-ylang
What are you drawn to?
Beyond the brand, my life is rooted in creating beauty and atmosphere in the everyday. I split my time between the Hamptons and the hills of Western Massachusetts, where I’m usually chasing some slightly romantic idea; long dinners with friends, candlelit spaces, foggy mornings in the garden, stacks of half-finished books, or restoring corners of old spaces simply because they deserve to be loved again. I’m drawn to things that feel soulful and lived-in:wildflowers gathered in mismatched jars, vintage portraits, familiar music drifting through the house, handwritten notes tucked into books, and the kind of hospitality that makes people exhale the moment they arrive.