So, under what direction are today’s White House gardeners operating? A space that’s party-proof, Mar-a-Lago-inspired, and—according to Trump himself—less treacherous for high-heeled women.

“Well, what’s happening is… that’s supposed to have events. Every event you have, it’s soaking wet, and the women with the high heels—it’s just too much,” Trump told Fox’s Laura Ingraham during a March White House tour. The roses, he clarified, would stay. The grass? Gone. In its place: “Gorgeous stone.”

Aside from these anecdotes, the White House has offered no formal press release or public briefing on the Rose Garden renovations. Instead, the window into the transformation has come via photo wires, which have documented the garden’s gradual—and often curious—metamorphosis. On June 11, a bulldozer appeared on the lawn. By June 21, gravel had been poured into deep trenches. A week later, on July 15, the garden was a scene of blue tarps, makeshift umbrellas, and orange-vested workers hauling what appeared to be concrete slabs. By July 23, the lawn had vanished entirely, replaced by stone tiles laid in a diamond pattern.

June 11, 2025Photo: Getty Images

July 01, 2025Photo: Getty Images

July 15, 2025Photo: Getty Images

July 23, 2025Photo: Getty Images

The redesign, overseen by the National Park Service and funded by the Trust for the National Mall, is said to reimagine the garden in the image of Trump’s favored patio at Mar-a-Lago—where, per The New York Times, the former president “spends hours of his evenings… holding an iPad, controlling the playlist and blasting Luciano Pavarotti and James Brown at earsplitting volumes.”

Over the decades, the lawn has borne witness to history, both monumental and intimate. It’s where Tricia Nixon was married on a sunny June afternoon in 1971. And in 1994, Hussein I of Jordan shook hands with Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin to signal peace between Israel and Jordan, as brokered by Bill Clinton.

Each administration has left its mark, though mostly with a light hand. Reagan swapped roses. George H.W. Bush added paving for accessibility. The Obamas installed a kitchen garden nearby. And in 2020, First Lady Melania Trump oversaw a significant redesign—replacing the colorful cherry trees and tulip beds with a more muted, symmetrical layout that, supporters argued, brought the garden closer to Mellon’s original vision. Critics, meanwhile, lamented the bleached effect.

But this year’s transformation? It marks the most dramatic departure yet. In short: they paved paradise and put up a patio. The newly tiled Rose Garden is just one of many sweeping aesthetic changes Trump has made to align the White House with his signature taste—an opulent blend of Mar-a-Lago grandeur and Trump Tower gloss. Out went the restrained décor of previous administrations; in came gilt cherubs, Rococo mirrors, and medallions gleaming with theatrical flair. He’s even embraced a salon-style approach to hanging portraits, layering walls with bold imagery—including the framed New York Post cover of his own mugshot on proud display. “We handle it with great love,” Trump told Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney during a March visit, “and 24-karat gold. That always helps, too.”