From “Why Me” to “Watch Me” | with Michelle Jaime
Growing up, design didn’t look like glossy magazines or showroom floors for Michelle Jaime. It looked like a VW van with curtains her dad sewed, drive-in movie sleepovers, and model homes in Mililani where she and her brother would daydream a life into being.
When Michelle Jaime was about nine years old, she lived with her dad, stepmom, and brother in a VW van. Sometimes, her dad would drive the kids to Mililani where there were new developments and model homes and let them run around, pretending the houses were their own.
“It wasn’t depressing…it was actually really fun.”
Michelle traces her creative streak back to her dad: resourceful, inventive, and a little bit MacGyver.
“He made a bed, he made curtains, he would fix the van, he would teach us to fix it and how to decorate it.”
Those early moments, peeking into homes while her dad cleaned, observing “how other people lived” quietly set the table for a career that would later redefine a slice of Hawaiʻi hospitality.
The Detour that became a map
College wasn’t a given. “I was the first person that went to college in my family,” says Michelle. She chased psychology and made it all the way to grad school before realizing she wanted something different.
Soon, a friend cracked open another door: “Why don’t you come be a librarian in our interior design office and see if you like it?” That sparked a curiosity marathon. Entire afternoons sitting on the floor at a book store reading design books ultimately nudged her toward interior architecture.
Then came a mentor with a life that seemed like a possibility, working at a beautiful design firm called Philpotts Interiors.
“I became one of his friends. I don't know how, but I just saw his life was so beautiful. And he's the one that said, Hey, why don't you come to my house? You can ask me any question you want about being an interior designer.”
He invited questions, including the awkward one about money. “Aren’t you going to ask me how much I make?” he prodded. When he answered—“well into the six figures”—Michelle realized there was a bigger world than “decorating.”
“Interior design,” she learned, “changes people’s emotions and how they feel.”
When the bubble burst (and opened)
Michelle jumped at an entry-level design role before finishing her doctorate in architecture. The decision came easy to her.
“I am going to take this opportunity to get the experience that I can, and then when the bubble bursts, I’m going to come back and finish my doctorate.”
That bubble floated steadily for three years, until the 2008 recession brought a layoff she didn’t see coming. “I never thought that I would get laid off because I knew I was a valuable employee,” she says now, with the empathy of someone who signs paychecks.
The separation stung, but it also became a catalyst.
“I always wanted to start my own business, but had I not gotten laid off, I don’t think it would’ve happened. That was the silver lining. Sometimes you can’t see it when it happens, but it happens.”
Naming a New Guard
In 2010, Michelle co-founded The Vanguard Theory with a simple, subversive posture: be the new guard.
“We wanted to be considered the fresh new faces of design in Hawaiʻi.”
They began as support—spec writing, sourcing, procurement—for larger firms still clawing back from the recession. That vantage point sharpened their own process: seeing what worked (and what didn’t) across studios, they built a practice that prized story, context, and collaboration.
Surfjack: A Story You Can Swim In
The Surfjack Hotel and Swim Club became their breakout canvas. They handled the design behind ground-floor public spaces: restaurant, pool, façade, retail. They set out to honor an under-sung era of Hawaiʻi: mid-century optimism reframed for today.
“It was a story that wasn’t being told.”
Michelle pointed to the island’s statehood moment, the music and film scene, Alfred Shaheen and Bev Noa. Art wasn’t an afterthought, it was the backbone. “We called on around 20 different artists to come and help tell the story, and on each piece we’ve collaborated with them.”
Skeptics had a checklist of reasons the project would falter. The Surfjack wasn’t on Kalākaua Avenue. It wasn't beachfront. It wasn’t a flagship.
The team flipped the frame.
“We wanted to create a place for locals because let’s face it, tourists like to go where the locals go.”
The courtyard pool became the living room. The now-iconic “Wish You Were Here!” pool, painted in epoxy by artist Matt Tapia under a rain-beating tarp held by contractors, turned into a postcard you could actually jump into.
Even check-in reimagined hospitality: not a serpentine queue after a five-hour flight, but a living room welcome “like you’re going to your grandma’s house, your tutu’s house,” Michelle explains.
“You’re sitting down on the sofa and they come to you and check you in.”
The response? Press, buzz, and a surprise.
Their Surfjack design was featured in the New York Times and Architectural Digest. She was nominated for the Gold Key Award in New York. Michelle flew to the gala certain she wouldn’t win. She did.
the year of yes
Michelle’s career kept shape-shifting. Her brother David once had an idea for a design-build TV show, in which she turned him down. But that year, she’d made a promise to herself.
“This was the year that I told myself my New Year’s resolution was going to be the year of yes.”
A casual sizzle led to an HGTV pilot, and then to 13 episodes of Aloha Builds. The big takeaway wasn’t the airtime. It was the aperture.
“You never know what yes is going to lead to.”
Make it Yours
For anyone charting their own path, creative or otherwise, Michelle’s counsel lands softly and clearly:
“I think it’s important to be yourself and to figure out what you’re really good at. Don’t waste your time trying to be like everybody else.”
what we can steal
Michelle’s journey shows us a lot:
Resourcefulness is a foundation. Michelle’s design eye started in a VW van with curtains her dad made.
Failure can be a beginning. Getting laid off gave her the push to start her own firm.
Say yes to growth. A year of yes led to HGTV and new opportunities she never expected.
Authenticity wins. From the Surfjack pool to a living room check-in, her work resonates because it’s real.
Be yourself. As Michelle says: “Don’t waste your time trying to be like everybody else.”
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