Building a better birdcage, and other tales

Design Management Journal, Summer 2001 by Walter, Glen

This is a tale about innovation here on earth, about ordinary people, and about the things we use everyday. With the collaboration of a few very talented people and a willingness to "keep it loose, creative, and chaotic long enough to let the sparks fly," Glen Water transforms the things we take for granted-birdcages, leashes, and litter boxes, for instance-into the things we value. And he just keeps on doing it. Read on to find out how.

Why is there a difference between design as invention and designs that are just "beautiful objects?" I wonder: Should industrial design be the profession chosen to set the standard for "true" innovation, or should that honor go to engineering, marketing, or business? Shouldn't designers be as, if not more, responsible for the meaning and usage of a product than the aforementioned disciplines? Must they stick only to the visual explanation? Shouldn't designers dream of making things better, not making better things?

Did the myths designers fight to overcome actually begin as a mechanism of self-defense? In order to gain recognition and respect within corporations, was it necessary to explain our profession in quantifiable terms that resulted in a narrower definition of our true potential? Aren't large consulting firms becoming ever more burdened by inflexible, repetitious, and quite often, counter-intuitive "work strategies" designed to streamline the process for faster and more-expensive deliverables?

The adventure: Why we wanted to be better than a 10! (ELEVEN)'s journey-to create and experience a life filled with the "true" promise of design-required that we ask ourselves these questions and more. As I listen to business leaders discuss the hot concepts of product branding, I find the subject is so often analyzed solely in the context of a product's appearance. This mentality dresses up products to look more recognizable than competing products instead of actually being more recognizable.

In the late '80s, I met a very successful inventor who had a different point of view. (He prefers to remain anonymous.) The first time I met him, he took me aside and said, "As a group, industrial designers are the most intelligent people I have ever had the pleasure to be associated with. It has always been peculiar to me that they have no idea of how to brand themselves. " This person spent his first three years out of high school as a policeman. He left the police department to pursue a dream: to become an inventor. Not long after he left the police force, he invented and patented the "Fastek" buckle, which can be seen on nearly every gym bag and backpack in the country. Back in the mid-eighties, he turned his attention to the traditional playpen that we all used as infants. Its large size and inflexible design made it impossible to fit into any but the largest station wagon. His solution, the Pack & Play playpen, folds up like an umbrella, fits in a Honda Civic, and is owned by practically every young couple with small children in America. These are just two examples of his product success stories. His goal is not limited to the creation of a new product but is targeted toward the creation of whole market segments. He creates in the true meaning of branding-he leads industry; he does not follow. Financially speaking, he no longer has to work.

Over the years, as I have absorbed and formulated an ever-evolving philosophy of my own, my personal goals as a designer began to change. They have moved from the creation of objects within the confines of a very narrow corridor to a much broader scope of issues. Which is more rewarding, creating breakthrough products that achieve record sales at Wal-Mart, or stylizing products selected for their aesthetic beauty to be displayed on permanent collection at MOMA? Both are respectable goals; but perhaps a bit too much attention is currently paid to products that solve the problems of only an elite few. The masses may not have the luxury of purchasing a nonutilitarian "art form" used primarily as a reflection of status. The object's performance may actually be paramount in order to justify the expense. If we, as design professionals, choose more often than not to glorify "elitist" design, we will ultimately fail. This type of behavior will lead to cover articles like the one in Time magazine titled, "Form is in, function is out."

Is this how we choose to present ourselves to the public, or are we selling our souls for a bit of attention? What will happen when consumers uncover design's "true" purpose? Will they feel betrayed by our creations of desire, or will they embrace and applaud design for solving their everyday problems? Moreover, because we do not make the masses our true target, they cannot relate to us. Because of this miscalculation, a vast majority of businesses frequently choose not to utilize our talents.

At (ELEVEN), we began to realize that products could exude beauty simply through their inventive solutions to everyday difficulties. The form a product takes should be so appropriate to its function that it tells a story of the pleasure it will impart and the reason it is better than competing products. The pure expression of what the product is and does, combined with the "invention" aspect, creates a product that works from within and without. The Pack & Play solves such a basic problem for the masses. Why is it not in a museum?