Ikea’s real genius is making furniture disposable | The Spectator
The secret behind the making of the IKEA catalogue | Daily Mail Online
Meatball mania: the top 10 Ikea products of all time – rated | Business | The Guardian
Blog—Jarrett Fuller — Is the IKEA Aesthetic Comfy or Creepy?
BBC - Capital - How Ikea has changed the way we shop
This Tuesday sees the BBC exploring the whole thing:
Flatpack Empire, BBC2 — an intimate glimpse inside Ikea - Financial Times
Or as the protagonist in Fight Club muses:
"Like so many others, I had become a slave to the Ikea nesting instinct."
The IKEA Nesting Instinct - YouTube
Fight Club Ikea Catalogue Scene — Critical Commons
David Fincher's masterpiece touches on themes like transitioning from a consumer culture ("Planet Starbucks," "Microsoft Galaxy") to an anti-consumerism culture where your stuff doesn't own you anymore.
Why 'Fight Club' Matters More Than Ever - Esquire
Futures Forum: Transitioning from a Consumer Culture >>> to Sustainable Consumption >>>
A book about 'stuff' which keeps popping up is 'The Comfort of Things' by Daniel Miller, written ten years ago:
Tribes of clutter - New Statesman
The Comfort of Things, by Daniel Miller | The Independent
But actually, as a piece on Radio 3 observed recently, 'things' do hold a certain comfort:
BBC Radio 3 - The Essay, Forgetting, Pieces of You, Pieces of Me
Because the writer of 'The Comfort of Things' is not dismissive of 'stuff' actually:
Daniel Miller (born 1954) is an anthropologist most closely associated with studies of our relationships to things and the consequences of consumption. His theoretical work was first developed in Material Culture and Mass Consumption and is summarised more recently in his book Stuff.
Daniel Miller (anthropologist) - Wikipedia
And from a book review of his later book 'Stuff':
Daniel Miller's Stuff brings together in one compact volume a deftly rewritten and engaging retrospective summary of 30 years of cultural anthropology carried out in the Caribbean, London, India and elsewhere. At the core of the book is the "paradoxical" argument, pioneered by Miller, that to understand people we need to understand things and the dialectics of our relationships with them. In a nutshell, this is the material culture approach to understanding identity and social interaction. And it is a shot across the bows of those who reductively equate an interest in things (materialism, shopping and consumption) with the superficial, and those who bemoan the rise of consumer society as "symptomatic of a loss of depth in the world".
Stuff | Times Higher Education (THE)
And from a recent piece in the Guardian questioning further how 'stuff' objectifies the owner:
A few years ago, Daniel Miller wrote a lovely book called The Comfort of Things. It was lovely in part because it confounded the growing orthodoxy that material things ruin or in other ways degrade us. The book was the result of a 17-month investigation into the lives and loves and domestic interiors of 30 households in a randomly chosen London street. In them, the ethnographer found collections of plastic ducks and McDonald’s Happy Meal toys, mementos of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, bottles of whisky from the Queen’s Jubilee, religious images, photographs of reality TV babes, and miniature bottles of foreign liquors.
Why did these things matter, and why did they comfort? Because, Miller thought, they make us what we are, they restore our memories, connect us with others and with the past. “Material culture matters,” he wrote, “because objects create subjects more than the other way round.”
Goodbye to curtains and clutter: how we learned to buy less stuff | Society | The Guardian
But perhaps this is the most interesting observation of 'stuff', from last year:
From Netflix to rented homes, why are we less interested in ownership?
20 FEBRUARY 2017
Instead of owning things, we are renting experiences.
BY IAN LESLIE
In 2008 the anthropologist Daniel Miller published a book based on an intimate study of 30 households on a single street in south London. The Comfort of Things explored the different kinds of relationships people have with what they own.
Miller described a retired couple’s house, cluttered with furniture, framed photographs and knick-knacks accumulated over decades. Down the road, a self-employed man called Malcolm had rented a flat. Malcolm preferred a spartan existence: he kept his belongings in storage, the better to travel at short notice, and conducted as much as possible of his life online. His home was his email address. His central material possession was his laptop.
Today, we are living more like the laptop warrior than the retired couple. Increasingly, our possessions are stored in the cloud or on a distant server. Just as we had grown accustomed to the idea of owning music in the form of data, we are now getting used to not owning it at all. In television, too, we stream instead of buy the latest drama series; when people use the term “box set” they are rarely referring to a box of discs on a shelf in the living room. Everything solid is melting into wifi.
Instead of owning things, we are renting experiences. The proliferation of mobile apps enables us to source or supply whatever we want, for short periods, more easily than ever before. The “sharing economy” is not about sharing, however. I encourage my three-year-old daughter to share her toys with her little brother; I don’t suggest that she charge him an hourly fee for doing so. A better name for it is the Paygo (pay-as-you-go) economy.
The Paygo economy combines two intertwined phenomena: the rise of renting and the decline of stuff. If you are in your twenties and unburdened by wealth you may already have accepted that you will always be in hock to a landlord. If you are in the market for a car, you will probably be thinking about leasing it, or joining a car club, or waiting until Google makes car ownership obsolete. There are even apps that allow you to rent a dog rather than take on the responsibility of owning one.
A world in which we own less and rent more is not necessarily one in which consumers are empowered. You never really own the electronic versions of a book or a film – you can’t lend them to a friend or sell them on – because the publisher retains its rights over them. Even our photos aren’t ours any longer: they are owned by corporations that scrape them for data that can be sold. In a recent article, the Financial Times journalist Izabella Kaminska argued that “ownership of nothing and the rental of everything represents . . . the return of an authoritarian and feudalistic society”.
The Paygo economy is changing our relationships with each other and with ourselves. Possessions form part of what the marketing academic Russell Belk calls “the extended self”. In Daniel Miller’s book, he describes how objects, however trivial, can embody relationships. Each household’s collection of stuff – tacky souvenirs, CDs we borrowed and never gave back – forms a constellation of personal significance. Post-materialism does not equate with spiritual enrichment. “Usually the closer our relationships with objects,” Miller writes, “the closer our relationships are with people.”
Human beings have a deep-seated tendency to imbue physical items with the essence of their owner. Hence the market for rock-star memorabilia: an old guitar that has been played by John Lennon is more valuable, and more revered, than a new replica that has not.
We apply this intuition even to money, the units of which are, by definition, interchangeable. Psychologists who study “essentialism” have found that people are less likely to recommend that stolen or lost cash be returned when it has subsequently been deposited in a bank account, as opposed to remaining in paper notes.
When things evaporate, so does meaning. A fetish for owning things connects to a yearning to retain a distinct identity in the face of change. Japan has been economically stagnant for decades and, as a result (and perhaps a cause), has preserved a set of idiosyncratic social norms, at odds with the rest of the developed world. One of these is a strong preference for owning music in a physical form: 85 per cent of the music bought in this technologically advanced society is on CD or vinyl. Japan is also the last developed country to rely on fax machines. A fax, unlike an email or the past, is something you can hold on to.
One way of framing the central arguments of British politics is that they are about the rights of owners versus renters – and not just in the sense of home ownership. Long-standing Labour members believe they own the party, and are outraged both by Momentum clicktivists and £3 voters. What appals many who voted Leave in the EU referendum is the thought that migrants can, in effect, rent a livelihood from the UK, treating the country as a giant Airbnb host. They want to know if this is still their country, or if they are now merely tenants of it.
Most younger voters chose Remain, but relatively few of them voted. That was a function of their lack of home ownership as much as age: millennials who rent are nearly half as likely to vote in elections as their peers who have managed to get on to the property ladder. This is partly a product of the mundane business of spending enough time in one place to get on the electoral roll, but it nonetheless suggests that renters form weaker bonds with the society in which they live.
For centuries, what we own has been an important way of placing ourselves in relation to those around us. The 18th-century curiosity cabinet was a collection of objects used to display the erudition and refinement of its owner. In the 20th century, houses became showcases. Your curtains, your car and your choice of decor said who you were or wanted to be. This was the era of what Thorstein Veblen called “conspicuous consumption”. In the Paygo economy, we will have fewer things of our own to display, as our possessions dematerialise and we rent more of what we need.
Despite all this, human nature has not changed: we are still apes with status anxiety, endlessly preoccupied by our position in any given hierarchy, eager for ways to convey our aspirations and allegiances. So we find other ways to signal. Rather than deploy what we own to say who we are, we use our photo streams and status updates to show it, even going so far as to arrange our meals and holidays with the aim of generating impressive on-brand content.
The vacuum of meaning opened up by the disappearance of stuff may even have increased the stridency of our political debate. One way I can let people know who I am is by loudly asserting my membership of a political tribe.
If I can’t show off my possessions, I will show off my beliefs.
Ian Leslie is the author of “Curious: the Desire to Know and Why Your Future Depends on It” (Quercus)
From Netflix to rented homes, why are we less interested in ownership? - New Statesman
Very soon there will be a store near you:
New Devon Ikea store could open earlier than expected - Plymouth Herald
It's all stuff, though:
Futures Forum: Peak stuff >>> peak home furnishings >>> peak meat-balls
In all its glory:
Futures Forum: The Story of Stuff: "You cannot run a linear system on a finite planet indefinitely"
Futures Forum: Made to last? >>> getting companies to offer a 'lifetime product'
Futures Forum: Reduce, reuse, recycle >>> 'What's Wrong with the Three Rs of Environmentalism'
Futures Forum: Peak stuff >>> Are consumers getting tired of consuming?
Futures Forum: The promises of technological innovation >>> "Community Technology" and the World in 1979
Futures Forum: Transitioning from a Consumer Culture >>> to Sustainable Consumption >>>
Futures Forum: Design for life, not just for manufacture > Design Council
Futures Forum: Planned Obsolescence: and The Men Who Made Us Spend
Futures Forum: The antidote to Stuffocation: "Sharing, lending, bartering, swapping and gifting networks can all play a part and creating things can be done collaboratively."
BY IAN LESLIE
In 2008 the anthropologist Daniel Miller published a book based on an intimate study of 30 households on a single street in south London. The Comfort of Things explored the different kinds of relationships people have with what they own.
Miller described a retired couple’s house, cluttered with furniture, framed photographs and knick-knacks accumulated over decades. Down the road, a self-employed man called Malcolm had rented a flat. Malcolm preferred a spartan existence: he kept his belongings in storage, the better to travel at short notice, and conducted as much as possible of his life online. His home was his email address. His central material possession was his laptop.
Today, we are living more like the laptop warrior than the retired couple. Increasingly, our possessions are stored in the cloud or on a distant server. Just as we had grown accustomed to the idea of owning music in the form of data, we are now getting used to not owning it at all. In television, too, we stream instead of buy the latest drama series; when people use the term “box set” they are rarely referring to a box of discs on a shelf in the living room. Everything solid is melting into wifi.
Instead of owning things, we are renting experiences. The proliferation of mobile apps enables us to source or supply whatever we want, for short periods, more easily than ever before. The “sharing economy” is not about sharing, however. I encourage my three-year-old daughter to share her toys with her little brother; I don’t suggest that she charge him an hourly fee for doing so. A better name for it is the Paygo (pay-as-you-go) economy.
The Paygo economy combines two intertwined phenomena: the rise of renting and the decline of stuff. If you are in your twenties and unburdened by wealth you may already have accepted that you will always be in hock to a landlord. If you are in the market for a car, you will probably be thinking about leasing it, or joining a car club, or waiting until Google makes car ownership obsolete. There are even apps that allow you to rent a dog rather than take on the responsibility of owning one.
A world in which we own less and rent more is not necessarily one in which consumers are empowered. You never really own the electronic versions of a book or a film – you can’t lend them to a friend or sell them on – because the publisher retains its rights over them. Even our photos aren’t ours any longer: they are owned by corporations that scrape them for data that can be sold. In a recent article, the Financial Times journalist Izabella Kaminska argued that “ownership of nothing and the rental of everything represents . . . the return of an authoritarian and feudalistic society”.
The Paygo economy is changing our relationships with each other and with ourselves. Possessions form part of what the marketing academic Russell Belk calls “the extended self”. In Daniel Miller’s book, he describes how objects, however trivial, can embody relationships. Each household’s collection of stuff – tacky souvenirs, CDs we borrowed and never gave back – forms a constellation of personal significance. Post-materialism does not equate with spiritual enrichment. “Usually the closer our relationships with objects,” Miller writes, “the closer our relationships are with people.”
Human beings have a deep-seated tendency to imbue physical items with the essence of their owner. Hence the market for rock-star memorabilia: an old guitar that has been played by John Lennon is more valuable, and more revered, than a new replica that has not.
We apply this intuition even to money, the units of which are, by definition, interchangeable. Psychologists who study “essentialism” have found that people are less likely to recommend that stolen or lost cash be returned when it has subsequently been deposited in a bank account, as opposed to remaining in paper notes.
When things evaporate, so does meaning. A fetish for owning things connects to a yearning to retain a distinct identity in the face of change. Japan has been economically stagnant for decades and, as a result (and perhaps a cause), has preserved a set of idiosyncratic social norms, at odds with the rest of the developed world. One of these is a strong preference for owning music in a physical form: 85 per cent of the music bought in this technologically advanced society is on CD or vinyl. Japan is also the last developed country to rely on fax machines. A fax, unlike an email or the past, is something you can hold on to.
One way of framing the central arguments of British politics is that they are about the rights of owners versus renters – and not just in the sense of home ownership. Long-standing Labour members believe they own the party, and are outraged both by Momentum clicktivists and £3 voters. What appals many who voted Leave in the EU referendum is the thought that migrants can, in effect, rent a livelihood from the UK, treating the country as a giant Airbnb host. They want to know if this is still their country, or if they are now merely tenants of it.
Most younger voters chose Remain, but relatively few of them voted. That was a function of their lack of home ownership as much as age: millennials who rent are nearly half as likely to vote in elections as their peers who have managed to get on to the property ladder. This is partly a product of the mundane business of spending enough time in one place to get on the electoral roll, but it nonetheless suggests that renters form weaker bonds with the society in which they live.
For centuries, what we own has been an important way of placing ourselves in relation to those around us. The 18th-century curiosity cabinet was a collection of objects used to display the erudition and refinement of its owner. In the 20th century, houses became showcases. Your curtains, your car and your choice of decor said who you were or wanted to be. This was the era of what Thorstein Veblen called “conspicuous consumption”. In the Paygo economy, we will have fewer things of our own to display, as our possessions dematerialise and we rent more of what we need.
Despite all this, human nature has not changed: we are still apes with status anxiety, endlessly preoccupied by our position in any given hierarchy, eager for ways to convey our aspirations and allegiances. So we find other ways to signal. Rather than deploy what we own to say who we are, we use our photo streams and status updates to show it, even going so far as to arrange our meals and holidays with the aim of generating impressive on-brand content.
The vacuum of meaning opened up by the disappearance of stuff may even have increased the stridency of our political debate. One way I can let people know who I am is by loudly asserting my membership of a political tribe.
If I can’t show off my possessions, I will show off my beliefs.
Ian Leslie is the author of “Curious: the Desire to Know and Why Your Future Depends on It” (Quercus)
From Netflix to rented homes, why are we less interested in ownership? - New Statesman
Very soon there will be a store near you:
New Devon Ikea store could open earlier than expected - Plymouth Herald
It's all stuff, though:
Futures Forum: Peak stuff >>> peak home furnishings >>> peak meat-balls
In all its glory:
Futures Forum: The Story of Stuff: "You cannot run a linear system on a finite planet indefinitely"
Futures Forum: Made to last? >>> getting companies to offer a 'lifetime product'
Futures Forum: Reduce, reuse, recycle >>> 'What's Wrong with the Three Rs of Environmentalism'
Futures Forum: Peak stuff >>> Are consumers getting tired of consuming?
Futures Forum: The promises of technological innovation >>> "Community Technology" and the World in 1979
Futures Forum: Transitioning from a Consumer Culture >>> to Sustainable Consumption >>>
Futures Forum: Design for life, not just for manufacture > Design Council
Futures Forum: Planned Obsolescence: and The Men Who Made Us Spend
Futures Forum: The antidote to Stuffocation: "Sharing, lending, bartering, swapping and gifting networks can all play a part and creating things can be done collaboratively."
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