Harry Nuriev Rearranges the Rules
For Harry Nuriev, approaching collaborative projects is all about storytelling—crafting a world, not just a product. So, when the founder and creative director of Crosby Studios was approached by Westwing for a collaborative product line, it was simply never going to be about furniture alone. Embracing materiality, color, and the elusive art of making a statement, he brought his signature blend of concept and emotion into the home. Nuriev, known for his playful yet provocative approach to interiors, fashion, and art, has a way of turning everyday spaces into immersive experiences. This collaboration, naturally, is no exception. It’s bold, it’s unexpected, and it’s occasionally monochromatic silver.
Based between New York and Paris, Harry Nuriev has built a reputation for shaking up the design world with his fearless aesthetic and cross-cultural vision. He’s worked with the likes of Nike and Balenciaga, but this time he’s diving into the world of home in a way that feels intimate and entirely fresh. Nuriev has built a brave new world filled with sculptural shapes, punchy colors, and a healthy disregard for playing by interior design convention. The Westwing x Crosby Studios Collection doesn’t just furnish a room—it changes how you feel in it.
For Nuriev, the move into more traditional product design marks a kind of personal evolution. “About two years ago, Westwing reached out to commission the collaboration,” Nuriev recalls. “In my career, I was always skeptical to work with furniture companies because my approach was not to embrace design as it is, but to reinvent it. That’s why my intention was always to work through and speak through fashion brands, through art, through anything but not design.”
After ten years of developing a visual language and conceptual alphabet within Crosby Studios, he felt ready to share his work more broadly. “We approach with a certain voice and a certain alphabet for our work, where we feel that we can finally share it with people,” he says. “This collaboration was almost like an experiment. It’s the first time I’ve let my pieces go to someone that I don’t know, and the first time that I won’t be able to stand next to my work and explain the concept. The work therefore had to blend into someone else’s reality and live its own life.”
That kind of release—of control, of narrative framing—wasn’t easy. “People are going to use these pieces however they want, whether they know who I am or what the Westwing collaboration is about or not. That’s what makes it feel democratic. Once it’s out there, it’s no longer just mine. It becomes part of someone else’s life, and in a way, they take ownership of it.”
Despite the vulnerability of that process, Nuriev embraced the project with clarity. “If I had done this project maybe five years ago, it might’ve been more difficult,” he says. “But at this point, we created a full alphabet of our signature elements. The things we know work, the things we know don’t work.” And perhaps most importantly, this collection was shaped by his daily life. “I designed things, and I lived through them. I powered through the process through my own daily life in my studio. I used them. And I guess that’s what makes me feel confident—because if I like it, then I feel that it’s half the work done.”
For someone whose practice often moves between architecture, art, fashion, and interiors, the question of where a design begins—space or object—is a nuanced one. “ “It’s like a melody. It’s really hard to divide those things. The concept comes as a volume where all things coexist together.” Still, he admits, “Space is always dominating because it’s shaping the feeling, the self-expression of architecture. But then, layer by layer, it starts to detail more and more, and eventually everything comes together.”
This approach isn’t linear or strictly rational. “It’s not a rational process,” he says. “Some architects and designers are more rational. But I feel the space more than I think of it. That’s why I don’t really analyze such things.”
The Westwing collaboration spans thirteen product families—an ambitious scale by any measure. Yet for Nuriev, scale doesn’t dilute meaning. “It wasn’t an insulated process,” he explains. “I was working in collaboration. I was asking questions.” Known for his ready-made and collectible pieces, Nuriev typically avoids conventional concerns like durability or ergonomics. “I’m not a good designer,” he says, somewhat disarmingly. “I don’t put myself in situations where I have to be constrained by ergonomics and all those things. That’s mostly for product designers and people who work with the body and track the behavior of engagement with design.”
But in this case, his own experience as a user shifted his perspective. “I’m also the customer. So I have a decent level of comfort and the way I think furniture should be,” he says. That new layer of consideration—material softness, functionality, comfort—opened up a new kind of inquiry for him. “We started researching materials, softness, all these commercial-level or industrial-level qualities. And I found that very fascinating. I never experienced it before. I gained so much information, so much knowledge from it.”
There was, he says, a kind of “a-ha” moment when he saw everything come together. “When I saw my signature elements—like the checkerboard, the metal, the industrial way of living—come into play in this collection, I was very fascinated. I’m glad that this work, this universe, can also exist in this territory as well.”
Westwing brought its own spirit to the collection, with a mission to break away from traditional design and push boundaries. That approach aligned with Nuriev’s own mindset, rooted in a strong creative language and experimental design philosophy. The collaboration became a blend of both perspectives—Westwing’s focus on accessibility and innovation, and Nuriev’s more artistic, couture-inspired approach.
“My dedication was to explore our very couture and ready-made design part in this unique world,” he says. “Usually, I know every partner and client I work with. I track every piece I make. I know the soul that owns it. So when you open the door to the street, it brings a different energy.”
That shift in audience—from niche collector to mass user—marked a kind of growth. “It’s the oneness of the project, which is important for every artist. Not to only speak to a small group of people, but to introduce yourself to a wider range of feelings. To be a part of a bigger group. It grows you creatively. It’s a really good exercise,” he reflects. “Otherwise, if you stay too insulated and disconnected, it might affect your creative process. It might actually limit you.”
Throughout his career, Nuriev has often blurred the lines between art and design, but he’s also clear about the importance of distinction. “It’s like comparing a piece of art to a car,” he says. “There’s collectible cars, but it’s a different function, a different dose of soul the artist puts in. There’s a common idea circulating that art and design are the same, but people like to put things in boxes for a reason. My conclusion is that art is art and design is design. Sometimes they can be intertwined, but it’s a very different exercise. So this collection is pure design.”
He’s also deeply attuned to how generational shifts reshape our understanding of comfort and use. “Most things don’t come from taste,” he says. “Most things come from usage.” He reflects on his own upbringing: “My grandmother used to say I had to sit properly on the sofa. And now, we put our feet up. Sometimes we don’t even take our shoes off. It’s created this idea of the death of the sofa—of traditional comfort. And that affects the whole creation.”
Functionality is no longer what it used to be. “Now people gather around the table. It’s not only for food anymore. It’s for work, social life, everything. People eat Postmates on the sofa, they work at the dining table. This hybrid and mutation of how we use furniture is dictating shapes and materials.”
That behavioral evolution is what drives design for him—not aesthetics, and that drive is incredibly apparent throughout the collection as a whole. “I don’t pay attention to taste anymore,” he says. “People should be extremely tuned to their own feelings. Comfort is very personal. Some people are comfortable on the floor. Some don’t like pillows. Some like bright white light. Others like darkness.”
Even the word “cozy” draws skepticism from Nuriev. “It’s a big fiction,” he says matter-of-factly. “The word should instead be ‘safe.’ Safety is more important. “Feeling safe means being able to see all your belongings. Some people feel good with open shelving. Others feel better in chaos. Some want everything clean and minimal. For them, a white, sterile metal table feels like comfort. That might feel cozy to one person but not to another.”
In the Westwing x Crosby Studios Collection, Nuriev doesn’t offer a universal ideal. Instead, he offers fragments of his own world—objects born from daily use, shaped by years of conceptual development, and newly adapted to meet a wider audience. It’s his very own balancing act between authorship and release. Between control and openness. Between a singular vision and the collective spaces it enters.
Ready to bring a piece of Nuriev’s world into your own? Explore the full collection here.
