From Airports to Interiors: Simona Morgia Panayiotou’s Creative Journey

From the streets of Rome to the sun-soaked shores of Cyprus, Simona Morgia Panayiotou has turned a lifetime of experiences into a signature creative vision. Raised in a family of creatives, shaped by diverse cultures, and guided by intuition, she has transformed ordinary spaces into soulful, story-filled environments. From her early days in the airline industry to co-founding the beloved Firehouse brand in South Africa, Simona blends instinct, memory, and design to craft spaces that don’t just look beautiful—they feel like home.

“Every place I’ve lived has left its mark on my craft—my style is simple, functional, and intentional.”

You’ve lived in Italy, South Africa, and now Cyprus. How have these places shaped who you are and your creative style?

I’ve lived in a few different countries, and every place has left its fingerprint on my eye, my craft, and the way I move through the world.

Italy was the beginning. Beauty isn’t an accessory there; it’s a mindset. You grow up hearing “che bello” before you can even spell your name — the language itself trains you to notice light, proportion, taste, harmony. Words have flavour. Beauty becomes instinct.

I was born in Rome, into a family of creatives. Music, food, poetry, art, culture — it all seeped in through childhood. My mother especially taught me to look closely, to see colour, texture, and atmosphere. At twenty-one, I renovated my first apartment in Rome from the ground up. That’s where I learned the poetry of precision — how tiles meet, how light behaves, how space breathes, and why the most powerful design is often the simplest.

South Africa was a different kind of education — raw, complex, unfiltered. A country of staggering natural beauty and deep resilience, but also one marked by inequality, cultural collision, and the long shadow of apartheid. Growing up there exposed me to a kaleidoscope of languages, religions, flavours, and ways of being. It taught me Ubuntu — “I am because we are.” It taught me to be street-smart and compassionate. It shaped my love of nature, light, and the pull to bring the outdoors in.

Sweden added another layer. There I discovered Scandinavian design — clean lines, quiet beauty, functionality without fuss. It shaped the Japandi-ish sensibility I lean toward now: calm, organic, restrained, intentional.

And then Cyprus — my current chapter. Grounding and challenging at the same time. I’m learning new rhythms, a new language, and absorbing Middle Eastern warmth, Eastern European honesty, Mediterranean soul. The island is raw and surprising — sea, mountains, microclimates — all in one place. The produce tastes like the earth. The blend of village charm and modern architecture fascinates me. And the safety, freedom, and hospitality have given me a sense of belonging I didn’t expect. All these places live in my work. My style is a fusion — Italian instinct, South African space, Scandinavian calm, Mediterranean texture. Simple. Functional. Organic. Quietly intentional. A life’s worth of places distilled into the way I see, choose, and create.

How did you move from working in airlines to building lifestyle and interior brands?

My journey wasn’t a straight line — more like a long corridor with unexpected doors. Working in the airlines came out of necessity. I had just moved to South Africa with my firstborn, newly separated from my first husband in Rome. I wanted my son to stay close to both sides of his family, so I took a part-time job as a check-in agent with Lufthansa in Johannesburg — something flexible enough to support us.

I eventually grew into marketing and sales roles across different airlines. It was a solid, dynamic career, but creativity was always humming beneath the surface — the whisper that never left me.

When I met the love of my life and we decided to have a child together, I stepped out of corporate. Constant travel no longer fit the life I was building. Those years raising my two boys were grounding — a reset.

Then everything shifted when my husband was seconded to Ireland and Sweden. Sweden cracked me open creatively. Surrounded by minimalism and quiet beauty, the dream I’d been carrying finally sharpened: a lifestyle store built around design, objects, and curated gifts. I sketched the vision, refined it, and slowly gave shape to what felt like my true north.

When we returned to South Africa, I shared the idea with my sister Roberta. She loved it instantly. Firehouse Gifts was born — two sisters, one dream.

What do you think made Firehouse Gifts so special to people?

Firehouse Gifts was never just a store — it was a feeling. People walked in and felt seen, held, inspired. It was built on intuition and heart, not retail formulas. Roberta and I treated it like an extension of our home. We laughed, we shared food, we created joy — and everyone felt that energy. We never chased trends; we chased the feeling of “This will make someone’s life a little more beautiful.”

The atmosphere set us apart — the warmth, the conversation, the scent, the music, the sense of belonging. Customers became friends and then became family. We remembered names, preferences, milestones. We suggested pieces that fit people’s lives, not just our shelves. Our wrapping became iconic — people recognised it in other cities.

But the real magic? The sister dynamic. The passion. The friendship. Resilience. People felt it in the air. The firehouse wasn’t transactional. It was an experience. A community. A sanctuary of beauty in a noisy world.

Why did you decide to bring your vision to Cyprus with Firehouse Living?

Bringing my vision to Cyprus wasn’t a business calculation — it was life unfolding. My husband is Cypriot, and a few years ago he inherited a couple of shops. When one tenant retired, the space opened like a quiet invitation. It felt like the right moment to root Firehouse in Europe — and a step toward the safer, more stable life we wanted.

We offered our eldest son the chance to spearhead the project. He was young and brave. And then the world shut down. Covid. Closed borders. A maze of travel restrictions.

Yet we pushed through. We renovated during lockdowns, received our first container in chaos, and opened Firehouse Living in July 2020 — against all odds.

Now we’re here, building our next chapter together — all except our youngest, who’s still studying abroad. Cyprus didn’t just get a store; it became our new life.

When designing a space, how do you make it feel personal and human?

I have no formal interior or architectural training. I don’t draw technical plans. I work with specialists who bring my ideas to life — but the heart of the design comes from intuition: atmosphere, flow, light, emotion.

A space feels personal and human when it tells the truth about the people who live in it. I care less about perfection and more about soul — the honest details that carry memory, comfort, and meaning.

I’m drawn to simplicity, natural materials, functionality, and calm. Open layouts create ease. Natural light is essential. And I choose objects made by human hands — pieces with story, craft, texture, presence.

Spaces should feel collected, not curated. Lived-in, not staged. Grounded, not performed.

When a client walks into a finished space and says, “This feels like me,” that’s the moment I’m chasing.

How do colour, texture, and storytelling guide your work?

Colour, texture, and storytelling are the emotional language of my work — shaping how a space feels before you notice the details.

My palette is nature-based: soft greens, ocean blues, grounding neutrals. Colours that soothe the nervous system and steady the mind.

Texture creates the human connection — warm wood, grounding stone, linen, wool, cotton, leather that ages with dignity. Honest materials add depth, soul, and emotional reality.

Storytelling ties everything together. I study memories, rituals, rhythms, and emotional cues. A space becomes meaningful when it reflects the narrative of the people living in it.

I often lean into biophilic and Japandi influences — natural light, plants, open views, low rounded furniture, calm colours. When colour, texture, and story align, a space becomes more than a room. It becomes a feeling.

What has been the toughest project you’ve worked on, and what did it teach you?

The toughest project was rebuilding our family home in Johannesburg — perched on a ridge, structurally vulnerable. Removing an old pool revealed an underground river dragging the house away.

What followed was a full engineering rescue: redesigning the land, installing French drains and sumps, creating a pump system feeding a 5,000-litre reservoir we used for the garden and during water cuts, and underpinning the house with a Waffle Raft.

It was enormous, exhausting, and technically intense — but it paid off. We created stability, sustainability, and long-term independence from municipal systems.

It taught me that even with preparation, life will surprise you. Plans crumble. The ground moves.

The key is to stay flexible, calm, and curious. Fail fast. Pivot quickly. Trust experts. Think strategically. And keep going.

How do you balance following your gut with making smart business choices?

For me, intuition and strategy aren’t opposites — they’re partners.

I have a strong business gut and a solid circle of people I trust. We’re a family of entrepreneurs on both sides, and we grew up working in family businesses — sweeping floors, stocking shelves, serving customers. It taught us responsibility, resilience, and the discipline of putting the customer at the centre.

Today, I blend instinct with insight. I trust my gut, but I analyse the long-term impact. I ask the hard questions:

Does this align with our values?