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I like to show a sincere design process, complete with failures, thoughts, and difficulties—not just in designing things, but also in approaching clients, manufacturers, and the designer’s life in general.

I’m sharing what it means to live outside the main design hubs and how I approach my job to achieve results that are relevant not only locally but globally.

I will tell you about things I like and why I like them.

I will show what’s happening during my days and share what people usually don’t see on social media.

The post The journal is now on Substack appeared first on Mario Alessiani.

If you’re reading this, you’re probably entrenched in the world of design. If not, that’s even better, because today, I’m delving into a somewhat niche but profoundly significant topic: the SuperNormal.

I think it is not taken seriously enough, but I don’t mean to imply a lack of respect within the design community. It’s more about the fact that the SuperNormal concept hasn’t been officially recognized as a distinct movement. Perhaps it’s too recent for such categorization, but in my view, it’s high time we acknowledge its significance.

In our fast-paced era, events often appear as a continuous blur, making it challenging to step back and grasp their significance. I can understand why we might need time to truly define it, but this concept started germinating nearly two decades ago and is still evolving. In fact, it’s more impactful now than ever, which might also be why it’s on the brink of an intellectual battle.

The roots of the SuperNormal concept trace back to a moment of disillusionment experienced by Naoto Fukasawa. During the Milan fair, he observed people sitting on his new stool for Magis, called Déjà Vu, as if it were an ordinary service stool, missing its deeper design essence. His colleague, Jasper Morrison, however, saw the exceptional nature of this reaction. For those who comfortably used it without a second thought, the stool had achieved its true purpose. It was a SuperNormal product.

This realization gave birth to the “Super Normal” exhibition in 2006 in Tokyo. Morrison described it as a collection of objects that are “more discrete type, and mostly, though not inevitably, anonymously designed, outperform their counterparts with ease when it comes to long-term everyday use.”

The museum showcased objects that are now considered normal, but at their core, they had a subtle yet profound impact on people’s lives. These designs were not standard; they had a deeper, less conspicuous essence that later became the norm. Each object had that extra touch, albeit discreetly.

Understanding how we arrived here and why I believe SuperNormal can’t be a rigid doctrine is vital.

Jasper Morrison’s journey into this extreme functionalism, colored by minimalism, was, in part, a reaction to the flamboyant and less functional Memphis movement. He shifted his focus toward an idea-based approach over poetic expression.

However, it’s crucial not to view Morrison’s work as mere rational functionalism, where form strictly follows function. To truly comprehend it, we need to backtrack in his career.

A pivotal phase in his evolution as a designer involved modifying the functions of existing objects. Tables made from plant pots or bike handlebars might have seemed like a necessity back then, but he saw functions in those shapes that others missed. When he transitioned to crafting new shapes, this experience naturally informed his approach, like his knob inspired by light bulbs.

What Morrison does with shapes is incredibly nuanced. I recall a story about him altering a table’s height by just one centimeter, and the entire perception of the table changed. Unfortunately, this approach is often misconstrued, leading to poorly executed imitations where the emphasis on function and simplicity lacks proportion and functionality.

So, when I say “fight the SuperNormal,” it’s a call for more profound contemplation. Emulate Morrison’s deep thinking. Chart your path without merely retracing established territories, because often, we follow rules without understanding why, falling into the trap of fragile design theories.

Morrison is not the only designer deserving of this deep understanding. In my next chapter (I don’t know when), I’ll explore Naoto Fukasawa’s perspective on SuperNormal, delving even deeper into this intriguing realm.

Visit the Journal page for more.

The post Understanding the SuperNormal appeared first on Mario Alessiani.

Have you ever noticed that when someone evaluates your design, they seem to enter a “design critique mode” and inevitably offer comments on what they observe at that moment? The comments often include phrases like: 

“It’s not comfortable.” “It provides good lighting.” “It’s heavy.” …and so on.

This phenomenon occurs during events like fairs, exhibitions, product reviews, pitches, or any situation where someone has designed something that needs to be critiqued. Does the same behavior occur to objects when you visit your local bar or go to your nearest laundry? Almost never.

When we encounter something new, we tend to adopt an attitude that encourages us to explore and understand it. Because someone seeks our opinion, we suddenly feel like experts, compelled to say something even if we know little about the subject. If we can’t find anything specific to say, we resort to using generic criteria that we can understand at that moment.

For instance, we might comment on the comfort of a chair or the aesthetic appeal of a painting without delving into the context.

But why don’t we apply the same approach when we navigate our everyday lives?

The answer likely lies in our habits and our tendency to take certain situations for granted. The harsh fluorescent lighting in an office that strains our eyes and dampens our mood, the uncomfortable chairs at the local kebab shop, or the potholes in the street—these issues become routine, and over time, we become accustomed to them, accepting them as part of life.

Because we’ve grown accustomed to them, these issues often go unnoticed, which can be both a joy and a pain for designers. On one hand, discovering these overlooked problems when no one else does can be a wellspring of inspiration for a designer.

I’m one of those who have accepted these situations, but it’s precisely the kind of challenge a designer can tackle.

This attitude is not limited to individuals; it can also be observed in some companies. How many times have you heard the phrase, “We’ve always done it this way”? When something is functional, it’s challenging to envision how it could be improved, especially if it’s been done the same way for years.

In the realm of product design, which is often tied to established standards, breaking from the norm presents significant challenges. A table has four legs, a bookshelf consists of planes, and there are numerical rules governing design. Changing the game confronts two main obstacles: convincing a company to alter a function or construction and persuading users to change their habits.

Attempting to change habits and not taking anything for granted can be both inspiring and revolutionary. In the world of gift accessories, it’s easier to explore this concept because people are open to playful experimentation. However, for more serious matters, innovation that challenges established habits remains a formidable task.

A valuable exercise is to approach tasks as if no function has ever been explored before. I experimented with this concept while making a hammer, not because it was commissioned but out of personal curiosity. I placed myself in a primitive situation where I needed to drive a nail using whatever was at hand. At that time, I was working extensively with metal tubes, so I used one as my tool. I’m not suggesting that this is the definitive solution for designing a hammer, but it certainly differs from the conventional stick-and-heavy-head design. This trial might yield a solution, inspire a new approach, or turn out to be impractical, but it represents a new chapter in the narrative of the design world.

It’s akin to designing without instructions, and in some cases, it can spark the right inspiration for achieving a small but meaningful innovation.

For more articles surf the Journal section.

The post Breaking the Habits appeared first on Mario Alessiani.

It was the late year of 2008 when Vitra introduced the Vegetal chair, a creation by the Bouroullec brothers. The project had its inception in 2005 as a mere sketch, taking three long years to come to fruition. What intrigued me the most wasn’t just the chair itself as an object, but rather the process that birthed it. At the time, it was a game-changer: inspired by the growth of trees, it aimed to resemble roots emerging from the ground, eventually forming a seat. Nowadays, you can find numerous products following this approach, but back then, it seemed like an impossible feat (in fact, the imitations are far from capturing its distinctive shape and comfort). When they initially conceived it, producing the result seemed unattainable. While 90% of designers and brands might have thrown in the towel, they persisted. It’s fascinating to observe the entire development online and witness how the concept evolved, all while preserving its original essence. A true work of art—the process itself.

The troubling game some individuals are currently playing involves sending soulless briefs to random designers, hoping to garner free ideas for potential development. This practice is undermining the traditional approach that led to the creation of such masterpieces. The real advantage of witnessing a renowned designer collaborate with a prominent brand is that they formulate a well-defined brief and invest time and resources to achieve it. It isn’t simply a matter of “I like it – I don’t like it” based on a few renderings within a compressed PDF.

Two primary factors have contributed to this situation. First, designers often feel the need to produce a multitude of pieces, potentially sacrificing the depth of their concepts and research in the pursuit of quantity. Second, and equally significant, companies harbor the misguided notion that they can casually scan their surroundings to identify trending items that can be mass-marketed, all thanks to the right choice of color, an appealing shape, and a strategic marketing plan.

It may sound somewhat oversimplified, but this encapsulates what occurred when designers began approaching companies via email, proposing collaborations founded on a “show me something, and then we’ll decide” mentality. This represents a flawed evolution of a prior approach that had fostered success for both companies and designers. However, several critical distinctions render this new approach vulnerable.

More or less until 2008 (yes, it still feels like yesterday, but it was a considerable while ago), the primary means of discovering emerging designs was by encountering them at fairs or festivals, such as the Design Week in Milan. One of the prime spots was the Salone Satellite, where you could showcase your finest work and where company owners and design directors perused the stands in search of intriguing talents.

Back in 2011, I was employed at Jake Phipps Design Studio in London. I distinctly recall Jake recounting the story of his Salone Satellite exhibition. At the time, he was producing and selling his products. However, after the exhibition, he attracted the attention of prominent design companies interested in producing his collection. First came Cappellini, who wanted to produce his entire collection. Subsequently, he established collaborations with other renowned brands that approached him, including Innermost, Riva1920, Gebrüder Thonet Vienna, and others. Thus, his career was launched through a single event.

This practice of scouting for talent in the world of design still exists, albeit in a different form—via email. These companies are inundated with emails from designers seeking collaborations and offering free pitches. However, what happens next? A prototype carries significantly more weight as it represents an advanced stage of design. It effectively demonstrates whether something works, revealing proportions, functionality, and allowing the designer to explain their creation confidently, having invested substantial effort into it. When you merely send a free PDF, it lacks real value for a brand until it evolves into something more advanced.

This situation perpetuates a cause-and-effect cycle detrimental to all parties involved, both designers (compromising on quality while pursuing quantity) and companies (losing sight of the true value in curating design pieces). Consequently, taking risks is discouraged from the outset of a project evaluation.

Italian and European companies excelled in the past due to their commitment to innovation, which inherently entails a willingness to take risks. You cannot achieve something new by adhering solely to what has been done before.

Remarkably, we still have great companies collaborating with exceptional designers, although it is no longer the prevailing norm. Consider the case of a product category currently experiencing a notably stagnant period: sofas. They all seem indistinguishable, lacking distinct concepts beyond “rounded shapes” and “comfort,” the sort of statements marketing offices make when they have little else to say.

I won’t delve into Stefan Diez again (my admiration is palpable), but I would like to mention @Philippe Malouin and his creation for De Sede, aptly named DS-707. The design is truly exceptional, seemingly originating from an entirely novel perspective, as if Malouin had never encountered a sofa before. It presents a wholly new approach to shaping upholstery within this category.

Imagine pitching this concept to a medium-sized company, with the design director doubling as the PR manager, hastily crafting CAD designs over the weekend and socializing at the company owner’s house during their days off. Their response might have been something along the lines of, “It doesn’t even resemble a sofa to me. People won’t understand it, I’m sorry. Please return with something else after the summer break. We really like ‘Another Company’s’ sofa; can you create something similar?” However, De Sede and Philippe Malouin both have unique stories. Marrying these two narratives has sparked a conversation that has yielded a masterpiece.

I can’t ascertain whether this design collection is selling exceptionally well or not, but it’s a risk worth taking. Alberto Alessi once conveyed that companies pushing the boundaries between the possible and the impossible are the true innovators. I wholeheartedly concur.

Next time I will probably talk about a very difficult topic: breaking userser habits through design. Support needed! Please share, comment and all suggestions are more than welcome!

The post When Companies Take Risks appeared first on Mario Alessiani.

Yes, because when it comes to your coffee table, opting for the finest option, such as a box crafted from phenolic ash plywood, might trigger the thought, “Perhaps a designer isn’t needed for such a straightforward task.” Yet, this notion is far from accurate. The mere consideration that provokes such a conclusion is sufficient to justify payment for the work.

The challenge then lies in creating something too easy to replicate. In doing so, you might discover your creation everywhere, possibly because someone else already conceived the idea. Furthermore, unethical companies might flood the market with replicas. Complicating matters, intellectual property safeguards might not apply due to the perceived simplicity of the design.

Is there a solution? Yes.

Let me clarify that this isn’t a tutorial on becoming a proficient designer. Instead, it’s a contemplation of potential solutions from my perspective. Imagine us sitting together on a Friday evening at a pub, engaged in a design conversation. Here’s what I’d share, though my viewpoint might evolve after the second beer. I firmly believe that open discussions and considering diverse viewpoints are the way forward. If you have insights to complement or counter my reasoning, feel free to share them in the comments or through private messages.

Why do I emphasize this? Because I consider design an art, not a rigid science. There are no set rules.

So, let’s embark on this journey.

Growing up as a designer under the influence of figures like Mari, Morrison, and Castiglioni, I naturally derive immense satisfaction from observing well-executed minimalistic designs. No extravagant shapes, reasonable pricing, and natural materials – these are my guiding principles.

Excellent.

These principles undoubtedly hold their ground and are relevant to various objects, especially those that design hasn’t fully explored or those that are entirely novel. However, can we strictly adhere to these principles for established objects like furniture, lamps, automobiles, and tech products? The answer isn’t straightforward. It often depends on the specific case, but generally, I lean towards diversifying our approach.

During my student days, some peers suggested I should transition to design engineering due to my hyper-rational approach to design. I wouldn’t incorporate decorative elements or unnecessary curves unless they served a functional purpose, cost reduction, or another rational motive. This mindset echoes an engineering perspective. My inclination stemmed from a simple fact: no one had explained to me the underlying reasons driving the creation of new shapes in design.

Enrolling in a design school inherently implies engaging in novel, innovative forms from the outset. It’s akin to attending culinary school with the tacit understanding that the dishes we create should not only taste good but also be nutritionally sound. However, the realm of design isn’t as straightforward; we aren’t culturally preconditioned to grasp the significance of shaping our surroundings for both function and emotion.

Historically, decoration or the use of sinuous forms often served to mask manufacturing imperfections. Consider the bathroom sink, for instance. Back in the ’90s, it was common for sinks to be large, rounded, and bold. This design approach emerged because the ceramic basin tended to warp during the firing process, similar to a deflated sponge cake. To counter this, expansive rounded shapes were employed to minimize deformation and reduce production waste.

The pivotal moment arrived with the Acquagrande collection by designers Roberto Palomba and Giulio Cappellini for Ceramica Flaminia in 1997. They ventured into straight lines, compelling the company to innovate and engineer a new shape. This wasn’t just a box; it carried meaning. It symbolized technological progress and uncharted avenues in design. While this shape is now commonplace due to its success, it was a turning point then.

Does it still warrant replication today? No. It’s been done, established, and doesn’t necessitate imitation devoid of added value.

Now, the crux of the issue is that we’re taught to perceive this as a starting point, whereas reality dictates that mastering such simplicity requires exceptional skill.

Picasso, for instance, ventured into Cubism (technically “easier”) after honing classical painting skills to a point where he needed to explore new avenues to express himself fully. The reverse approach, initiating with Cubism and then attempting to paint conventionally, is inherently flawed.

Understanding why historical designs were heavily ornamented can shed light on the evolution toward minimalism. This comprehension leads to an informed choice between the two approaches (not necessarily mutually exclusive).

Design is not just a business; it’s steeped in culture. Hence, it’s imperative to respect and apply it judiciously to prevent mediocrity.

Thomas Heatherwick, an eminent designer-turned-architect, presents a captivating video titled The Case for Radically Human Buildings.

[This is a pertinent resource, though I apologize for frequently relying on architectural examples; unfortunately, designers rarely delve into such discussions online.]

Embracing minimalism in a superficial manner stands as our contemporary crisis, as Heatherwick points out, lacking a pivotal element: emotion, the ability of structures to resonate with us. Applying minimalism simplistically yields designs devoid of meaning in our era. Everything appears homogeneous, and the design community may commend a skillfully rendered cylindrical vase, but consumer interest remains low.

Minimalism, when wielded appropriately, possesses profound significance and can be a potent tool. Otherwise, it succumbs to tedium.

Could the Acquagrande have sported faceted facets instead of a plain façade? Not likely. It represented progress and exploration, necessitating simplicity to convey its message powerfully. Multiple surfaces would have diluted its impact.

Thus, simple forms must possess meaning; otherwise, they are simply simplistic. This isn’t just about manufacturing efficiency; it can also encompass emotions without a tangible production rationale. A case in point is Nendo‘s Deepsea for Glass Italia. Comprising multiple layers of glass, it imparts the illusion of darkening, though it’s merely an optical effect.

No curves, just plain rectangular surfaces. Why? The focus is on color, not form. This exemplifies meaningful minimalism with uncomplicated shapes. There’s a tangible concept behind it, and expressing this concept in such a straightforward manner is a testament to sensitivity and the capacity to convey ideas without distraction.

I view minimalism as a destination, attainable once one comprehends function, decoration, and emotion. This is why I share my musings here – to refine my thoughts and chart a creative trajectory.

This is my perspective, and I’m eager to hear yours. Please, share your thoughts!

In my next piece, I’ll delve into pioneering design firms that dare to take risks.

The post The drama: from simple to simplistic appeared first on Mario Alessiani.

While scrolling through these videos, I chanced upon an emerging trend: individuals documenting recipe failures. Particularly among the younger crowd, they showcase their journey towards mastering their dream recipes (think of fluffy pizzas for example), displaying every attempt. Success and failure intermingle in their narratives. A prime example is Alex, aka French Guy Cooking, who operates from his basement. His unscripted space is a canvas for experimenting with diverse recipes, often inspired by renowned chefs. Alex embodies the spirit of a learner, sharing his growth in each video, such as his quest to perfect a 3 Michelin-star mashed potato.

After numerous trials, he eventually arrives at solutions, even amid moments of contemplating surrender when ideas run dry. 

I hold a deep appreciation for this mindset, drawing parallels to the tenacity found in sports. The ethos of trying, training, and persisting until triumph emerges. 

Where does this ethos seem absent? The design community. 

Now, don’t misconstrue my words as sweeping judgments, but there’s an aura of invincibility surrounding designers that feels somewhat contrived. It’s reminiscent of self-defense, a domain where vigilance reigns, and the design solution solely rests in one’s hands, a world-saving tool. This disposition appears particularly pronounced in the Italian design circuit: “fake it until you make it.” Often, you’re overlooked until reaching a certain stature, and opportunities are scarce. Thus, when a chance surfaces, there’s a tendency to seize it, projecting an air of stardom or mastery, whether earned or not. 

But guess what? Failure is the indispensable gateway to success. [applause]

It might sound trite out of context, yet the concept of failure, seen as a milestone on the path to mastery, merits contemplation. 

I recall being 15 years old when I embarked on guitar playing. Armed with an inexpensive guitar, I diligently plucked individual notes. It’s a straightforward process: place a finger on a string with your left hand and pluck it with your right to elicit a sound. During early attempts, the string might remain silent. When learning a musical instrument, even a faint sound marks progress, though it’s deemed a failure at playing the guitar. No worries; moments later, you’re back at it, refining until mastery is achieved. This regimen continues daily until you can strum enough chords to reign over campfire sing-alongs. 

Design follows a similar pattern. The key distinction lies in the interval between the first and second attempt—far longer than three seconds. To evaluate success or failure and secure results, more time is necessary. Unfortunately, extended timelines hinder immediate gratification. Adding to the complexity, design lacks a standardized yardstick for assessing success.

Consider an Olympic athlete who invests four years to sprint for mere seconds. Progress is quantifiable—measured in seconds. Design, however, defies such a quantification, making it challenging to discern optimal results. The harsh truth is, the market serves as the ultimate tester. Convincing a brand to invest in your design initiates a trial where people’s judgments dictate success or failure. 

So what’s failure when it comes to designing things? I think it doesn’t exist in definition.

Failure becomes a catalyst within the design process, even if you nail it on your first attempt. Experimenting with alternative solutions, even when you’re confident in your direction, serves as a litmus test for your choices. The only way to authenticate your design’s efficacy is through testing. Even when shaping an object, you create dozens to decipher what aligns best with your objectives. 

If you’re an adept designer reading this, you’re likely nodding in agreement. Your actions reflect this methodology. But why does this commitment often go unnoticed? 

The discrepancy arises because those tasked with communicating designers’ work often lack insight into the design process. Picture a communication or marketing representative from a design firm asked to spotlight the culmination of a two-year project—you’ll likely witness a video featuring a designer sketching on random paper, observing an artisan sanding wood, all bathed in gentle backlight accompanied by tranquil free music from Bensound. 

This charade ensnares many of us, until we gather enough clout to assert our perspective and control the narrative surrounding our work. Some individuals do exhibit the painstaking effort invested in their creations and earn due recognition. Stefan Diez stands as a prime example—his dedication and decisiveness shine through in his work, unequivocally benefiting each project. 

So, what’s the solution? 

Surprisingly, nothing revolutionary. Let’s collaboratively champion transparency within the design field to truly convey the arduous process. 

Today marks the commemoration of the 39th rejection for a project initiated in 2015. Revisiting it in 2020 to refine, and after crafting 20 prototypes by early 2023, I finally possess something worthy of sharing with potential partners and editors. I’m cognizant that finding a suitable collaborator for this distinctive venture won’t be facile. Yet, akin to matters of the heart, my confidence persists. 

The post To train to fail is the only way. appeared first on Mario Alessiani.

A few months ago, I wrote an article for CieloTerra where I recounted the story of the Cesca chair (Knoll), also known as S64 (produced by Thonet GmbH), and the controversy surrounding its authorship between Stam and Breuer. According to Breuer’s account, he drew inspiration from a stool he created using folded tubes, whereas Stam seemingly took inspiration from the car seat of a Tantra T-12.

Beyond the debate over the actual authorship of this design, what fascinates me is how a designer can take new technology and reinterpret it to create something entirely new.

I believe chairs are the perfect product category to explore this topic since, as mentioned earlier, it’s often perceived that “everything has been done.” Nevertheless, innovation in chairs still occurs, and technology plays a crucial role in driving these developments, with style being a natural consequence.

By taking a technology and applying it to a different context, designers can create innovations in various products. Let’s examine some examples where a fresh perspective on technology has led to the creation of functional products with unique aesthetics.

A prime instance of blending ideas and function is the work of Zieta Studio. Once a design studio, it has now evolved into a brand that creates a diverse range of products based on the same technology. Some years ago, the designer oskar zieta embarked on a new challenge: creating inflatable metal furniture. He needed to combine two different innovations – first, adapting inflatable technology (usually used with plastic) to metal, and second, giving shape and function to this technology.

It appears that Zieta succeeded, as the product remains highly successful, with his brand thriving. He has even introduced new products like the Ultraleggera (which can be compared to Gio Ponti’s Superleggera). Notably, around the same time, another designer, Moran Barmaper, also explored inflatable metal furniture. While I don’t know who was first, this offers an excellent opportunity to compare the products of these two designers and try to understand why Zieta’s work gained more success.

The Barmaper stool feels somewhat incomplete, like a halfway point. Although she successfully inflated the seat, the decision to attach wooden legs on top makes the product less daring, leaving the innovation process only 50% complete. On the other hand, Zieta’s stool is entirely made of this new technology, and its shape perfectly complements the inflation process, showcasing a well-thought-out profile that assumes a specific form when blown.

Another design that piques my interest is the Pressed Chair by w Harry Thaler which happens to be one of my all-time favorites. Despite being well-marketed, I believe it hasn’t received the attention it deserves from critics. Thaler had a brilliant idea a few years ago: using a metal sheet and stamping it with a metal tube between the sheet and the press.

It seems to be a brilliant fusion of understanding the technology and the need to eliminate molds. With the tube, the production start-up costs are reduced, which was crucial for an emerging designer conducting independent research. The result is astonishing – an upside-down chair, where the structural part appears removed instead of added.

The intriguing aspect of this design is that, upon closer examination, it’s essentially a simple chair archetype interpreted through this innovative technology. The approach is successful because it could have easily resulted in a strange shape that might never have been produced. Instead, it establishes a connection with the user’s subconscious, allowing them to recognize the archetype while accepting the new aesthetic.

Interestingly, the chair itself is more famous than its designer, overshadowing Thaler’s other works that didn’t make as significant an impact in the design world. But that is a topic for another discussion, which I might explore in the future.

These examples greatly stimulate me as a designer. As a professional, I understand that such brilliant ideas may come only once in a lifetime (although I hope that’s not the case for you). Most of these breakthroughs occurred in the early stages of these designers’ careers when they decided to invest in or dedicate their lives to these ideas – something not everyone can do. Nonetheless, with practice, creativity can be stimulated. I encourage you to try this exercise: choose a particular technology and design a small accessory that seemingly has no connection to that technology (and then attempt to prototype it). The results might be strange initially, but through practice and time, you will witness your ideas becoming more realistic.

Once, just for fun, I designed a bottle opener as a Christmas gift for my clients and friends. It involved metal turning on a hexagonal rod. Here’s a picture of it:

The post When the story repeats appeared first on Mario Alessiani.

This quote from Ferruccio Modica resonates with me even today, years after our conversation at the Arper stand where he was still the product developer.

I vividly recall that moment when I proudly showcased a chair I had designed without the use of any mold. It was a challenging endeavor as I had to create a soft backrest for a metal chair, devising a meticulous process to bring it to life. However, Ferruccio’s remark left me frozen, forcing me into a period of deep reflection.

Truly, the best teachers are those who leave a lasting impact. While he may not recall that specific instance, it became a turning point for me.

Early in my career, I focused on finding optimal solutions to create visually appealing and high-quality projects while utilizing minimal resources. This approach was highly appreciated by my clients, as saving money during production is always a desirable goal. However, I soon discovered that for some clients, venturing into new product lines did not align with their investment strategies.

The outcome?

Consider this scenario: You invest €50,000 in a mold, along with additional expenses for technical development, art direction, photography, advertising, and distribution for a new product. You put immense effort into promoting it, striving to recover your investment and generate profits. However, when you have a product that can be crafted from metal through laser cutting and a few foldings, the cost involved is significantly lower, and the risk becomes minimal. In such cases, without a clear vision and firm ideas, the potential loss from a failed product attempt may merely amount to €200—a day’s worth of work.

While this approach may not be suitable for everyone, it became my reality approximately 70% of the time.

Though it may seem counterintuitive, this approach can be viewed as a creative training ground, benefiting both designers and companies. Working with simple and limited tools, especially during the formative years of a designer’s career, proves to be incredibly valuable. There is no better design gym than a restricted budget and standard machinery.

Let’s distill this concept into three key reasons:

– Achievement in function: when limited by specific machines or tools, your creative workspace contracts, leading to unexpected and innovative solutions. Take, for example, this bottle opener I designed (which never went into production) using metal turning and an industrial metal profile.

– Uncovering unexpected shapes: by focusing on desired outcomes and transforming our perception of materials, we can achieve unforeseen shapes. For instance, when designing the Blossom suspension lamp (bogaerts) , I sought to imbue it with an organic feel, despite having only padded metal silhouettes at my disposal. Yet, I discovered a way to arrange them that allowed people to perceive the flower-like construction.

– Rapid prototyping: Designing products made of plastic often entails a lengthy two-year process before seeing the final result. Conversely, working with companies like Hiro – Your Design Side, which employ standardized and swift tooling, enables me to witness a prototype in an instant.

So, can we definitively say that a company’s lack of investment in a mold signifies a lack of belief in the project? It is difficult to make a sweeping generalization. Instead, it is better to acknowledge that each case must be evaluated individually.

Nonetheless, embracing this approach serves as an excellent starting point for both companies and designers.

For new brands with innovative ideas, a lower investment in product production allows for greater focus on development, promotion, and distribution. It also establishes a unique identity. Take, for instance, the company like FOLDS, whose viral online sensation was a chair that oscillates while you sit on it, created from a simple metal sheet with the right thickness and dimensions to function effectively.

Moreover, designers can showcase their value by persuading companies to include cost-effective products in their catalogs, establishing an initial connection that can lead to more significant projects in the future. From a creative standpoint, this approach also allows for mastering various situations. Playing within established rules is an excellent exercise for improvement and skill enhancement. Francisco Jodàn from Fun Furniture for Friends once said, “When I draw, I typically start by setting a series of stakes that create boundaries but also amuse me. For instance, creating a collection of objects using the same metal tube and curve radius. Once I establish the rules of the game, I begin manufacturing, leaving room for unexpected events and mistakes.”

Radiohead achieved numerous big hits in their early career using standard rock music instruments like vocals, guitars, bass, and drums. Only after reaching the pinnacle of success did they explore new sounds and instruments to push their creative boundaries.

Undoubtedly, limitations are a valuable asset in design. They serve as an excellent starting point for mastering skills and refining approaches before unleashing the mind with unlimited or expanded resources.

Any experience with good design with few tools? Share in the comments and let me know your story!

The post Limitations as a plus appeared first on Mario Alessiani.

The reality is that it has sold half a million pieces (500,000). You may not personally like it, but Mr. Alessi saw something in that product.

We tend to judge projects based on our past experiences. If it aligns with our ideas about design, it’s okay; otherwise, we dismiss it as terrible.

Indeed, it’s impossible for everything to appeal to us or match our taste. However, as design professionals, we need to recognize great ideas and talented creatives, even if this is more related to the company they work for. When purchasing something for ourselves, it’s fine to judge based on our taste. But when deciding if something can work or not, we must be prepared to change our criteria.

Choosing a good idea is very challenging, so most companies take the easiest route: they find the best creative.

Using an established designer gives companies the reassurance that they rarely make mistakes, thus ensuring that things will work. This is also why emerging designers are often criticized by clients who don’t trust them enough to allow for innovation. On the other hand, an established designer can even “sell shit” and still get approval.

First, we must question whether it is true that famous people “sell shit” or if it is simply our inability to see the relevance of their projects. Otherwise, we must analyze ourselves to determine if we truly have a creative mindset.

I recently watched a TED presentation by Adam Grant, who attempted to define the characteristics of truly creative individuals (he calls them “originals”). I won’t delve too much into his opinion here, so I encourage you to watch it yourself. But there is one golden rule: creatives possess a specific mindset. This mindset is a way of thinking and operating that leads to the generation of genius. What I mean is that we are not inherently born geniuses, but we have the potential to become one.

The real problem is that most of us are already set in a mindset that is often more suitable for workers than for creatives. There’s nothing wrong with being a good worker, but if we are working as creatives, we must embrace that mindset.

The pursuit of well-executed standardization has taken us away from our original goal: to find uniqueness.

It’s a tricky situation because it’s not solely the designer’s fault. Some creative directors also possess the same mindset, judging work based on standard values, and designers strive to please them to get the job done. The result is a product that adheres to market rules and eventually fades away. Moreover, designers tend to conform, leading us towards disaster.

If we unconsciously train ourselves to create the best standards, the output will be standardized, and progress will stagnate.

If we look around, we are surrounded by standardized products, likely born from the criteria I mentioned earlier. Standardization is everywhere, like a horror film.

The only solution is to put equal effort into creating original things instead of standard ones.

The biggest challenge with this approach? Convincing the client.

That’s because clients usually expect something standard, and it’s incredibly difficult to persuade them that your idea is the right one if you deviate from those expectations. People like Philippe Starck have already proven this, and now they can easily convince others because their previous successes have granted them authority.

However, beware: being unconventional doesn’t mean creating useless fancy objects. Dieter Rams, Jony Ive, the Eames, and many others had/have an unconventional approach that resulted in beautiful and functional objects with no overtly flashy style.

So, the framework to create an original product is simple: you need to excel at managing the unconventional and turning it into reality.

The bad news is that this requires a lot of time and numerous attempts. The greatest music composers, for example, achieved their masterpieces after composing 500 to 600 pieces. It’s a long journey, but as designers, it is our responsibility to at least give it a try.

I was not born creative; I’m still training to climb the Olympus, and I see my ideas evolving year by year. Sometimes, they may be a bit harder to understand than before, but I am confident that good ideas need time to be appreciated. Think about music: if you hear a song for the first time and immediately like it, it’s probably a combination of familiar notes that will soon become tiresome. On the other hand, a good song in a new genre needs time because it offers something fresh, and we need to get accustomed to it.

But once you’re in, the experience is massive.

The post The Unrequested Guide to Recognizing Original Creatives appeared first on Mario Alessiani.

Form follow function, a mantra designers have embraced since the 19th century (director’s note: this concept originated from an architect regarding architecture, but it was borrowed, or rather, loaned).

In design education, we are taught that decoration is undesirable, and we should eliminate everything unnecessary. Throughout my years of experience, I have noticed how design critics and designers celebrate very simple solutions. Consequently, as designers, we strive to achieve that brilliant simplicity that will be praised for our work (take these words as a given, as I understand that this may not apply to everyone).

For me, being a minimalist is not solely about generating an idea and striving to simplify it as much as possible; it is a way of thinking—a mindset.

To truly embrace simplicity, one must think in a simple manner. It’s not a matter of creating something and then removing elements; rather, it’s about not considering additional elements from the start and expressing the idea in the simplest way possible to enhance understanding. In this way, complex concepts can be communicated through basic shapes, functions, and interactions.

It’s a dialectic, but with shapes instead of words.

So, what happens when you work with these simple shapes? You end up with something basic, something that is within everyone’s reach.

For instance, if you design a stool consisting of a single spherical cushion, it is so basic that someone else could have the same idea. They might make it bigger, smaller, cheaper, or any variation, but ultimately, it remains a simple spherical stool. The same principle applies to more complex shapes as well.

Recently, I came across news that some design pieces by Luca Nichetto have “inspired” major furniture brands in the fashion world. Luca did not stir up controversy but simply shared the similarity on his social media platforms, which attracted numerous journalists eager to delve deeper into the topic. The designer himself acknowledged that such things can happen (it’s not taboo), but the difference lies in how you handle it. There are two excellent articles about this on CieloterraDesign (for Italian speakers) and Design Wanted (for English speakers), where you can explore the matter in detail.

Thus, the minimalism trap lurks around the corner. If it can happen with elaborate pieces, it is easy to imagine how readily it occurs with basic shapes that lean towards minimalism.

How can we avoid falling into this trap?

This is not intended as a design lesson, so I won’t delve deeply into the methodology. However, I would like to share a good example from one of the designers I admire the most—Michael Anastassiades. Moreover, Anastassiades and his team produce and distribute most of his ideas, making it even more challenging to ensure that he is not inadvertently replicating someone else’s work. After all, when you have someone, such as a company, with a third opinion on what you do, they can help identify similarities in the market.

Let’s focus on two examples.

The first is his lamp series for Flos called IC. When you break it down, it’s essentially a light sphere and a metal tube, almost like an archetype. However, what makes it captivating is HOW these elements come together. It’s the interplay of tangency between the two parts that creates a magical effect. No gimmicky shapes, just well-thought-out quality.

The same can be said for the speaker born out of collaboration with Bang & Olufsen. It is a large disk that gives the impression it can roll, yet it remains stationary. Is it super simple? Yes. But have you ever seen anything else like it? Furthermore, its dimensions deviate from the standard.

Unconventional yet employing conventional shapes.

The significant challenge lies in aligning various factors: a great idea, simple form, originality, and ease of comprehension.

What I have observed is that, in design with simple shapes, the idea alone is insufficient. It is more like a vital secret ingredient that makes something easy to create and immensely appealing.

If you want to see some examples of unintentional copies, check out Fabio Novembre’s blog called IoNoi (I follow it on Instagram), where he amusingly juxtaposes these unintentional replicas in his posts. Highly recommended!

If you enjoyed this article, feel free to share it with your community. And if you have any examples of exceptional minimal products, please share them in the comments.

In the next article, I will discuss how to identify talented individuals in the design field.

There are much more articles about design process on the Journal page of this website, check it out.

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