“Many of our everyday spaces are doing us harm”
The emerging field of neuroarchitecture raises important new ethical questions for architects, write Cleo Valentine and Heather Mitcheltree. More
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“I wander into office lobbies wherever I go and it delivers no end of disappointment”
Too many office-building lobbies are being turned into soulless spaces with the same Apple Store aesthetic, writes Anthony Paletta. More
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“Enter the rise of the nouveau homesteader”
Gen Zs and millennials adopting the “homesteading” lifestyle trend are onto something, writes Michelle Ogundehin. More
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“I love mid-century modern but it makes me sad”
Mid-century modern design may meet our needs even more now than when it first appeared, but that doesn’t mean we should idolise the style, writes John Jervis.
I love mid-century modern, but it makes me sad. In its beauty and simplicity, it speaks of postwar optimism, and a belief in a better world – one of prosperity and peace, with large homes and larger pay packets. It’s not the fault of a bunch of attractive designs that this proved to be a mirage, even a fraud. But mid-century modern was wrapped up in that delusion, even contributed to it. And the design industry enjoyed, and continues to enjoy, the ride just a little too much.
In the 1950s, mid-century modern design promised a lifestyle free from markers of wealth and privilege, free of decorative excess, of clutter and dirt, free from the past. In reality, there were few progressive ideals involved. Before the war, modernist designers had struggled to bring their ideas to mass production, but still sought to raise living standards in cities, designing ‘minimum dwellings’ with floorplans, kitchens and furnishings calculated to maximize space and improve lives.
Their postwar successors – all those heroic, big-name designers we celebrate as prophets of a modern, democratic future – turned out to be less public-spirited. When mass production of modernist designs became a reality, they chose lucrative careers working, almost exclusively, for high-end manufacturers.
Then, as now, class was deeply embedded in design’s power
And those manufacturers rarely considered, pursued or achieved affordability or accessibility, and still don’t. There may well be perfectly justifiable arguments – and realities – around balancing profitability, quality and investment, and achieving sustainability. Yet it is fair to say that most such companies have never sought a mass consumer market – the sort of market that would erode the cachet and returns of their intellectual property. Then, as now, class was deeply embedded in design’s power, even as its pioneers proclaimed the advent of a classless era.To be fair, that worked both ways. The golden age of mid-century modern design barely stretches a couple of decades, partly because it was never that popular. Even when incomes grew, and aspirational furnishings became just about affordable, most consumers turned not to sanctioned ‘good design’, but to products with other, perhaps more important, meanings – nostalgia, craft, ornament, community, warmth.
To the despair of critics, heavy ‘baroque’ furniture remained the preferred choice of consumers during the German economic miracle, while Americans showed a similar predilection for colonial styles. In the heyday of the Italian furniture industry, many manufacturers stuck to an aesthetic decried by Domus editor Ernesto Rogers as ‘Cantu Chippendale’.“There was a profound belief in the power of the polymath during the mid-century period”
Just as tellingly, when the wider population of mid-century modern poster child Finland was finally able to afford the country’s furniture, the new ‘Tower’ suite was the immediate bestseller. Released in 1971, this three-piece sofa-armchair combo – a typology anathema in design circles – adopted a traditional ‘English style’, with comfortable upholstery and oak veneer over foam and chipboard. It turned out that imported British TV shows were more influential than lecturing from design’s great and good about a modernist canon.
In the postwar era, that great and good – a pale, male and privileged elite – secured its status rapidly, with a raft of government- and industry-backed organizations such as Britain’s Council of Industrial Design and the Industrial Designers Society of America, all dedicated to imposing universal standards of ‘good design’.
Soon, even receptive audiences – including many young designers – began to find both the discourse and the results tedious, turning to Victoriana, pop and eventually postmodernism as the 1960s progressed. Some rejected ‘design’ in its entirety, looking to alternative culture instead, epitomised by the success of the Whole Earth Catalog.
Why has mid-century modern now become the default style for contemporary interiors?
The reasons behind changes in taste are always hard to pinpoint, but in this instance, it seems many were looking for a richness, diversity, vibrancy and meaning in their lives that mid-century modern was failing to provide – an opportunity to express their personality and creativity through their home decor. So why has mid-century modern now become the default style for contemporary interiors? As with Victorian design’s comeback in the 1960s, or art deco in the 1980s and brutalism in the 2000s, such revivals are far from unusual, but it’s still curious that mid-century modern meets our needs more than during its heyday.
Some of that may be practical. As more and more of us are crammed into ever smaller homes, squeezing a spindly faux-mid-century modern desk into a bedroom is more realistic than some glorious art deco behemoth. And, as we constantly move from space to space, its lightness and modularity make perfect sense. Other reasons are less tangible, less knowable – perhaps mid-century modern offers a clarity, calm and sense of control that is hard to find in the rest of our lives.Mid-century modern design “embraced a more human aesthetic while remaining aggressively forward-looking”
The financial equation hasn’t changed over the decades, though. Manufacturers still have a tight grip on their ‘originals’, leaving the vast majority of us buying knock-offs, or flat-packed imitations, as we attempt to Marie Kondo our existence.
But how long will everyone want to live in these ranks of pristine waiting rooms? My aspirations for a mid-century modern bachelor pad – a Julius Shulman photo on the cheap – have long since fallen away. Leaving behind that quest for a lifestyle that never existed in the first place has improved my lot considerably. It is the (slightly mannered) accumulation of battered paperbacks in the Penguin donkey and the coffee stain on the Aalto stool that give them their charm. And their submersion in the general detritus of life gives them context and meaning.
Maybe we just don’t need another generation of Eames loungers
And there is another thing that might speed up a mid-century modern rethink. In promotional literature, its timelessness and durability have long been trumpeted as the route to a sustainable future. Perhaps this claim is no longer quite so convincing. Regenerative and circular design requires us to instead embrace age, imperfection, decay, decomposition, even odour – to view products as a passing moment in the life of a material, with longevity as a potential drawback. So maybe we just don’t need another generation of Eames loungers.
In this context, mid-century modern’s ‘timeless perfection’ can seem a cold quality, one throwing a harsh light on our own imperfections and frailties – our human nature – while overlooking our concern with and capacity for joy. The obsessive repetition of this mantra, and of outdated concepts of ‘good design’, invites the backlash that brought mid-century modern design to a shuddering halt last time round, viewed as sterile, inflexible, lifeless.
Certainly, like so many others, I will always find mid-century modern beautiful, even sublime, and I’ve got my eyes on a few more alluring examples. But I wouldn’t want too much of it in my life.
Main photography by Joe Fletcher.
John Jervis is a writer, editor, project manager and ghost writer across a range of media, including Icon, Frame, RIBA Journal, Apollo, ArtAsiaPacific, Thames & Hudson, ACC, WePresent, Laurence King and others. He has just published his first book, 50 Design Ideas You Really Need to Know, with Greenfinch Books.
Illustration by Jack BedfordMid-century modern
This article is part of Dezeen’s mid-century modern design series, which looks at the enduring presence of mid-century modern design, profiles its most iconic architects and designers, and explores how the style is developing in the 21st century.
This series was created in partnership with Made – a UK furniture retailer that aims to bring aspirational design at affordable prices, with a goal to make every home as original as the people inside it. Elevate the everyday with collections that are made to last, available to shop now at made.com.Read more: More
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“True trends always answer a need”
As TikTok and other platforms become increasingly flooded with home-styling ideas, Michelle Ogundehin shares advice on how to navigate changing trends in the era of ubiquitous social media.
Newspaper journalists are often keen for a quote on “the latest trends”. What do I think of polka dots? What about red paint: hot right now, non? It depends. Or recently, what could I say about the TikTok trend “bookshelf wealth”? Hmmm, interesting.
Obviously, just because images of a lot of spotty things have been cobbled together by someone on Instagram, or an influencer declares in breathless tones that poppy has surpassed magnolia in the paint stakes, does not make it universally true. But this is not to flagellate the notion of “trends” per se – the stylistic movements that visualise our cultural climate can be genuinely intriguing.
Here-today-over-tomorrow fads can be noxious
True trends always answer a need. Emerging from an alchemy of desire, available resources, and cultural resonance, they have the power to make visible unspoken truths. However, the here-today-over-tomorrow fads can be noxious. The thing is, true trends don’t occur in a vacuum; you can always trace their roots. In short, no roots = no relevance = fad. And I’ll come back to the bookshelves.Alternatively, it’s called marketing. Because someone, somewhere will make money from you feeling compelled to throw out your perfectly good cushion, frock, phone, or sofa to replace it with a newer, more “on-trend”, faster, smaller, prettier, or any other adjective you care to insert here, model.
Social media platform-time is bought to advance the cause and propel the message. Whether it has staying power though, is entirely another matter. This is where the aforementioned relevance and roots come in.Eight interiors celebrating the curated clutter of “bookshelf wealth”
Arguably there are moments when it seems as if one creative camp has agreed on a singular approach. The spring special April issues of the fashion magazines collectively trill that “it’s all about pastels!” But is it? Or did the picture desks just pull together all the sugary-coloured images from across the collections of 20 different designers and call it a moment?
After all, it’s habitual for colours to lighten in the spring and darken as we approach winter. More of note would be if everyone went grey for April. But that probably wouldn’t make for an uplifting (ie sales-savvy) coverline.
It’s the same in interiors. When I was editor-in-chief of ELLE Decoration, occasionally I’d receive a letter from a disgruntled reader bemoaning the season’s hot new look. Why had it changed from last month’s look, which they loved?
As consumers and designers, we must self-interrogate
My reply was always the same: my job is to show you what’s out there, your job is to decide what you like, and then stick to it. Or change if you want to. But the key is that it’s your choice. What I always wanted to add was: and don’t devolve the responsibility for your taste!
It’s also true that there used to be a bit of a journalistic mantra that went along the lines of: one’s an oddity, two’s a coincidence, but three’s a trend! So, if three of a similar thing plopped into the inbox, then it was worth looking into.
However, the follow-up question is always: why? Why is this happening? Is there anything behind it? Just because something is new doesn’t make it news. And, crucially, is it adding anything to the cultural conversation?“We must abandon the ordered, rational, learned good taste and comfort we’ve become used to”
I think this latter point is ever more relevant today. It can no longer be justified to create for the sake of it (that is arguably the purpose of art). Instead, as consumers and designers, we must self-interrogate.
Has this product genuinely improved the models that precede it by using less resources, demanding less energy, eradicating plastic, and thus being less likely to end up as waste? If not, then why make it?
That aside, sometimes a “trend” reflects more of a mood than a whole “moment”. Take the unexpected red “trend”. We could post-rationalise this as being rooted simply in a feeling of dark times drawing us to colour. It makes us happier.
Engaging your own inner critic becomes ever more vital
On the other hand, red is a deeply emotive hue, one of the most visible of the spectrum, thus a colour that intrinsically demands our attention. This is why it’s used for both stop and sale signs. We’re literally hardwired to see it. So, is this a verifiable trend, or merely the power of colour theory? Maybe it doesn’t matter?
However, when considering social-media trends, we generally only see more of what we think we already like. This is fine when we’re talking pops of colour, a lot less so regarding deep fakes deliberately designed to thwart opinions.
Bottom line, engaging your own inner critic becomes ever more vital. The platforms will always deliver a constant stream of fodder, but to paraphrase the inimitable Coco Chanel: content is what’s out there – but it’s up to you to choose what to believe.Explore all 17 Tokyo Toilet projects featured in Wim Wenders’ film Perfect Days
Now back to those bookshelves. The images themselves are irrelevant. If someone was to go out and buy books by the metre to “get the look” then they’ve missed the point entirely; let’s not reduce the notion of home to a mere backdrop – it should be your personalised space from which to thrive.
Thus, to me, “bookshelf wealth” is the visual expression of the authenticity that we’re currently craving in a world that appears to have gone right royally tits up. Homes with shelves bursting with well-read tomes, curiosities and the talismans of life, however quirky, are an antidote to the virtual.
It dwells firmly in the tactile and tangible world of the analogue as so beautifully depicted recently in Wim Wenders’ latest film, Perfect Days, wherein the main protagonist lives contentedly in his chosen world of flip phones, cassette tapes and simple routine.
Stop the press! A trend that reflects the rejection of the maelstrom of modern life
It’s about honouring yourself, your journey, your interests, and proudly displaying it all. It stands on the shoulders of the movements we’ve seen already towards fermenting, knitting, and baking sourdough. It’s about truth-telling and slowing-down; renovating not relocating; ditching the work/spend cycle and stepping off the consumer conveyor belt.
It’s not so much a look as a potent signifier of a shifting of priorities. It’s back-to-basics and living on a human-needs-first scale, as an antidote to the prevalent norm of life being voraciously consumed at technological pace to maximise productivity for someone else.
Stop the press! A trend that reflects the rejection of the maelstrom of modern life, indicating long-term thinking and emotional evolution to be the way forward. That may not make for a super snappy soundbite, but it certainly bodes better for our future than crimson walls, or polka dots.
Michelle Ogundehin is a thought leader on interiors, trends, style and wellbeing. Originally trained as an architect and the former editor-in-chief of ELLE Decoration UK, she is the head judge on the BBC’s Interior Design Masters, and the author of Happy Inside: How to Harness the Power of Home for Health and Happiness, a guide to living well. She is also a regular contributor to publications including Vogue Living, FT How to Spend It magazine and Dezeen.
The photo, showing House M by Studio Vaaro, is by Scott Norsworthy.
Dezeen In DepthIf you enjoy reading Dezeen’s interviews, opinions and features, subscribe to Dezeen In Depth. Sent on the last Friday of each month, this newsletter provides a single place to read about the design and architecture stories behind the headlines.Read more: More
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“We must abandon the ordered, rational, learned good taste and comfort we’ve become used to”
Interior design must begin facing up to uncomfortable truths about our planet and health in 2024, Michelle Ogundehin writes in her annual trends report.
This must be the year of truth. It’s no time to be distracted by talk of trends, new or latest looks. The tactic of holding facts at arm’s length has only enabled denial, obfuscation, and fakery, as well as cauterising our moral obligation to change. Mark Twain aptly summarises our current malaise with the pithy: “What gets us into trouble is not what we don’t know, it’s what we know for sure that just ain’t so.”
Thankfully, the zeitgeist is shifting. We see it in current TV programming, ever a prescient reflection of public mood. Consider Channel 4’s punchy The Great Climate Fight, which volubly charges the British government with incompetence, to ITV’s Mr Bates vs The Post Office, dramatising the scandalous lies behind a huge miscarriage of justice.
It’s no time to be distracted by talk of trends, new or latest looks
The desire for unvarnished veracity is there in Netflix’s new tranche of documentaries. Think Robbie Williams: Behind the Scenes and its Jeffrey Epstein exposé. Even Disney’s Wagatha Christie vehicle was about truth-telling.It reflects the shattering of any persistent facade that everything’s just fine. In the face of extreme weather patterns – from tornados in Manchester in the north of England to record-breaking monsoons in Pakistan – and the escalating rates of chronic disease, anxiety, depression, loneliness epidemics, and other mental-health disorders seen worldwide, surely, finally, our eyes are opening?
In case not, here are a couple of truths that we may need to be reminded of.Maximalism to make way for “quiet refinement” in 2024 say interior designers
One: the perpetual quest for economic growth is unsustainable on a finite planet, yet it prevails because we’ve been hoodwinked into believing that better always means newer, faster, or more. We are entreated to consume for the good of the economy – the work-to-spend cycle. The implication being that if we don’t, we’re responsible for mass unemployment and the failure of honest businesses.
Ergo, consumer-driven economies are routinely prioritised over basic citizen welfare, and material goods have become proxies for our dreams and aspirations, even our expressions of love.
Two: the environments in which we live are increasingly toxic – physically, socially, and mentally. Yet we’re reneging on personal responsibility for our wellbeing with the misguided assumption that big industry would never create products dangerous to human health, and that our healthcare providers are there to patch us up if they do. We need to focus on causes and prevention instead of lucrative (but futile) searches for cures for diseases like cancer.
It wasn’t so long ago that the desire to exercise, seek wellbeing, or be social were reasons to leave the home
What’s tricky is that potential solutions to the above don’t wash well with legislators or many politicians because they appear slow, unduly restrictive, difficult, or inconvenient. Immediate results (i.e. within a single term of office) are seldom forthcoming, thus a stance of head-in-the-sand, or a default to fast fixes, becomes entrenched as the go-to action.
And yet, research suggests that we, the people, feel differently. According to the 10th annual Life at Home report produced this year by IKEA (one of the world’s largest home surveys, encompassing the views of 37,428 people aged 18-plus across 38 countries), searches for “slow living” have doubled since 2015.
So where does this leave us?
We’re being pushed and pulled in many contradictory directions. It wasn’t so long ago that the desire to exercise, seek wellbeing, or be social were reasons to leave the home. Now these activities all happen within the same four walls.“Peach is the right colour, but for all the wrong reasons”
This creates many tensions. Should our domestic caves be linked to the world via the latest high-tech gizmos, or be our deliberate respite from the techno-frazzle? How do we square a wish for personal privacy with the sensation of living in more open spaces? Can we work from home without feeling like we live at work?
It was no surprise to me that Squishmallows were the hit toy of 2023. These soft, malleable cute-character cushions are acutely comforting to hold. Even the revered investor Warren Buffet now has the company in his portfolio. They are a potent symbol of a need.
In response, the popular press touts voluminous La-Z-Boy-style recliners as the next big thing, but is an inducement to lounge ever further into denial really what’s called for?
Our ability to thrive must become the guiding principle for all design
Humans are the ultimate adaptors, but we require stimulus to learn and grow, if not an element of discomfort. While your genes may load the gun, your environment pulls the trigger. Currently, for many, that’s somewhere hyperconnected yet also physically disconnected, temperature-controlled and sedentary.
Align this with the current cult of convenience – that which enhances personal comfort or advantage over everything else, and therein lies the downward spiral.
We must abandon the ordered, rational, learned good taste and comfort that we’ve become used to in favour of something more instinctive and rugged. Less a singular design aesthetic than a profoundly sensory desire to touch, smell and feel intensely. It is the personal over the predictable. The umami in the dish. The idea that owes its genus to a singular moment of unique creative vision, or innovation.Dezeen readers name Casa Tres Árboles best home interior of 2023
We must aim for a societal stability that does not rely on the continuous fetishisation of “novelty” to drive ever-increasing consumption if economic activity is to have a hope of remaining within ecological scale. Our ability to thrive must become the guiding principle for all design, if not perceptions of success.
Most importantly, we can no longer be afraid to speak or hear these truths, starting at home – the environment over which we have the most agency.
Here, then, are some final “home” truths that bear repeating.
Most homes are more polluted on the inside than a busy street corner outside due to the build-up of invisible toxins therein, yet we spend 90 per cent of our time indoors. Some examples: gas hobs leak benzene, a known carcinogen, even when they’re off – this has been linked to one in eight cases of childhood asthma.
We have been living in a time of fantastical storytelling
Microplastics have been found in the placentas of unborn babies. Chemicals in everyday personal care products can cause chronic hormonal disruption that leads to breast cancer. Chemical flame retardants legally mandated for use on your upholstery increase smoke toxicity more than they reduce fire growth.
And Wi-Fi may not be as benign as you think. The World Health Organisation, in association with the International Agency on Cancer, formally classified electromagnetic field radiation (as emitted by Wi-Fi connected devices) as a Class 2B human carcinogen (potentially harmful to health) over a decade ago.
In summary, we have been living in a time of fantastical storytelling, fictions of delusional positivity that obscure the truth. Plato considered that truth is a correspondence between belief and reality. Time to wake up then if we are to stand a chance of survival, as our current reality almost beggars belief.
Michelle Ogundehin is a thought leader on interiors, trends, style and wellbeing. Originally trained as an architect and the former editor-in-chief of ELLE Decoration UK, she is the head judge on the BBC’s Interior Design Masters, and the author of Happy Inside: How to Harness the Power of Home for Health and Happiness, a guide to living well. She is also a regular contributor to publications including Vogue Living, FT How to Spend It magazine and Dezeen.
The photo, of a Kyiv apartment designed by Olga Fradina, is by Yevhenii Avramenko.
Dezeen In DepthIf you enjoy reading Dezeen’s interviews, opinions and features, subscribe to Dezeen In Depth. Sent on the last Friday of each month, this newsletter provides a single place to read about the design and architecture stories behind the headlines.Read more: More
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“Space that is exclusionary does not live up to its full potential”
It’s time for equitable design to become a priority rather than an afterthought, writes Google’s Annie-Jean Baptiste.
When you think about equitable design, what does it look like? In my mind, it means everyone being able to move seamlessly throughout spaces without having to think about how their identity might change their approach or reception. This includes a person’s age, race, socioeconomic status, whether they have a disability, and more.
Equitable design is about creating a world where products, services and experiences are made for everyone and are helpful to everyone, with a particular focus on groups that have been historically marginalized. It’s about creating a world where everyone belongs.
It’s not enough to create for one type of person
Equitable design isn’t an afterthought. It’s imperative to ensure environments work for as many people as possible. When we do that, we create spaces that not only reflect the world around us, but create the space for innovation to blossom. When spaces are inequitable, they stunt ideation, growth and change. Non-inclusive spaces can at the least be alienating, and at most, be harmful and dangerous (hospitals come to mind).There are many factors that can contribute to making someone feel like they don’t belong in a space. For instance, have you ever walked into a store and felt like you were being followed or that you were unwelcome because of your race? Have you ever gone to a restaurant and found that there wasn’t enough space for your wheelchair? Have you ever gone to a movie and realized that there weren’t subtitles in your language? All of these are examples of experiences that can leave people feeling uncomfortable or unwanted.
It’s important to be intentional about designing inclusively and being considerate of every person’s identity. All of us have bias, but we must move from intent to impact. It’s not enough to create for one type of person. We must build to reflect that world and commit to learning about experiences unlike ours in order to do so.DAF launches to “ensure Deaf people have a stake in architecture”
There are several approaches to creating inclusive and accessible spaces, including being thoughtful about how a space is designed. One of my favorite examples of this is by the Magical Bridge Foundation. Their organization designs and creates playgrounds that center around inclusion across several dimensions, including ability and age. This ensures that people with a variety of identities are able to equitably enjoy the space.
Another aspect of inclusive design in physical spaces could be the presence of adjustable lighting, which can be highly beneficial in a multitude of environments, including workspaces. Adjustable lighting could include dimmable lights or blinds/curtains to regulate the amount of natural light. This type of lighting allows individuals to modify their environment to best suit their visual needs, enhancing comfort and productivity. It can also help all skin tones show up beautifully and accurately by ensuring people have the ability to adjust to what works best for them, whereas non-adjustable lighting can fail to account for darker shades and hues.
Spaces can also be used to celebrate identity. For many historically marginalized groups, having environments to authentically connect to is extremely important, because there’s nothing quite like being in a place that was designed with your experience in mind. For the LGBTQ+ community, these types of affinity spaces can cultivate a feeling of belonging. Another example, Black Girl Green House in Oakland, creates spaces for Black women to come together in community.
There are many benefits to having inclusive spaces
While progress is being made, there is so much work that needs to be done.
Consider what a person’s experience would be in a space from end-to-end. The physical components are just one aspect of that. When they enter a space, they should be greeted warmly. There should be someone who speaks their language available to help with questions. Signage should be clear and easy to understand, agnostic of reading level. Hallways should be wide enough for wheelchairs. It’s worth co-creating with communities that may be most at the margins to ensure that you are creating an inclusive experience for as many people as possible.
There are many benefits to having inclusive spaces. They can not only help to create a more just and equitable society, but, at an individual level, they can also help to improve well-being both physically and mentally, by reducing stress and anxiety. These spaces are able to provide people with a sense of community, belonging, and support.“Despite the media buzz, ‘Femtech’ is still struggling to find equality”
Creating inclusive spaces allows everyone to thrive and tap into their creativity no matter where they are: in the workplace or in the world. Creating inclusive spaces means developing an environment where everyone feels welcome and respected, regardless of their background, identity, or beliefs. There are many parallels between creating inclusive products and inclusive spaces. Space, in fact, is a physical product that people will interact with, utilize and connect with.
Space that is exclusionary does not live up to its full potential. Better decisions and ideas come from dissent, friction and multiple perspectives getting to a solution that is nuanced and multifaceted. The outcomes are better for everyone when you create spaces where groups that have historically been at the margins feel like they have agency to speak their truth.
When creating inclusive spaces, products or experiences, you must always ask: who else? Who else should be involved? Whose voice needs to be a part of the process? As designers, developers, marketers, and creators, we have an opportunity to create products and services that make people feel seen.
We must admit that we don’t know everything, and ensure that we include diverse perspectives
In order to do that, we must admit that we don’t know everything, and ensure that we include diverse perspectives, particularly from people who have been historically marginalized, at key points in the process — ideation, research, design, testing, and marketing. This means being humble, asking questions, and letting those with the lived experiences guide the way. Center the experiences of historically marginalized communities, and build with them, not just for them.
It’s not enough to build something you would like, because you don’t represent the world. When we broaden our perspective and bring in other perspectives, we design, create and innovate for everyone.
The photo is by Red John via Unsplash.
Annie Jean-Baptiste is head of product inclusion and equity at Google and founder of the Equity Army network. Her first book, Building for Everyone, is published by Wiley.
Dezeen In Depth
If you enjoy reading Dezeen’s interviews, opinions and features, subscribe to Dezeen In Depth. Sent on the last Friday of each month, this newsletter provides a single place to read about the design and architecture stories behind the headlines.Read more: More
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“Maximalism is a manifestation of a desire for a different world”
A return to the frivolous aesthetics of the British Empire tells us that all is not right in the world, writes Samuel Johnson-Schlee, author of the book Living Rooms.
In a moment where climate breakdown, economic uncertainty, geopolitical crisis, and many other things threaten to destroy the things that the middle classes take for granted, there appears to be a renewed interest in the extravagant, the ornate, and the rococo.
For instance, Lulu Lytle, whose design studio Soane Britain – named presumably after the influential architect John Soane – is remarkably upfront in its use of an imperial aesthetic; it even has a range called Egyptomania.
It makes sense that Boris Johnson chose this designer for his controversial Downing Street flat refurbishment, given that they share a nostalgia for an era of British power and colonial plunder. Why though, in a moment where it feels like there is more awareness than ever of the violence and injustice wrought by the British Empire, are we returning to such an aesthetic?
We return to the ornate for some of the same things that were sought from similar aesthetics in the pastOn 15 October, the Leighton House Museum re-opened in Holland Park after a major refit. Previously something of a secret, the museum’s publicity machine is now in full swing. The house of a neo-classical Victorian painter, Frederic Leighton, was designed to reflect his enthusiasm for that generically foreign Victorian obsession, The Orient.
The most magnificent room in the house is the so-called Arab Hall. This room was an extension to the house built between 1877 and 1881, designed to display textiles and ceramics gathered from Leighton’s trips to Turkey, Egypt, and Syria.
Some of these objects were purchased, others were “procured” by a friend in the East India Company. A wild array of tiles cover the walls and beneath the golden-domed ceiling, a small fountain burbles. This should not be mistaken for a simple marker of admiration for different cultures – as the great critic of orientalism Edward Said puts it: “European culture gained in strength and identity by setting itself off against the Orient”.
Why are we drawn back to this aesthetic? It is too simple to attribute it to nostalgia alone and should be seen in the broader context of the trend for maximalism. We return to the ornate for some of the same things that were sought from similar aesthetics in the past.Studio Job opts for maximalism inside new Antwerp headquarters
If you scroll through Instagram you will find many of the elements of the bourgeois home of the nineteenth century. Pot plants, gallery walls, velvet, wallpaper, lace: the basic language of the fashionable urban middle classes from the early decades of industrialised capitalism are making a comeback. Perhaps we are doing something akin to the Orientalists, setting modern life off against an impossibly distant other in order to better come to terms with the world we live in.
The designers House of Hackney are purveyors of a pattern-clashing William Morris redux; it is as if Dennis Severs’ house had been processed through a succession of lurid Instagram filters. However, they do not tend to dwell on their obvious historical influences.
On their website, their Wallpaper Plantasia, a multi-coloured riff on the landscapes of French Toile du Jouy, is described as: “our vision of an idyllic landscape, completely untouched by man”. Instead of claiming authenticity via craftsmanship or historical detail, they are reproducing the back-to-nature fantasies of people like philosopher Jean Jacques Rousseau who, reeling at the alienation of the coming Industrial Age, idealised the life of the pre-cultural ‘savage’ [sic].
There is also an element of the surreal in the current trend for maximalism
This untethered enthusiasm for an imagined naturalness recalls bourgeois Victorian crazes for natural history, such as the vogue for ferns known as pteridomania, which launched dozens of designs, including the decoration on a custard cream biscuit. The House of Hackney designers wear their romanticism on their sleeves, their expensive products offer a way of introducing a reconstructed pastoral life within the confines of an East London home.
There is also an element of the surreal in the current trend for maximalism. In a recent article on this site, the live-in premises of Studio Job present what the designer Job Smeets refers to as a ‘visual assault’.
In the Design Museum, the exhibition Objects of Desire draws our attention to the history of surrealism and interior design. Particularly striking are the dream-like interiors that Salvador Dalí helped design for Edward James’ Sussex home Monkton House. Plush colour-clashing rooms include chairs with hands, telephones with Lobsters on top, and Mae West’s lips transformed into a sofa.
One of the best objects in the exhibition is a green carpet decorated with the footprints of James’ wife after leaving the bath. The effect of such extravagance is to create a kind of dream world, a space where it seems that the rules of reality are suspended and that all of your wishes might be fulfilled.
We create a space in which we can retreat from all the terror outside
We are looking for the same things in this aesthetic as the bourgeois did in their nineteenth-century apartments. The philosopher Walter Benjamin compared the homes of wealthy city-dwellers in the nineteenth century to the inside of a compass case, the body held in place by folds of violet velour. He described the wildly busy world of knickknacks, doilies, chintz and velvet as if it were the manifestation of a kind of religion, calling these objects ‘fallen household deities’ arranged to protect the householder from the violence and cruelty of the world outside. The same world that these people were profiting from.
By cultivating somewhere to live that is dream-like, natural, or utterly different from our everyday lives, we create a space in which we can retreat from all the terror outside. And just as was the case in the nineteenth century, the more money you spend the more protected you can become, hidden amongst your excessive home décor.Ten maximalist interiors that are saturated with colours and patterns
I’m not making a judgment, I am as susceptible to a brightly coloured wall and a clashing floral pattern as the next person, but it is important to recognise that even the most apparently frivolous design is shaped by the present moment. In contrast to the optimism that accompanied the slick minimalism of the nineties, the terrifying situation that we live in today has conjured a desire for the wealthy to hide themselves away.
But it is more than simple escape that drives this trend – I think unconsciously we are reaching for something. Maximalism is a manifestation of a desire for a different world, and if we can reflect critically on the kinds of things we are reaching for, we might also be able to find greater impetus to act to prevent the coming of the world that is so frightening.
Sam Johnson-Schlee is an academic and writer living by the sea in North Essex. He teaches Town Planning at London South Bank University. His first book, Living Rooms, is published by Peninsula Press on 10 November this year.Read more: More
- in Rooms
“Homes manifest mechanisms of power via relationships of gender, class and age”
The way our homes are designed is intrinsically linked to domestic power struggles, write Charles Holland and Margaret Cubbage.
What is the relationship between architecture and power? How can buildings – inert piles of stone and steel, glass and concrete – exert power over us?
The obvious place to look might be examples that clearly aim to control or confine us, such as prisons. Alternatively, power may be found in buildings for political institutions or corporate HQs. There is, however a subtler realm in which architecture exerts control over our lives. That place is one that almost all of us experience: the ordinary domestic spaces that we inhabit every day.
Our homes shape our lives and inform the dynamics of our social relations
What can such spaces say about power? Surely the rooms in which we live, eat and sleep are an escape from the hierarchies of the workplace or our increasingly CCTV-controlled public spaces? The home is associated with being a place of refuge but also somewhere to connect, or disconnect from the outside world.As innocent as they may appear, our homes shape our lives and inform the dynamics of our social relations. They manifest mechanisms of power via relationships of gender, class and age. Why do we separate functions into separate rooms? Why are some spaces more private than others? These questions are of course culturally specific. Not all societies organise their houses in the same way. And what might seem like an ordinary convention to some might be an unimaginable luxury to others.
Radical Rooms, an exhibition currently running at the Royal Institute of British Architects’ (RIBA) Architecture Gallery, explores this knotty subject, examining the micro-territories of our homes. It begins with the plan – the most basic of architectural drawings – and examines the way that the arrangement of rooms in our houses reflects the way that individuals, couples, groups and families organise themselves.Women-led studios create sculptural pavilions for Women in Architecture exhibition
The exhibition focuses on a history of housing in the UK, mining the RIBA Collection of drawings to find examples where traditional power relations have been subverted and where new ways of living have emerged as a result.
It also looks at the characters behind the buildings, revealing figures within architectural history that have not always been acknowledged or accurately documented.
Gender relations are inscribed in the plans of our houses. This is a question of both how spaces are organised – think of traditional male preserves such as the study or the historic association of women with kitchens – and of who owns and authors them. The history of famous houses is often also a history of the famous men who designed them, or the men that wrote about them.
Houses are innately collaborative ventures
Radical Rooms shifts that focus instead onto houses that were designed, commissioned or curated (and sometimes all three) by women. In doing so it draws on the work of important historians including Lynne Walker, Elizabeth Darling and others.
Houses are innately collaborative ventures. We share them and they are extended and added to over time. The history of architecture though is largely a history of individuals, of single authors and buildings preserved as static objects. Prior to the development of discrete roles for architects, clients and builders however, authorship was less clear. This ambiguity might well have allowed (admittedly wealthy) women who were otherwise formally disempowered from designing buildings to exert a powerful influence on the development of architecture.
Take A La Ronde, an eccentric, sixteen-sided house built on the Devon coast in the late 18th century. The house was built for two female cousins, Jane and Mary Parminter, but its authorship has been the subject of much debate. Keen to find a male architect, historians have traditionally plumped for John Lowder, the son of a relative who would have been just 17 when the house was completed. It is more likely that the house was a collaboration between Lowder and the cousins, who had just returned from a Grand Tour of Europe’s classical architecture.
Hopkins House uses Venetian blinds to distinguish between spaces for living and work. Photo courtesy of the Historic England ArchiveThe degree to which Jane and Mary Parminter designed the house might be unclear, but their unique way of occupying it wasn’t. Arranged in plan like a clock face, the cousins moved around the house during the day, following the path of the sun. When they died they stipulated that it be left only to unmarried women, an explicit rejection of the patriarchal system of male inheritance. A man eventually did come to live in the house and, revealingly, he was responsible for drastic changes to both its layout and appearance.
The design of Hardwick Hall, an Elizabethan mansion in Derbyshire, is generally ascribed to Robert Smythson. The house was commissioned though by Bess of Hardwick, an immensely wealthy 16th-century aristocrat. Her involvement in the design of her house, the fourth that she commissioned, extended well beyond the role of client as it is currently conceived. Principles of the house’s layout, its material choices and decorative scheme reflect Bess of Hardwick’s intense involvement.
Prejudices around authorship have continued into the current era. Take Team 4, a well-known but short-lived collaborative practice from the 1960s that consisted of three women and two men. The subsequent fame of the men – Richard Rogers and Norman Foster – has tended to eclipse the role of the women – Wendy Cheesman, Su Brumwell and Georgie Wolton.
Field House pursued an interest in dissolving boundaries
Wolton was the most short-lived member and the only fully qualified architect of the group at the time. She subsequently designed Field House, a radical, steel-framed, open-plan residence that has remained somewhat below the radar of architectural history ever since.
Field House pursued an interest in dissolving boundaries within the home as well within the discipline of architecture. Its interior was conceived largely as a single, fluid space with minimal separation. The exterior walls were entirely made of glass so that the interior merged with the external landscape. Intriguingly, the house is currently described as dismantled rather than demolished, reflecting an interest in adaptability and moveability on the part of its designer.
This blurring of uses and of the inside and outside also manifests itself in the Hopkins House in north London, designed in the mid-1970s by Patty and Michael Hopkins. Originally used as their office as well as their home, the house has no corridors and minimal separation of functions. The combination of its delicate steel structure and Venetian blinds helps to subtly delineate the different zones of family and work-life within the home.“The irresistible draw of Bridgerton reflects our need for a new aesthetic”
Some 50 years before, in 1926, Eileen Gray designed an apartment in Paris that consisted solely of moving screens and metallic curtains. The remarkably innovative interior, designed for her sometime lover Jean Badovici, also rejected the discrete division of domestic space into separate functions in favour of a dynamic internal landscape that could be re-made every day.
Radical Rooms looks not only at power within the plan but at who gets to design those plans. The exhibition provides a platform for the exposure of (mainly) overlooked women designers and architects, revisiting the ways in which women influenced design prior to formalised architectural education. It deconstructs the domestic plan and exposes it as something intimately bound up with the power structures in which we live.
Radical Rooms: Power of the Plan is free to visit and will run throughout July and between 5-24 September at the 66 Portland Place in London. For more information, see Dezeen Events Guide.
Charles Holland is a professor at the University of Brighton, the principal of Charles Holland Architects and a former director of London studio FAT. Margaret Cubbage has been curating design and architecture exhibitions for 15 years.
The top photo is by Gareth Gardner, courtesy of the RIBA.Read more: More
