A Brief History of Patina

According to Grant McCracken's Culture and Consumption, patina was the visual proof of status prior to the 18th century's consumer revolution and the onset of the fashion system. Patina served as an icon of a family's longevity - during the Elizabethan era five generations were required to gain full gentle status. "Patina made certain that those who merely enjoyed wealth but who had not yet qualified for standing could be identified as such." When fashionable objects became more desirable than patinated ones, the waiting period for the gentry evaporated, encouraging "new mobility and the recognition of ability."

McCracken goes on to say patina still represents status today, but on a much smaller scale, only used by the most high-standing groups. Today, "for the mass of society, the notion of patina is itself hopelessly antique, a charming notion that has passed from fashion."

I think an appreciation for patina and wabi-sabi is developing, for some objects, outside of the antique. For example, through the greatly increased use of easily scratched stainless steel in the home, people are learning that objects, when used, shouldn't necessarily remain in their original pristine condition - they can develop an even more interesting, meaningful, and rich surface through normal use.

Becoming Ordinary: A Double-Take on Habituation

One of the reasons we buy new things is that we become bored with what we have. The object that at one time was novel transitions to mundane. On successive occasions of having a particular experience, Gilbert writes, "we quickly begin to adapt to it, and the experience yields less pleasure each time. Psychologists call this habituation, economists call it declining marginal utility." He suggests there are two mechanisms to counteract habituation - variety and time, although variety isn't necessary if there is sufficient time separating experiences.

Although Gilbert doesn't make the connection explicitly, presentism, or the tendency for current experience to influence one's views of the past and the future, also seems to play a role in stimulating purchases. Upon an initial novel experience with an object, we assume we will continue to have the same positive feelings for long after we purchase it - forgetting to take habituation into account. Gilbert does propose that comparisons have a similar effect. When considering the purchase of a new item, we compare it to our current, habituated, mundane possession - rendering the new, novel and/or the current, outdated. However, we fail to consider that after purchase and the discarding of the old, the delight produced by that initial contrast is gone. Styling, and perceived obsolescence, takes advantage of this phenomenon to persuade essentially unnecessary upgrade purchases.

Gilbert's theories don't sufficiently explain the existence of favorite, long-standing, frequently used possessions, as he doesn't account for contained memory, attachment, and meaning in objects. However, Michael Pollan, in Omnivore's Dilemma, proposes a framework for eating that transfers well to objects. (One of many concepts in this book that translates smoothly into material culture.) He suggests humans' "innate neophilia - the pleasure of variety, and neophobia - the comfort of the familiar," motivate the contradictory inclinations for the new and the known. We sometimes seek the excitement of novel experiences and stimulations and other times prefer the safe reassurance of the familiar.

Relationship Cycles

There is a common path that a relationship with an object can take - markedly similar to relationships with people. First, we see, covet, or desire - the crush. Then we research, read reviews, and shop around - flirting and initial dates. Next comes purchase - committed serious dating, but still very much in the honeymoon phase. Adaptation and possibly the onset of mundanity - marriage. As many marriages end in divorce, an object relationship is fairly likely to end with disposal, or at least an extended separation in the closet or basement, while a new object takes its place. Fairly rare is the reconnection or revitalization of the relationship.

Materials, Wear, Beausage, and Wabi-Sabi

Continuing the post about the impact of material choice on an object, the physical material of the object also has the potential to extend and deepen the human-object relationship. It can become a visual and haptic recording of its story and use, literally aging with its user. However, there is a key difference between materials wearing in and wearing out. Natural materials, like leather, denim, and wood, can age with dignity, becoming more beautiful over time. Grant Petersen, founder of Rivendell Bicycles, and designer of the renowned RB-1 Bridgestone, created the portmanteau beausage to describe the beauty that can develop over time through the use of a product. Grant said, "In general, real materials develop beausage, and synthetics look like old junk." These synthetics, instead of developing a patina and a recorded history of its 'life', just look dirty. Even though we might have a plastic computer mouse that still works, we replace it because it looks grimy and stained. But there are ways to design plastics that acknowledge the inevitability of wear. This concept car design understands that bumpers will get scratched and worn.

The Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi accepts the transience and embraces the beauty that is "imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete". The wabi-sabi aesthetic recognizes that time will pass and materials will wear - and designs for it.

The simplicity of wabi-sabi is best described as the state of grace arrived at by a sober, modest, heartfelt intelligence…Usually this implies a limited palette of materials. It also means keeping conspicuous features to a minimum. But it doesn’t mean removing the invisible connective tissue that somehow binds the elements into a meaningful whole. It also doesn’t mean in any way diminishing something’s “interestingness”, the quality that compels us to look at that something over, and over, and over again.

In addition to the source of the above passage, Wabi-Sabi: for Artists, Designers, Poets & Philosophers, I should look at About Time and Eternally Yours: Design in Time, a collection of writings on product endurance and durability.

Synthesis: Designing for Endurance

After realizing in class today that most of the ideas I've written about so far are very interconnected, I need to try to define, and continue to refine, my project concept:

I intend to investigate the cycle of human-object relationships to enhance, extend, and enrich the experience. A designer can strengthen this relationship through need, attachment, meaningfulness, identification, reliability, usefulness, appreciation, excitement, beauty, unexpectedness, and change.

What is designing for endurance, or anti-obsolescence design? Through material and design choices can we not only design for long life, but also easily reuse (and not downcycle) the object's material should its usefulness expire? Our current economic model relies on planned obsolescence. What kind of business model does anti-obsolescence create? Tony Fry's Redirective Design Manifesto lists several methods for designing for sustainment: eliminating, combining, dematerializing, revitalizing, sharing, and creating smarter longer lasting things. But all of these mean less stuff. We know making less is good for the earth, but how is selling less good for business?

Human-Object Relations

Objects play signficant roles in our lives. But there are two ends of the spectrum of human-object relations: the extreme and the mundane. At the extreme, there exists the super-collectors, addicts, and brandwhores that actively consume, use, and collect. As mentioned in the brand allegiance post, user forums are a great source of information about these relationships. At the mundane, the relationship is so passive, the objects are so much a part of our world, that we do not acknowledge them. Fukasawa and Morrison call these objects Supernormal and Bruno Munari called them anonymous. But by any name these "quietly extraordinary" objects are so essential and pure that they are invisible. However, these are the most enduring objects because they are timeless and never go out of fashion.

Revitalizing the Lost, Forgotten, and Discarded

While writing a short bio for the Industry Projects class with Danese, I was reflecting on past projects to find common threads in my work. I realized that my best projects have involved revitalizing lost, forgotten, or discarded objects, crafts, and practices via new contexts. I think this continues the ideas in the previous post about retro. What is the appeal of the archaic and obsolete? How can we utilize objects that already exist and make them interesting again? The current rate of obsolescence means we have a massive supply of materials that are no longer wanted. However, the recently out of fashion, by definition, can't be cool. Objects seem to need to fade away before they have a chance to be appreciated again. How long does that take, and can a designer shorten the time needed by placing it in the right context?

Value of Things

Christine Atha, in her design historian candidate talk, mentioned the difference in the value of things (goods or materials) in the West vs. the developing world. Because of the abundance of objects, we often don't conserve, respect, or appreciate the things that surround us. In the U.S. we had to learn, especially since World War II, how to use (throw away) all the new disposable items, like paper towels and food packaging. Things and material lost value. I should read the rest of Waste and Want, by Susan Strasser, if I decide to go this direction. Chapter Seven quotes historian John A. Kouwenhoven from 1959:

A commitment to democracy - and a certain indifference to waste and untidiness - are prerequisite to abundance ... waste is as much a result of democracy as abundance.

How can Americans relearn not to take material (and natural capital) for granted?

Human Adaptability

Human beings, as a species, have a remarkable ability to adapt: to environments, to conditions, to circumstances, to conveniences, and to technologies. With relation to products, what is the rate at which the things we buy become ordinary (or necessary)? And then, once we have lost our innocence, is it possible to retrieve? Can something stay fresh and new? If so, how? Today, because of fashion, trends, and technological advancements, products become outdated practically instantly. This system of production and consumption that industrial design (and styling) has driven is obviously unsustainable.

In Bruce Sterling's Shaping Things, he calls on designers to guide the next, dematerialized, technocultural revolution (after Artifacts, Machines, Products, and Gizmos) of Spimes. Sterling defines a technocultural revolution as when that technoculture cannot voluntarily return to the previous technocultural condition. Can the networked set of sensors and data that define Spimes be a key to 'living objects' to which we can't adapt and therefore don't need replacing?

The provenance and movement of goods in the modern (and, yes, flat) world.

Goods have traversed the globe for centuries, but never at the pace, volume, and complexity that they do today - much of the reason why it is so difficult (impossible?) to accurately calculate carbon footprint. I should read The Travels of a T-Shirt in the Global Economy, if I want to proceed with this idea.

I am very interested in the 'life' of products - not only trying to design for long life (endurance or anti-obsolescence), but also the extraordinary tale of history, knowledge, and capability that each product tells. Getting an item from the thrift store, for example, is always interesting because often there is some evidence of where or when it was made. But the mystery of how it got to that place, where it has been, and how it has affected the people it's come into contact with is largely unknown. Each thing has a unique story, and more often than not, little of that story is known. When more is known, like some of the items on "Antiques Roadshow," it often makes for a very compelling narrative.