Newhouse is seeking a full-time Designer to join our growing team. We’re looking for someone with solid understanding of design principles (including typography and layout) and knowledgeable in areas of branding, motion design, UI/UX, and social media. The ideal candidate must also have serious chops on the production end
View the full design job hereAt this point, New York Fashion Week is basically just models and celebrities theatrically trying to one-up each other via expensive outfits. If you doubt this, come visit our office in Soho and people watch for a bit. But this fashion week cycle, it wasn't a model, a blogger or a celebrity that stole the show: it was a 2019 Lexus UX sporting a fresh set of custom tires designed in collaboration between Lexus, Nike and John Elliott.
The tires are inspired by the all-white Air Force 1s designed by Elliott, which released last year and can be seen in a couple of the photos below. Some of the shapes and patterns were taken directly from the Air Force 1's iconic sole design, which draws visual and functional parallels between car tires and sneaker soles. Sure, the tires are more of an art piece than a functional piece of design, but who cares? They're freakin' cool, and I would gladly get in a light fender bender driving with them.
In addition to the tires, Elliott had a few artists reinterpret his all white AF1s, including these puzzling-yet-intriguing sock-wrapped Air Force 1s created by LA-based artist Yung Jake:
So now I will propose a question I never thought I'd ask as part of a Core77 article: Cop or drop?
During my ambulance days, a State Trooper explained to me that K-rails were designed to keep cars stuck to them in the event of a collision (as opposed to ricocheting the car back into traffic, where they would cause mayhem). Have you ever heard this? I was never able to confirm it--no manufacturer makes such a claim--but if we look at the design of K-rails, the physics of their construction seems to back up the Trooper's assertion. However, I'm not convinced, especially after seeing the crash footage below.
First, let's look at a cross-section of a K-rail (also called a Jersey barrier):
The most obvious purpose of a K-rail is to prevent out-of-control cars from crossing over into oncoming traffic. However, the Trooper's explanation to me was that the angled portion on the bottom is designed to get the wheels of a colliding car up and off of the ground on the colliding side. Not enough to flip the car, but enough to transfer the weight of the car to the barrier, so that it would "stick" through friction. It chews up the car, but prevents it from bouncing back into traffic.
Here's footage of some yahoo in a speeding BMW losing control, then colliding with a K-rail:
During the initial collision the wheels certainly lift off the ground, and the car doesn't bounce back into traffic, but I can't say that it "sticks" to the rail for very long.
Looking again at the cross-section of the K-rail, it seems to me that the base is splayed simply for stability and weight.
In this second video, a speeding car in the oncoming lane slams into a K-rail at an oblique angle:
The geometry of this type of collision obviously precludes any kind of sticking whatsoever. But what's not in debate is that the K-rail does its job of preventing the car from crossing over. The angled sides launch the car upwards after impact, absorbing most of the energy of the crash.
Finally, here's another car slamming into a K-rail. The accident seems similar to the one above, except this one comes with a Cranberries soundtrack courtesy of the camera car's driver:
Protection from crossing over, yes, but no sticking possible.
Aformentioned State Trooper had seen a lot more accidents than me, though we never witnessed them in person, only seeing the aftermaths. Even still, I suspect the "sticking" thing was simply a folk tale passed around the station house, or maybe even the bar after work, and that it isn't quite true. While there is no known original designer we can interview (the K-rail was invented in the 1950s), my guess is that the K-rail's shape was devised for simple stability.
According to the Columbus Dispatch, a group of industrial design students at the Columbus College of Art & Design (CCAD) are working on "a multi-semester project to examine the impact of technology on mental health." As part of a related student-led CCAD initiative, all students were asked to avoid their smartphones and the internet for a single day, and write thoughts they would have posted to social media on a Post-It note instead.
This Unplugged Day was apparently easy for some, but not others:
"It's a hard test," junior advertising and graphic design major Amyia Chea said of steering clear of technology.
"It's hard because social media is important. It keeps me up-to-date, and I like to post stuff on it," said the 20-year-old from the Northeast Side.
Social media also is a bit of a necessity for art students, some CCAD students said Wednesday. Junior animation major Mackenzie Bigley tends to stray from social media, but she said she recently set a goal of being more active on Instagram to promote her art. She was perfectly OK taking a day to unplug.
"I have it for art reasons and that's it. I don't enjoy it," said the 20-year-old from Pittsburgh, adding, "It's definitely hard not to compare yourself to others."
"This makes a lot of sense, to sort of bring awareness about the negative effects of it," Bigley said of the exercise.
If you're an ID student at CCAD, please keep us posted on this ongoing project.
Missed the 2018 Core77 Conference, "Now What? Launching and Growing Your Creative Business?" No worries! We're rolling out videos of the morning speakers over the next week to fill you in.
Many designers follow a traditional design process, where final designs are sent to a factory after they've gone through the prototyping process. Jamie Wolfond and his brand Good Thing, however, choose to put an emphasis on specific materials and production methods at the beginning of the design process, working with factories, manufacturers and outside designers to bring unexpected twists on classic home items to life. In this talk, Jamie delves into this method of "backwards design," explaining how it works and how it fits within Good Thing's unique business model.
Watch more from the 2018 Core77 Conference:
Carly Ayres and Pedro Sanches of HAWRAF
Joseph Guerra and Sina Sohrab of Visibility Studio
Alexis Houssou of Hardware Club
Kyle Hoff and Alex O'Dell of Floyd
This week the MoMA opened The Value of Good Design, an exhibition that examines the titular subject by looking backwards to look forwards:
"Is there art in a broomstick? Yes, says Manhattan's Museum of Modern Art, if it is designed both for usefulness and good looks." This quote, from a 1953 Time magazine review of one of MoMA's mid-century Good Design exhibitions, gets to the heart of a question the Museum has been asking since its inception: What is good design and how can it enhance everyday life?
Featuring objects from domestic furnishings and appliances to ceramics, glass, electronics, transport design, sporting goods, toys, and graphics, The Value of Good Design explores the democratizing potential of design, beginning with MoMA's Good Design initiatives from the late 1930s through the 1950s, which championed well-designed, affordable contemporary products.
The exhibition also raises questions about what Good Design might mean today, and whether values from mid-century can be translated and redefined for a 21st-century audience. Visitors are invited to judge for themselves by trying out a few "good design" classics still in production, and exploring how, through its design stores, MoMA continues to incubate new products and ideas in an international marketplace.
The promotional video makes good use of archival footage:
The Value of Good Design runs until June 15th, 2019.
Freitag has been known for their sturdy bags made from truck tarps for the past 25 years, but today there's been a plot twist: the Zurich-based company announced that they'll be adding fabric made from recycled PET plastic bottles as their second main bag material.
The announcement comes in the form of the F610 CINNAMON, a multipurpose drawstring bag made from a combination of Freitag's signature truck tarps and a lightweight, softer textile made from the recycled PET bottles.
Thanks to the more flexible 100% recycled PET bottle textile, the small bag can expand to fit enough items for a day or potentially even weekend trip (depending on how often you like to shower, that is) while still maintaining Freitag's classic, rugged aesthetic. A handy pocket on the bag's front is the perfect size for storing your phone, keys and wallet—and it snaps shut with a large magnetic closure to keep valuables secure. The F610 CINNAMON can be worn either as a backpack or held in-hand with the two upright truck tarp straps. As always, each Freitag bag is unique because no two truck tarps are exactly the same.
The new bags were so popular that the first batch is already sold out online! But have no fear—there will be a second batch up for purchase in a few hours.
Brought to you by MAKO Design + Invent, North America's leading design firm for taking your product idea from a sketch on a napkin to store shelves. Download Mako's Invention Guide for free here.
Navigating the world of crowdfunding can be overwhelming, to put it lightly. Which projects are worth backing? Where's the filter to weed out the hundreds of useless smart devices? To make the process less frustrating, we scour the various online crowdfunding platforms to put together a weekly roundup of our favorite campaigns for your viewing (and spending!) pleasure. Go ahead, free your disposable income:
Peeqo is a small desktop robot that communicates through videos and GIFs that you can program yourself. Its only goal is to provide moments of joy and delight throughout your day, and I mean—look at that cute little face!
Holographic driving assistants are here! Are you ready? EyeDrive makes this scary concept a little more digestible with its easy-to-use display and motion control.
DualFuel is a portable pocket power bank that doubles as a flameless lighter. Bonus: it also works as an addictive fidget toy.
Re:ease is a compact, modular desk organizer that hides what needs to be hidden and displays what's needed in plain sight. We love that it even allows room for a small plant to bring a little extra joy to your workspace.
Do you need help designing, developing, patenting, manufacturing, and/or selling YOUR product idea? MAKO Design + Invent is a one-stop-shop specifically for inventors / startups / small businesses. Click HERE for a free confidential product consultation.
DroneDeploy makes software for drones that helps businesses manage complex job sites. Our software automates everything from flight to insight, allowing teams to survey large areas and make informed decisions quickly, safely, and accurately. We’re making drone data accessible and useful across all industries, improving site communications, planning, and operations.
View the full design job here"Hypermiling" is the practice of saving gas by driving conservatively. Practitioners accelerate slowly, coast wherever possible, and let physics do most of the braking for them. Ardent hypermilers can improve fuel economy by absurd amounts, wringing 62.7 mpg from a 25 mpg car, for example.
This gamification of fuel economy has led fanatics to create DIY aerodynamic modifications. Cardboard, plastic, bondo, duct tape and more are pressed into service:
I think these would actually make great Industrial Design student projects. Professors who believe in their students could offer up their own personal cars, and maybe save some gas money!
I love torque wrenches, because they let me ensure that dangerous parts like lawnmower blades are properly tightened. But what if you didn't need the torque wrench (which are pretty damned pricey) at all? A company called Stress Indicators Inc. has invented SmartBolts, which feature a red dot in the head when loose. Once the bolt is tightened to the proper torque, it turns black:
The technology is a boon to maintenance folks, manufacturers and heavy equipment operators, as they can tell, at a glance, whether a bolt is starting to work loose.
"The constant movement of the welding robot was causing the bolts to lose tension," writes an anonymous heavy equipment manufacturer, in a testimonial on the SmartBolts website. "So we decided to retrofit our robots with SmartBolts; now the maintenance technician can look over during welding and visually check that the bolts are secure. This has had a positive impact on improving our overall safety and manufacturing efficiency."
"We initially had some concern about using these more 'expensive' bolts," writes Yajie Wang, and Advanced Process Engineer at Cooper Standard Automotive, "but after several tests and trials showing their value in added safety, as well as less downtime and visual inspections – it was an easy decision to replace all our mold clamping bolts with SmartBolts. And the appreciation our operators have expressed is priceless!"
As for how it works, the company (unsurprisingly) explains it in broad strokes only:
You can check out pricing here.
Missed the 2018 Core77 Conference, "Now What? Launching and Growing Your Creative Business?" No worries! We're rolling out videos of the morning speakers over the next week to fill you in.
CEO of the new paint company Clare, Nicole Gibbons, figured out how to disrupt an entire industry with a combination of understanding her expertise and recognizing room for improvement within the paint industry. Here, she shares how she identified a market problem and created a system that fills a void in a crowded industry, while also making the experience of choosing paint for your home relatable, beautiful, and enjoyable:
Watch more from the 2018 Core77 Conference:
Carly Ayres and Pedro Sanches of HAWRAF
Joseph Guerra and Sina Sohrab of Visibility Studio
Alexis Houssou of Hardware Club
Kyle Hoff and Alex O'Dell of Floyd
Nothing drives me nuts like wasted product. When I finish a bag of potato chips, I up-end the bag and pour the powder at the bottom into my mouth. I "marry" my shampoo bottles. Back when I was cooking for myself, if I fried up a steak, the pan and the leftover juices were set aside to fry up the next morning's eggs.
But I can't get the last drop of toothpaste out of a tube.
Mechanical engineer Stephen Galante invented the following tool, which you've undoubtedly seen some earlier variant of, for the dental industry. Not for toothpaste, but for the tubes that tooth-bonding composites come in. It's as precious to the dentists as expensive paint is to poor artists. And what makes Galante's invention different from others is the gear-like wringers:
The Big Squeeze, as it's called, is now available to consumers and runs $40 a pop. If that sounds like a lot, I can almost guarantee I've thrown away at least that much toothpaste by not being able to extract it. For artists, chefs and mechanics working with more expensive tube-dispensed products, this thing is a no-brainer.
This rubber sleeve wraps tightly around smart hubs to transform hardware into homeware.
At the moment, technology is on the home, against the home, and fighting for your attention. In the future, tech hardware will blend in, perhaps using its exterior, physical surfaces for our benefit—instead of simply protecting its own internals.
To materialize this vision, I designed a flexible sleeve that wraps around both the Apple TV and Phillips Hue Bridge (two of the most popular smart home objects) to create a bowl. The top surface of the existing smart hardware remains exposed—collecting scratches with daily use. While the exterior plastic may degrade, it is sure to outlast its internals and soon-to-be obsolete software.
At 3M, we apply science in collaborative ways to improve lives. With $32 billion in sales, our 91,000 employees connect with customers all around the world. 3M has a long-standing reputation as a company committed to innovation. We provide the freedom to explore and encourage curiosity and
View the full design job hereHere's an innovative take on a rather humble object, the nail file. The original form factor gets you detained by the TSA. In contrast, this Japanese version is a short, innocuous cylinder with multiple filing functions:
We don't have a line-by-line translation available, but we can clearly see that it performs three functions (not sure why they're touting four): In the first image below, it rounds the nail. In the second image, it appears it cleans beneath the nail. And in the third image, one uses it like a regular file, with the abrasive-textured flat machined into the surface.
Small enough to fit any purse or pocket, the compact Nail File Cylinder's main innovative elements are the two circular files that allow you to work on broken nails in the same way you would work an old-school manual pencil sharpener. Add two more regular files on its sides and you have a mini toolbox capable of fixing everything from a hair-thin splinter to a full-on break. If you ever wished to have 24/7 access to your manicurist, now you can!
This being from Japan, where packaging is everything, it looks like you can choose to carry it in a ring box or a pouch:
The ring box stirs a thought: If they do away with the first function, perhaps they could produce wedding bands with the latter two functions. Perfect for married couples who enjoy manicures and DIY.
Plastic bags have this recycling symbol right on them…
…and yet we're not supposed to throw these scourges into the plastics recycling bin. And if you fill them with recyclable materials, like plastic bottles, and throw that into the recycling bin, guess what: The entire bag and its contents will end up in the trash rather than being recycled.
Why? In this short video, PBS demonstrates what happens to plastic bags when they go into the conventional recycling system:
Wielding a chainsaw can be tiring. Getting tired leads to accidents, so I call it quits as soon as I start to feel fatigued. That's a luxury I can afford because I'm harvesting firewood on a relaxed schedule, not performing silviculture for a living. I admire the professional arborist that can wield a chainsaw all day long.
For the arborist involved in thinning operations, Husqvarna has invented a special chainsaw to make things easier.
By breaking the tool up into its constituent components, the 535FBx "Backpack Chainsaw" distributes the machine's weight in an intelligent way while increasing reach and reducing operator fatigue:
Once the tank is empty, obviously the operator would need to wriggle out of the harness to refill it. So my suggestion: Add dual gas tanks to the helmet, like those baseball hats that hold beer. When the operator bits down on a tube, gas flows through another tube and into a machine. I know, I'm brilliant!
Packaging Graphic Designer Location: #1 - 160 Federal St. 12th Floor, Boston, Massachusetts 02110 Career Level: Mid-Level Pay Range: $60,000+ annually depending on qualifications and experience Education: Bachelor's Degree Who are we? Trader Joe's is your favorite
View the full design job hereSo it’s come to this: BILLY is joining the gig economy, and he’ll hold your books and whatever else you see fit until you upgrade to KALLAX or HEMNES, or you finally bring yourself to KonMari all your worldly possessions away.
IKEA recently announced that it is looking to launch a subscription model, in which customers effectively “lease” furniture and trade it back via credit system; depending on the condition, the Swedish behemoth will either refurbish or recycle the used items. Initially limited to the office market, the scheme conjures dainty visions of a low-rent WeWork, all LINNMON tabletops and ADILS legs, and maybe some TRÅDFI smart lightbulbs for good measure. If all goes well in Switzerland, where IKEA is reportedly piloting the service starting this month, you’ll soon be able to rent your kitchen — in Northern Europe, cabinets and appliances are regarded as movable furniture, which the occupant buys and takes with them — and maybe even your next NORDLI.
At first blush, it sounds like another case of the subscription model taking finer slices — or in IKEA's case, an EKTORP-sized chunk — of modern life, from the latest Drake album and The Great British Baking Show to weekly/monthly essentials like groceries or razor blades to seasonal frills like couture. As subscribables go, most articles of furniture fall somewhere between a pragmatic nice-to-have (but not to own) like a car, and an unglamorous necessity like underwear. The initiative not only gives new meaning to the phrase “part of the furniture” — as in piecemeal ownership — but it also just makes sense to shed the deadweight, transubstantiating anchor into ballast. On one hand we covet hygge; on the other hand, we live, work, and play in the cloud. The new model promises the best of both worlds: no longer the angst of “either/or” but the joy of “both/and.”
Moreover, given the rise of adjacent life-slicers like Airbnb and upstarts like Wayfair, at least a couple other startups offer the very same. In fact, IKEA’s foray into virtual ownership might also be likened to WeWork for another reason: The idea has existed for decades. Outlets like Rent-A-Center have long offered a rent-to-own financing model for “brand name” furniture, not to mention the countless vendors for office furniture rentals (the coffee machine in the kitchen of my workplace bears a barcode-sticker from one called “Office Essentials”).
Of course, there’s little basis for these comparisons (not least because details remain scant). None of those other companies comes close to processing 1% of the world’s lumber and cotton every year; nor do they have a catalog circulation that rivals the Bible, Koran, and Harry Potter. Yet even at thousands or millions of times the scale of any putative competitors, IKEA sees the same twofold upshot. First, as the consumer-facing proposition described above, tapping into a segment of the population who prefer to lease (or “share”) and not own, whether due to evolving taste, eco-consciousness, or simply because so many of us young people are so transient these days. Secondly — and more importantly — as a Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR, in business lingo) campaign, in keeping with the broader “People & Planet Positive” sustainability strategy it launched in 2012. As executive Torbjorn Loof told the Financial Times, IKEA is looking to “reduce its climate footprint by 15 per cent in absolute terms, which translated into a 70 per cent reduction per product by 2030 due to growth.” Victor Papanek would be proud.
A circular economy won’t come cheap — it’ll certainly be more change than you’ll find between your sofa cushions when you swap it for another one...
Which is all to the good, until you start to ponder the as-yet-TBD logistics of the whole enterprise. Does it include or entail delivery and/or installation, or was that in the PowerPoint slide about upselling white-glove concierge service as an additional revenue stream (here it’s worth noting that IKEA acquired Taskrabbit in 2017)? Will customers still be forced to subject themselves to chaotic parking lots and aggravating queues to rotate their POÄNGS, or will the distribution hubs be dedicated sites in up-and-coming industrial parks? Just how many pulverized, reconstituted FROSTAs does it actually take to make a brand new PAX? If pick-up and delivery are included, will subscriptions inspire a second-order “IKEA Effect,” a self-esteem-boosting pseudo-DIY microdose via monthly MALM? And how much would it cost per annum to subscribe to just the tiny wooden dowels and those vanishing pegs for mounting the shelves of said PAX — parts of the furniture, as it were? (To this last rhetorical question, the answer is that IKEA is also reportedly considering launching a replacement-parts service.)
But those are just the easy questions, the superficial ones; even if the Swiss live more austere lifestyles than Americans, those issues can ultimately be A/B-tested and focus-grouped away. The bigger picture has less to do with how we regard the domestic sphere — cloud-hygge— than with IKEA as a prism for how we consume stuff today.
The crucial difference between IKEA and the companies listed above (with the exception of Gillette, and maybe Netflix) is that it actually produces the things it will be leasing. The sui generis giant is a veritable case study on economies of scale and the positive feedback afforded by supply-chain savvy, from the trees to hex-wrench-wielding customers like you and me (or, if you prefer, a Taskrabbit).
As much as this globalized apparatus enables it to deliver on its promise of affordable quality — the original dream of modern design— the reality is that the products are often regarded as temporary, if not outright disposable. Keeping step with the relentless march of obsolescence, it’s a reputation that IKEA won’t shed any time soon, oft-derided as it is for statistically significant rates of user error and materials that are flimsier than jokes about them. (In fairness, I’ve found many IKEA products, from kitchen cabinets to my personal fave, the BEKVAM stepstool, to be sufficiently sturdy.)
In theory, it is precisely the nasty, brutish, and short lifecycle of such products that makes them prime candidates for the circular economy; one could argue, vis-à-vis Papanek, that the 21st-Century amendment to quaint visions of high-quality, mass-produced goods for everyone would be a circular, guilt-free approach to consumption — again, the best of both worlds. In practice, it seems absurd to amortize the cost of, say, a $13 side table over the duration of its average lifespan (“yours for less than a dollar a month!”) precisely because it’s so cheap and cheerful — less than the cost of a decent cocktail in Manhattan, or your Uber ride home from the bar. All else equal, it’s just plain simpler to toss that LACK when you’re done with it than to assume the opportunity cost of reselling (much less refurbishing) the damn thing.
This is the double-edged sword of a dominant multinational consumer-goods brand-cum-retailer operating at post-industrial, mass-market, high-volume/low-cost scale: IKEA’s superlatively value-engineered products are widely and cheaply acquirable, generally serviceable, guiltlessly disposed of. Insofar as BILLY is a minimum viable product designed for maximum marketable profit, IKEA is a krona-making machine; its margins neither razor-thin nor overstuffed but sufficiently plush, cleverly vacuum-packed yet still offering plenty of cushion for the bottom line. A circular economy won’t come cheap — it’ll certainly be more change than you’ll find between your sofa cushions when you swap it for another one — and it remains to be seen as to whether IKEA will eat its profit margins or try to squeeze the difference out of its customers. (Duly noted that IKEA also derives its success from questionable labor practices, complacency in consumer safety, and sketchy non-profit governance, but those are topics for another time.)
Circling around to the far side of the product lifecycle, it’s worth relating an ongoing crisis in the waste management industry (drowned out by various more strident headlines of late). As of last year, China — by far the world’s largest processor of post-consumer recycling — is no longer importing Western waste, effectively strangling the outflow of scrap paper and plastic from Stateside operators. It’s too complexly wicked an economic problem to summarize here (thankfully the likes of the New York Times and WallStreetJournal have done so), but the short version is that your local blue/green-bin hauler used to turn a profit by selling your Amazon boxes (properly broken down, please) and discarded clamshells to China, and now they’re probably paying for the privilege — or, more likely, quietly dumping it in landfills (at least until the robots come).
What does that have to do with IKEA taking back your MELLTORP, replacing a screw, and shunting it to the as-is section? Nothing, and everything: Besides a friendly reminder that the first R is “reduce,” it seems that even the greenest of intentions are beholden to the unforgiving logic of free-market economics.
Hence, a paradox: On one hand, only a company with IKEA’s heft, insulated as it is from the vagaries of market volatility, can meaningfully combat climate change, i.e. by bringing its prodigious efficiencies to bear on the problem. On the other hand, the calculus of a circular economy simply may never equal the unquantifiable — and frankly inconceivable — scale of what’s at stake. In its very thorough analysis of China’s “National Sword” policy (as the scrap stoppage is known), the Financial Times compares the annual gross tonnage of recycling worldwide to “the weight of 740 Empire State Buildings,” but I couldn’t tell you what that means in terms of impact per person, much less what I as an individual can do to help. (The easy answer would have been to properly clean and sort our recycling, but we literally missed the boat on that one.)
IKEA, for its part, publishes annual reports with sales and environmental impact figures; per the latest statistics [PDF], raw materials were by far the biggest contributor to its total greenhouse gas emissions at 38%, followed by a vague category called “Customer product use” at a notable 23% (also notable: the methodology isn’t provided). Perhaps even more surprising is the fact that “Customer transportation to stores” comes in next at 14%, slightly higher than “Production” (12%), and shockingly more than three other categories — “Goods transport,” “IKEA stores” and “Product’s end-of-life” — combined (4% each). The subscription model might chip away the beginning and end of the lifecycle, but it turns out that we, the end users, are responsible for nearly as much of the footprint.
Indeed, it’s business as usual on the Western front, climate science be damned. Sure, we shudder and quake at the latest special reports and assessments; we applaud the international accords and agreements (and more recently the Green New Deal); some of us even strive to be more conscientious about our consumption habits. The tragic irony is that the natural world — the backdrop of life long before furniture was invented — is not only literally “part of the furniture,” in the form of raw materials, but also that its destruction is equally part of the contemporary environment, in chair and air alike, and is all the more invisible for it (at least until the next superstorm/megafire/polar vortex cometh).
To that point, IKEA has co-opted the macro-trend of sustainability for several years now— whether you call it greenwashing or baby steps — and a recent sequel to its best-known TV spot duly captures the change of heart in a kind of #16yearchallenge. Where the original 2002 ad ended with a punchline equating new with better, the follow-up flips the script: “Many of you feel happy for this lamp. That's not crazy — reusing things is much better.” It’s certainly clever for the brand to acknowledge the second, third, and nth lives of its products; heirlooms they ain’t, but, having bought and sold many IKEA products over the years, I can attest to the demand for a secondhand SÖDERHAMN as well as the dubiousness of a cheap KLIPPAN on Craigslist (either way, they tend to depreciate faster than you can unpack them).
Conversely, if advertising presents one face of the company, it’s also worth looking beyond the CSR, PR, FSC, etc., to its actual growth strategy: where it’s placing big bets. As of last year, that happens to be India, where it opened its first store in August (just a month before “Lamp 2” aired in Canada); if Bloomberg’s Billy Bookcase Index is any indication, IKEA is right up there with Big Macs and Starbucks — indicators of purchasing power parity — as a bellwether for a solid middle class. As with China’s chokehold on recycling infrastructure, the move is equally symbolic and symptomatic of largely opaque socioeconomic and geopolitical forces. More tellingly, IKEA’s calculated gamble on India affirms that profit remains its number-one priority, with sustainability coming in second, third, or nth place — it’ll have to wait in line behind all of those giddy new customers, carts piled high with shiny new stuff.
Here in New York, a visit to the big yellow-and-blue box entails navigating a similar housewares maze but slightly different huddled masses, from college kids to three-generation families to young couples of every race, color and creed bickering about the decor of their first place together. If nothing else, IKEA assembles a truly diverse — perhaps even representative — constituency of shoppers: students, parents, hipsters, yuppies, immigrants, residents, liberals, conservatives, tired, poor, rich young old white black Hispanic Asian gay straight both neither all-of-the-above, all groping the upholstery and sucking down soft serve, all struggling with unwieldy flatbed carts with one wayward wheel, all spending more than they thought they would because what’s another 5-10-15 bucks, all losing themselves in the endless aisles and bins (or dare I say sunken place) of consumerism.
The real question, then, is this: How do you convince them — which is to say us — not only to recycle their things when they’re done with them, but also to reduce, reuse, and treat things better in general? Or more specifically, how do you incentivize them to pay a premium, a.k.a. a subscription fee, to cover BILLY’s pension plan and life insurance, when they have their own to worry about? After all, the vast majority of IKEA customers are looking for functional forms at the lowest possible pricepoint; nothing more, nothing less. Is it even possible for the budget-friendly Scandinavian titan to upsell sustainability as “part of the furniture” (to recycle the metaphor one last time — see what I did there)?
A cynic might respond that a more appropriate idiom would be “rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic” — to hell with Spaceship Earth, those TÄRNÖs are a bargain at $15 a pop. As Papanek, a notorious doomsayer himself, put it (writing about a packaging concept in Design for the Real World): “Much more than these Swedish experiments will have to be done to save us from product pollution.”
All told, the significance of the gesture — and that’s all it is for now — has little to do with aesthetics (Scandi-lite), quality (passable), or optics (what do you get when you mix blue and yellow?); rather, it’s the fact that IKEA, itself a product of the machinery of late capitalism, is drawing a line in the sand in order to turn back the tide of globalized consumerism. A Herculean task if not a Sisyphean one, this undertaking will require far greater investment than virtue signaling — it demands a wholesale transformation of IKEA’s entire business model, bending the linear logic of revenue growth back upon itself; not merely seeing the forest for the trees, but seeing the environment for the furniture; seeing the whole for its (ahem) parts.
To bring it full circle back to BILLY, he was “dreamed up in 1978” — seven years after the publication of Design for the Real World— “by an IKEA designer called Gillis Lundgren who sketched it on the back of a napkin, worried that he would forget it.” The 2017 account in BBC continues: “Now there are 60-odd million in the world, nearly one for every 100 people — not bad for a humble bookcase.”
From the consumer’s point of view, that’s either a lot of storage space or a lot of expendable junk; from IKEA’s perspective, that’s an impressive sales figure or a bumper crop of recyclable material. But to the extent that the latter dichotomy is not mutually exclusive — not “either/or” but “both/and” — we all share the responsibility for the things we consume.
If BILLY can do his part, so can you.
