What You Didn’t Ask Your Architect — and Paid for It

We had a conversation. The client, a man with two completed homes behind him, sat across from me and talked about a plot on Novaya Riga, about his dream of a house of concrete and warm wood, about his wife who wants panoramic windows. He talked for forty minutes. Then he fell silent and asked: “So, are you in?” And I realized—he hadn’t asked me a single real question. Not one. Yet it’s precisely the right questions to your architect at the start of a residential project that separate success from those very mistakes that later cost months of rework and tens of millions of rubles.

The paradox is that wealthy clients, accustomed to driving hard negotiations in business, behave like they’re on a first date with their architect. They’re shy. They don’t want to seem like a bore. They nod when told about “unique vision.” And then, a year and a half later, on the construction site, it turns out the architect has never worked with underground parking, the engineering sections were subcontracted to some people from Voronezh, and the estimate is not his area of responsibility at all.

I’ve compiled seven questions. The ones you need to ask in the first twenty minutes of conversation. And, more importantly, I’ve broken down which answers should make you stand up and leave.

Question One: “Show me a project that went wrong”

This is a litmus test. An architect who starts hedging, saying “all our projects are successful” is lying. Everyone has failures. I have them too. There was a house in Barvikha where we underestimated groundwater—we had to redo the drainage and lost three months. I tell this story at the first meeting because someone who has never faced failures is either a novice or a liar.

Red flag: “We haven’t had such situations.” Run.

Good answer: a specific story with numbers, conclusions, and what the architect changed in their work afterwards.

Question Two: “Who exactly will lead my project—you or your employee?”

There’s a phenomenon at large bureaus that I call “the star sells it—the intern draws it.” You meet with a famous name, sign the contract, and your project is led by a twenty-five-year-old MARCH graduate who spent the last six months drawing bathrooms.

I’m not saying young architects are bad. I’m saying you should know this in advance.

Red flag: vague answers about “the team,” “the collective,” “everyone works together.”

Good answer: a name, a surname, the lead architect’s experience, and a clear scheme—who makes decisions, how often you’ll meet, who’s responsible for the result.

Question Three: “How much does a mistake cost at the sketch stage—and how much at the construction stage?”

If an architect can’t name a ballpark figure, either they haven’t seen projects through to completion or they’ve never paid for rework themselves.

In our practice: a layout change at the sketch stage—zero rubles and three days of work. The same change after working drawings are approved—two to three weeks and 200,000-400,000 rubles. The same change when walls are already up—from two to fifteen million rubles, depending on the engineering.

Someone who’s designed at least five residences through completion knows these numbers by heart.

Red flag: “Well, it depends on many things, hard to say.”

Good answer: specific ranges on concrete examples. Possibly with a showing of estimate lines from past projects.

Question Four: “What will you do with my budget?”

It sounds strange, but that’s exactly how you should ask. Because 80% of architects will say: “We’ll design within your budget.” That’s not an answer. That’s a polite brush-off.

A proper answer should contain mechanics. How exactly does the architect control the budget at each stage? Does he have his own database of material prices? Does he work with a cost estimator at the sketch stage, not after the working drawings? Is he ready to give up his ideas if they push the project over budget?

I remember a client who fell in love with our sketch—a glass facade from floor to ridge, six meters high. I told him right away: that’s plus eighteen million to the estimate compared to panoramic windows at normal height. He thought and chose the second option. That’s an honest conversation about money.

Red flag: an architect talks about budget in general phrases, without numbers and mechanics.

Question Five: “Who’s responsible for the engineering sections?”

Here’s where the dog is buried. The architect draws a beautiful picture. Then come HVAC, plumbing, electrical, low-voltage systems, automation, pool, spa, wine cellar with climate control. Who designs all this?

In half the cases—subcontractors the architect is working with for the first time. And then there’s a gap between the architecture floor and the engineering floor. A duct doesn’t fit in the ceiling. A vertical stack comes out in the middle of the living room. An electrical panel is planned in a room that’s already clad in marble.

Red flag: “We have trusted contractors” without names, without company names, without examples of joint projects.

Good answer: engineers on staff or a permanent team with a history of at least 5-10 shared residences, where the architect can name names and show coordination of the sections.

Question Six: “What do you think of my taste?”

This question requires courage. But it decides everything.

Most architects humor you at the first meeting. “A beautiful reference, an excellent idea.” It’s a commercial reflex. But what you need is someone who will say: “Your reference is a villa in California, it works in Los Angeles sunshine. In Moscow region November, those panoramas will turn into black holes. Let’s think about what exactly you like in that picture—and how to translate it into our climate.”

An architect who doesn’t argue with you at the first meeting will silently agree for the whole project. And then, when you move in, it turns out the house is not you. It’s your mistakes, enlarged by 800 square meters.

Red flag: total agreement with all your ideas.

Good answer: a respectful but honest analysis of what works in your references and what doesn’t.

Question Seven: “What happens if we part ways in the middle of the project?”

This question is like a prenup. No one wants to talk about it. And that’s exactly why you should ask.

Who owns the files? What stage gets transferred to the next architect? What are your obligations if the breakup happens on my initiative—or on yours? Is there a penalty clause in the contract and what specifically for?

I’ve seen projects that stalled for eight months because the departed architect wouldn’t hand over the DWG files. I’ve seen lawsuits for 30 million due to penalties the client signed without reading.

Red flag: “We’ve never parted ways with clients.”

Good answer: clear contract clauses that the architect is ready to discuss substantively.

Typical Client Mistakes at the First Meeting

In twenty years I’ve seen plenty. Here are four of the most expensive mistakes made at the start of a conversation with an architect—the ones that turn a residential project into a marathon of rework.

First. They talk too much about themselves and ask too little. The meeting turns into a monologue about dreams. The architect nods. Six months later it turns out he understood nothing.

Second. They choose by portfolio, not by process. The pictures are beautiful for everyone. But behind the pictures is a way of working—and that’s what you should probe at the first meeting.

Third. They’re shy about asking about money. “It feels awkward somehow.” It’ll feel comfortable in two years when the estimate doubles?

Fourth. They believe in charisma. A famous architect might have a fantastic presentation and zero operational discipline. Charisma doesn’t build houses. Processes do.

How We Conduct the First Meeting at Our Studio

I’ll tell you about our approach—not for self-promotion, but to show what this can look like.

Our first meeting lasts three hours. Not forty minutes. Half the time the client talks, half the time I ask uncomfortable questions. About lifestyle. About money. About family. About what was wrong in the previous houses. About fears. About who will be living in ten years.

I don’t bring pictures to the meeting. I bring two past projects in the form of estimates, schedules, and change logs. I show where we made mistakes, what it cost, how we fixed it. Clients are surprised at first—usually architects show glossy renders. But then they thank us.

Because talking about reality is always better than talking about dreams.

Instead of a Conclusion

Seven questions. Twenty minutes for each. Less than three hours of your time.

These three hours are worth more than everything you’ll spend on the project afterwards. Don’t spare them. And don’t be afraid to seem like a bore, meticulous, distrustful. An architect who gets offended by client questions at the beginning will get offended in the middle too. And the middle of a project is already construction, concrete, and money.

If you’re now at the stage of choosing an architect—bring these seven questions to your next meeting. If you’re already in a project and feel something is going wrong—ask them tonight. An awkward conversation now is better than redoing the foundation in a year.

And if you want to discuss your project and understand which questions matter most in your situation—write to us. Our first conversation is always without obligation, but never without honesty.