THE INSIDE SERIES - 01.
FRED DI BONO
FR DI BONO.
On a grey, early-autumn Friday, tucked into the quiet edges of Schoten, I visit Fred Di Bono.
We met about fifteen years ago — me as a VICE intern, him as a self-proclaimed Content Cowboy.
Recently, he’d told me about a sixties villa he was renovating himself, but I had never actually seen it until now.
Between the trees, the house appears: warm, lived-in, confident without trying. Inside, it unfolds slowly — a home filled with vintage finds and objects with so much personality they almost introduce themselves.
Fred starts the tour immediately.
He walks me through every adjustment, every material choice, every layer of work. Behind his modest explanations sits a quiet kind of pride — subtle in gesture, unmistakable in presence.
The way he approaches the house says enough: satisfaction in the doing, not in the explaining.
No dramatic narrative, no symbolism — just someone who likes figuring things out, fixing what needs fixing, and building spaces that feel good to be in.
Each room carries that energy: intentional, functional, with its own slightly rebellious twist.
There’s something in the way he talks that’s hard to name — a pride that doesn’t need an audience, a sense of ease that isn’t performed. It’s clear this house has been as much a personal process as a physical one — and still is.
Because when is a home ever really finished?
As he moves through the rooms, everything seems effortless — as if each corner is an inside joke between him and the space. It feels less like renovation and more like shaping a place that fits him, piece by piece, moment by moment.
His home is a quiet riot of character: vintage finds, flea-market treasures, odd objects with so much charm they could introduce themselves.
He collects instinctively — not to impress, but out of genuine love for the hunt, the stories, the surprise of something that simply fits.
Nothing here screams for attention, yet everything has presence. Objects are placed the way he seems to do most things: lightly, confidently, with a kind of playful competence.
Not overthought — just right.
What the photos really show is a man enjoying the place he shaped — not finished, not perfected, but lived-in, personal, unmistakably his. A space that mirrors his rhythm, his quirks, his sense of fun. Today, Fred’s life looks different from when we first crossed paths. Not less creative — just more rooted. Less speed, more direction.
A closer look — at the home, and at the ease of someone fully at home in it.
