A Home That Doesn’t Perform

In her 1924 Colonial Revival, Mia Mangold has created a space shaped by history, humor, and intention

By: Megan Williams | Photos By: Andria Fontenot

Life changes exponentially when you stop performing and stop caring who’s watching,” Mia Mangold said, standing in the dining room of her 1924 Colonial Revival home—a space layered with collected furniture, hand-upholstered pillows, and just enough evidence of daily life to make it clear no one here is trying to impress anyone.

Mangold laughed, almost as if to soften the weight of the statement. “It took me a long time to actually mean that,” she added.

It’s not a catchphrase she uses lightly. It’s an earned mantra—one shaped over decades of movement, reinvention, and saying yes to experiences that most people only daydream about, then learning when to stop performing altogether.

Mangold bought her Lynchburg home in 2019 after renovating a string of historic houses across the Hill City. The story of those homes—and the life she built around them—is literally displayed on the walls.

Decorative plates from Oxide Pottery line her living room built-ins, each illustrating a house she has owned, loved, and renovated in Lynchburg. She gestures toward them as if they’re old friends rather than milestones (though, to the outsider looking in, they are both).

“I’ve owned seven houses in Lynchburg, plus one in St. Pete [Florida], one in Austin [Texas], and one in New Jersey—so 10 total,” she said. “My first house in New Jersey was built around 1865, and it’s where Walt Whitman used to stay in the summer. There was a natural spring—I picture him sitting down there writing poetry.

It sounds cheesy, but as a kid I was an old soul, weird kid. New Jersey has so many old Victorians.”

To hear her describe her journey—from “old soul, weird kid” who grew up on the New Jersey–Philadelphia line to home renovator in Lynchburg—is to realize that Mangold’s life has never followed a straight line.

It’s shaped by an innate curiosity, a desire to see the world, and a penchant for never saying no to a good time.

“I basically grew up in Philadelphia,” she said. “I lived 15 minutes away in New Jersey, near the Ben Franklin Bridge. Then I left for a while—lived in a car with my friends and went cross-country, ended up in San Francisco. I came back when I was 21 because my grandma got really sick. We thought she was going to pass, but she lived four more years and couldn’t be alone. I spent days with her; my mom slept there at night. I worked while getting my photography degree—I was a photo lab tech—and I worked at the Camden County Library in periodicals. I even worked at Staples, which was fun.”

By 24, Mangold had saved up enough money to buy her first home. It was then, staring down the beams of a 19th century Victorian, that her gumption grew even more.

“I didn’t have YouTube tutorials. I had old home and garden handyman books that taught me how to change a faucet or fix something,” she remembered, nodding to the corner bookshelf where her handyman books still reside. “My uncle worked at a lumber yard—he helped me with trim and molding.”

At the same time that she was teaching herself how to renovate her New Jersey home, she was also working at the historic Trocadero Theatre in Philadelphia’s Chinatown, where she worked until she turned 30. While she loved working as a concert promotor and then later a booking agent, the early load-ins and late-night shows eventually became too much. The housing market in New Jersey was booming and Mangold took a chance and sold her house.

“The housing market got high—when balloon loans were everywhere and rates were low—and I sold my house for three times what I paid,” she said. “Then I flew to Spain and didn’t come back for two years. I lived in Turkey, spent a lot of time in Greece, went to Australia, Asia… India for a while because it was affordable and I could stay longer. I was saving money because I knew I’d have to come back eventually and I wanted to buy another house.”

And she did.

After flying to Austin, Texas, for a wedding, Mangold planted roots once again—working at the legendary Red 7 venue, popular for hosting rock, punk, and metal shows. She also purchased a condo, which she sold a few years later for enough money to buy her first 5,000-square-foot home in Rivermont—with enough money left over for renovations.

“I saw a house online—I think it was on Madison—and I was like, ‘Where is this place?’ I thought: Is this magical fairyland? I could buy two old houses for what I could sell my one house for. So I made a list of 10 houses, found a local realtor, and she showed me all of them. I chose the Rivermont house—the big white house—it had an apartment in the back and had been a rooming house. It was fun to renovate. I was still tiptoeing into color because I was accommodating guests. I rented downstairs as an Airbnb. I didn’t want an all-white Airbnb with the same horse picture everyone has. I wanted it to feel interesting—bright, funky—something you don’t live in every day.”

From there flowed a series of home purchases and renovations—some of which she held onto for a time as short-term rentals, and others she lived in or sold. All the while, Mangold was rolling up her sleeves, doing the work herself, and evolving her style even further.

“On Arlington [Street], I was taking out a vanity and the plumbing was corroded—it broke off and sprayed everywhere. I’m soaked, running into the basement, crawl space… water pouring everywhere—hardwood floors exposed,” she remembered, noting that the journey has been far from picture perfect, and that’s exactly how she’d prefer it. “Or when I moved here [to this house] the plumbing started leaking so I had to go in and fix it, patch the wall, put up a new ceiling… a week later, water’s dripping out of the vent. That stuff happens.”

Mangold doesn’t shy away from the uncomfortable. Rather, those messy moments are what make her story all the more interesting and all the more relatable. A small woman in stature, her lived experiences have made her a force of will and determination.

And it’s an interesting juxtaposition—the know-how to fix plumbing and patch the wall alongside of the person who can effortlessly style a room all while wearing vintage Doc Martens that have been meticulously preserved since the ‘80s.

Mangold’s life has never followed a straight line, and she has no interest in pretending it should have. The houses, the travel, the work—even the setbacks—have all been part of the same ongoing experiment: figuring out what feels honest, useful, and worth keeping.

In her Lynchburg home, there’s no performance—only layers of intention, curiosity, and care. It’s a place where old windows are left intact, mistakes are patched and repatched, and nothing is precious unless it’s personal.

For Mangold, that’s the point. Not perfection, not polish, just a life and a home that reflects exactly who she is, right now.