What was Philippe Starck thinking of?

P. Lloyd and D. Snelders, Faculty of Industrial Design Engineering, TU

Delft, Landbergstraat 15, 2628 BX Delft, The Netherlands

We argue, using Philippe Starck’s Juicy Salif lemon squeezer as a case

study, that the personal creativity of a designer forms a necessary
condition for a design’s success. It does not, however, form a sufficient
condition. We critically examine the implications of Adrian Forty’s
contention that ‘no design works unless it embodies ideas that are held
in common by the people for whom the object is intended’. We conclude
that rather than looking to ideological factors for a sufficient condition
of design success, it is better to look to descriptions of engaged use
(and mis-use) of products.
쎻c 2003 Elsevier Science Ltd. All rights reserved.

Keywords: industrial design, marketing, design precedents, creativity

A
drian Forty, in the last chapter of his book Objects of Desire1 and
after sustained commentary on how design necessarily reflects
wider concerns within society, presents an argument about the
process of designing in which he seeks to de-emphasise the ‘creativity’
of the designer, and emphasise the ‘material constraints over which [the
designers] had no control’. According to Forty our (mis)conception of what
designers do arises from two directions. First, from experiments ‘studying
the empirically verifiable connections between what designers think and
what they do’. Secondly, in the ‘tendency of designers, when asked about
design, to describe […] the creative steps they have taken, their ideas about
form, the constraints under which they have operated and their methods
of working.’ (italics ours). Here, Forty has in mind not only monographs
written by well-known designers, but also case studies reporting what
designers have said about their design process. ‘Design has come to be
regarded as belonging entirely within the realm of the designer’ Forty
writes, and this has had pernicious consequences, particularly in design
schools where students learn to indulge what Forty refers to as ‘the myth
of their own omnipotence’. Designers describe their work as if they had
overall power, at the expense of neglecting ideology as a determinant of
design. Forty concludes that: ‘no design works unless it embodies ideas
1 Forty, A Objects of desire
Moffat, London (1986) that are held in common by the people for whom the object is intended’.
www.elsevier.com/locate/destud
0142-694X/03 $ - see front matter Design Studies 24 (2003) 237–253
doi:10.1016/S0142-694X(02)00054-6 237
 2003 Elsevier Science Ltd All rights reserved Printed in Great Britain
 It is these ideas that, although to some degree harnessed by designers,
ultimately lie outside their control.

This raises a question that could do with resolving: does personal creativity
provide either a necessary or sufficient condition for attributing success to
a design object? Following from this is a question about the relationship
between the intentions of the designer for a particular design and the ideas
embedded in the public consciousness. There are, then, two strands to For-
ty’s reasoning, the first is the idea that another designer could conceivably
come up with similar results. The second is the attribution of the design’s
success; is it to the intentions of the designer (in which case there is a
good argument for omnipotence) or to cultural or ideological factors in the
consuming public (in which case there is a good argument for impotence).

These issues will be taken up in the present paper by using a ‘hard’ case
study having four key characteristics. First, it concerns an original design
with no obvious precedent. Secondly, it is a design simple enough to have
been created by one person autonomously (and is not, at least in principle,
the product of combined social effort). Thirdly, it is a design considered
successful in terms of number of units sold. Finally, it is a design having
a distinctive three dimensional form together with a specific and singular
purpose.
2 Roy, R ‘Case studies of crea-
tivity in innovative product devel- The case that we have chosen to deconstruct is Philippe Starck’s Juicy
opment’ Design Studies Vol 14
(1993) 423–443 Salif lemon squeezer, a product that has so-far sold over 550 000 units, at
3 Cross, N and Cross, A ‘Win-
ning by design: the methods of
a steady rate of 50 000 a year since its launch in 1990. We shall discuss,
Gordan Murray racing car using this case, whether personal creativity forms either a necessary and
designer’ Design Studies Vol 17
(1996) 91–107 perhaps even a sufficient condition for the design being considered success-
4 Lawson, B Design in mind ful. We also discuss whether ideological factors—what Forty refers to as
Butterworth Architecture, Oxford
UK (1994) ideas embodied in the product and held in common by the people for
5 Moulton, A ‘A lifetimes
experience of engineering inno- whom the product was intended—could provide a sufficient condition for
vations: successes and failures’ a product’s success. Before we look at our case study we first consider the
RSA Journal Vol CXLV (1997)
10–13 idea of an ‘omnipotent’ designer.
6 Lloyd, P A and Scott, P J
‘Discovering the design problem’
Design Studies Vol 15 (1994)
125–140
1 The omnipotent designer
7 Dorst, K Describing design— A great many studies and interviews of designers focus on the decision-
a comparison of paradigms PhD
Thesis, Technical University making or reasoning that happened during a design process. Some studies
Delft (1997)
8 Schön, D A The reflective look at the reasons that certain decisions were made, and the ideas that
practitioner Temple Smith, Lon- came up during the process2–5 while others have focused on the cognitions
don (1983)
9 Cross, N, Dorst, K and Chri- and/or sketches and drawings of the designer6–9, piecing together thoughts
stians, H Analysing design
‘thought aloud’ with actions performed, to reveal the overall character of
activity Wiley, Chichester UK
(1996) the design process. Design process here refers to that period of time before

238 Design Studies Vol 24 No. 3 May 2003

 a design product is produced, in most cases before even a detailed drawing
is produced.

An example of this approach can be found in Robin Roy’s paper Case

Studies in Innovative Product Development2 in which he discusses the cre-
ative processes by which a number of well-known designs have come
about. Most famously is the case of James Dyson and his dual cyclone
vacuum cleaner. Roy writes:
Dyson established the basic technical feasibility of his idea by testing a simple
cardboard model cyclone fitted to a conventional vacuum cleaner. Dyson then
considered the commercial potential of his invention before attempting to develop
it.[…]

This innovative design was an upright cleaner that did not clog or lose power as it
filled with dust, was easy to empty and had a built-in retractable hose to provide the
functions of a cylinder vacuum cleaner. Its design involved Dyson’s combination of
skills as inventor, engineer and industrial designer.[…]

He deliberately designed the product to be coloured pink to emphasise its

innovativeness and made the cyclone enclosure transparent so that customers would
be able to observe the swirling dust particles.

Roy’s descriptions of Dyson’s creative process are clearly couched in terms

of Dyson’s intentions about the product. The suggestion is that it was
Dyson’s skills that were responsible for such an innovative product; that,
amongst other things, he deliberately coloured it pink and made the cyclone
transparent. This, Roy is implying, is what has made the design a success;
Dyson’s innovative solution to the problem he set himself, together with
his ‘never say die’ character, his skill at doggedly chasing down a solution,
and his ability to coolly consider the commercial potential of his design.
A clear-cut case of omnipotence.

Roy’s description of Dyson is by no means an isolated example, and the

underlying assumption of all studies with a designer at their centre seems
to be not only that the thoughts and intentions of the designer matter, but
that they can lead us to better understand how to solve design problems
more creatively and effectively. What we are looking for, in this respect,
is good designing, or at the very least a way to distinguish good designing
from bad designing. Our conception of good designing (and the implication
of ‘good’ here is successful, whatever that might mean) lies in finding a
good (i.e. demonstrably better functioning) solution to an identifiable prob-
lem.

There are two problems with this approach. First, if it is not possible for

What was Philippe Starck thinking of? 239

 the designer to reveal what they are thinking of for much of the design
process, as some studies seem to suggest10,11, then we are not able to rely
on what we understand as their thoughts and intentions as a way of
determining the success of the design (and by extension the effectiveness
of their design process). Could we be basing our intuitions about successful
design only on plausible accounts of the design process? Secondly, how
can we explain the success of products that either don’t achieve an obvious
‘function’, or don’t appear to function any better than existing similar pro-
ducts? We turn now to our case study: Philippe Starck and his lemon
squeezer.

2 What Philippe Starck could have been thinking of

Let us for one moment take the risky step of believing Philippe Starck.
According to his own account of how the design for his lemon squeezer
Juicy Salif came about, what happened was that: ‘once in a restaurant, this
vision of a squid like lemon came upon me, so I started sketching it…and
four years later it became quite famous’12. After a bit of historical delving
into the life of Starck, we can begin to build up quite a plausible account
of why this ‘squid-like lemon’ was significant to Starck, and not to the
other people who were eating the squid in the restaurant that night:

In the mid-1950s the little Philippe often likes to fall asleep under his
father’s drawing board as he works at the job that will occupy his whole
life: aircraft design13. When his father is out of the room the little Philippe
often sneaks a peek at his work and he dreams about flying away in his own
little aeroplane. In his teenage years—his father now gone—he continues to
like modern things; flight was (after all) a modern thing in the 1960s. He
likes looking forwards too; to the future, and to science fiction. His favour-
ite films of the time include Forbidden Planet and Godzilla. He reads
10 Lloyd, P A, Lawson, B R
and Scott, P J ‘Can concurrent nearly every book of his favourite author Phillip K Dick14 and every now
verbalization reveal design cog- and then passages stick in his mind:
nition?’ Design Studies Vol 16
(1995) 237–259
11 Liddament, T ‘The myths of
imagery’ Design Studies Vol 21 Studying the pin, Paul went on: ‘one can easily understand this reaction. Here is a
(2000) 589–606
12 Carmel-Arthur, J Philippe piece of metal which has been melted until it has become shapeless. It represents
Starck Carlton, London (1999) nothing. Nor does it have any design, of any intentional sort. It is merely amorphous.
13 Aldersey-Williams, H ‘ID’
Starck and stardom Vol One might say, it is mere content, deprived of form’15
May/June (1987) 46–51
14 Nobel, P ‘Starck realities’
Metropolis October (1998)
www.metropolismag.com
Philippe likes looking at Sci-Fi cartoons16, and he spends much of his time
15 Dick, P K The man in the re-drawing characters and objects from comic strips (Fig. 1), particularly
high castle Vintage, New York
(1962) the spaceships (Fig. 2), which remind him of his father. He likes looking
16 Morgan, C L Philippe backwards too, but always with an eye on the future of history. The idea
Starck Universe, New York
(1999) of organic evolution fascinates him14.

240 Design Studies Vol 24 No. 3 May 2003

Figure 1 The world under
attack by aliens17

Now in his mid-thirties, early-middle-age Philippe has found success as a

designer. Not without controversy it must be said, but this has helped to
define his ‘star’ personality. The top companies want to work with him.
He gets a commission to design a range of kitchenware from Italian house-
hold goods manufacturer Alessi. After meeting Alessi he takes a quick
break on the Italian island of Capraia. In the evening he ambles along to
a local restaurant—a pizzeria called Il Corsaro19. As he sits waiting for his
food to arrive he turns the problem of the lemon squeezer over in his head.
17 Wells, H G La guerre des He thinks about a conventional squeezer and sketches the form on the
mondes (illustrations by Jacobs
E P) Dargaud, Brussels (1946) restaurant place mat (Fig. 3). He puts his pencil down, the food has
18 Raymond, A Flash Gordon
(Vol 1:1934 -1936) Futuropolis, arrived—baby squid. He skewers one with a fork and just as he is about
Paris (1987)
to put it into his mouth he stops, looks at it, and realises that this is the
19 Starck, P Starck Taschen,
Cologne, Germany (2000) solution to his lemon squeezer problem.

What was Philippe Starck thinking of? 241

Figure 2 A rocket from the
French cartoon strip of
Flash Gordon18

Figure 3 Table mat showing Philippe Starck’s original sketches for what was to become the Juicy Salif lemon squeezer19. Note
Phillipe Starck draws with his right hand and the sketches generally seem to follow an anti-clockwise path from the bottom
right

He starts to sketch, there and then. ‘If I’m quick’, he thinks, ‘I can design
this before the primi piatti’20. First he tries to make a conventional lemon
squeezer out of a squid, but then he realises that won’t really work. The
squid begins to evolve—Philippe has always been interested in evolution—
20 Cooper, M ‘Philippe le roi’
Blueprint November (1985) p. 48 into something with legs, but he doesn’t like it. It seems to be dragging,

242 Design Studies Vol 24 No. 3 May 2003

 injured almost. He keeps going, eating while he sketches. His sketches
abstractly remind him of the old comics he used to read. He recalls the
words ‘merely amorphous’ from some book he read, he can’t remember
where. Things begin to gel in his mind, and from the dragging creature
emerges a lighter, three-legged form. Like one of the spaceships he used
to think about jetting up to space in. He likes the form, it’s ‘working’. He
puts down his pencil, makes an approving noise, and starts his tiramisu.
The next morning he phones Alessi ‘I’ve got a lemon squeezer for you’
he teases. Of course there are a few details to work out, exact dimensions,
what material to use, how to get the juice out of the lemon efficiently. But
these are all sub-problems; someone else can solve them. The main prob-
lem is solved.

The design is made. Philippe likes it, it’s what he intended. But people
begin to criticise it. They say that it doesn’t work. It doesn’t fulfil the
function of the lemon squeezer, they argue. ‘Look! the pips get squeezed
out along with their juice, who wants to chew on a lemon pip when you’re
enjoying a paella?’ Philippe is used to criticism, he thinks for a while,
straightens his story, and then says:

Sometimes you must choose why you design—in this case not to squeeze lemons,
even though as a lemon squeezer it works. Sometimes you need some more humble
service: on a certain night, the young couple, just married, invites the parents of the
groom to dinner, and the groom and his father go to watch football on the TV. And
for the first time the mother of the groom and the young bride are in the kitchen and
there is a sort of malaise—this squeezer is made to start the conversation.21

This description of designing puts Starck firmly centre-stage, as do many

other descriptions of design processes. It is couched in terms of the genius
narrative: a memorable solution occurring very quickly; almost a gift from
God. With very little apparent effort an exquisite artefact is produced. It
is a plausible account rather than an actual account, but what if it were
true? Would it explain anything? It certainly doesn’t tell us why the design
has been successful. Perhaps all it does tell us is that designers draw on
their experiences, that they play with form, that they then have to interpret
the form for us in telling us how it realises a certain function. What such
an account does do is explain the significance of this object to this one
person, the designer. It doesn’t, indeed cannot, explain the significance of
this object to all the other people that ‘consume’ it in some or other way.

21 Starck, P ‘Starck speaks:

politics pleasure play’ Harvard Although, of course, not impossible, it is highly unlikely that another
Design Magazine Summer
designer could have come up with a design similar to Starck’s. Not in
(1998)
www.gsd.harvard.edu/desarts/ terms of form, of course, for it is relatively easy to find precedents for

What was Philippe Starck thinking of? 243

 Starck’s Juicy Salif. The difficult step is to imagine this basic raw
material—science fiction, cartoons, evolutionary theorising—expressly
being applied to the particular problem of squeezing lemons (or, if we are
to believe Starck, creating conversation). Clearly the form itself is not orig-
inal, but the form realised as a lemon squeezer could be. Maybe this much
alone might allow us to attribute Starck’s personal creativity as a necessary
condition for the design’s success. The question then is whether it could
also form a sufficient condition.

3 The death of the designer?

We are now in the year 4000, the name of Philippe Starck long since
forgotten. In such circumstances, with the designer, and his intentions, long
dead, we might try to account for the success of the product (longevity
being another characteristic of success) in terms of what we thought the
designer’s original intention could have been. This leads us, however, into
a logical problem. The original intention/s about the product must be some-
thing prior to, and independent of, the finished product, but an explanation
of intention will always be related to the finished product. [Note 1] An
22 Giedion, S Mechanization explanation of prior intention will at best be a plausible account of the pro-
takes command: a contribution
to anonymous history Norton,
cess.
New York (1948)
23 Bourdieu, P Distinction: a
social critique of the judgement Alternatively, as Forty1 and his precursor Giedion22 might argue, the mere
of taste (translation Nice R) Har-
vard University Press, Cam-
fact that the product exists says more about the people that buy and use
bridge, USA (1984) the product than the original intentions of the designer. The consumption
24 Douglas, M and Isher-
wood, B The world of goods: of the product might be considered as: ‘a labour of appropriation [where]
towards an anthropology of con- the consumer helps to produce the product he consumes, by a labour of
sumption Penguin, Harmond-
sworth UK (1980) identification and decoding, which […] may constitute the whole of the
25 Hancock M., ‘Moderate
anarchy’ Design September
consumption and gratification, and which requires time and dispositions
(1990) 52-61 acquired over time’23. The function of the product becomes that of ‘marker’
26 McCracken, G ‘Culture and
consumption: a theoretical for a set of values and ideas with which informed consumers align them-
account of the structure and
movement of the cultural mean-
selves24. Since the Juicy Salif was made at a time when Alessi products
ing of consumer goods’ Journal were typically gifts25 this alignment implies a gift giver, a receiver, but
of Consumer Research Vol 13
(1986) 71–84 also a possessor26, and can lead to various progressions of relationship
27 Ruth, J A, Otnes, C C and formation, like strengthening, affirmation, or possibly, in Starck’s example
Brunel, F F ‘Gift receipt and the
reformulation of interpersonal of ‘daughter and mother-in-law,’ confirmation of a lack of connection27.
relationships’ Journal of Con-
sumer Research Vol 25 (1999)
385–402 In these processes there may well be a role for the designer as celebrity
28 Putman, A and Poynor, R
The international design year- endorser. As Putnam and Poynor28 say about the Juicy Salif: ‘what one is
book Thames and Hudson, Lon-
don (1992)
buying, of course, is … a little piece of Philippe Starck’. But, again, this
29 McCracken, G ‘Who is the possible endorsing role of famous designers says nothing about their inten-
celebrity endorser? Cultural
foundations of the endorsement tions. It only says something about the way that they are represented in
process’ Journal of Consumer
the media for: ‘without typecasting, they [the celebrity endorsers] have no
Research Vol 16 (1989) 310–
321 meanings to give’29.

244 Design Studies Vol 24 No. 3 May 2003

 How does this ‘labour of appropriation’ make products more useful or
more appealing? One could argue that products bring a kind of story to
people’s lives. Take the familiar ergonomic problems of the video
recorder30, the standard explanation of this is that the video recorder is a
poorly designed product, but equally that means it is possible for the con-
sumer to discover things about the video recorder years after it has been
lying on the floor flashing the time at 0:00. The same reasoning applies to
computer software. One finds out about the software, and what the software
can do, as one uses and explores it—with or without the manual. Often one
is surprised in finding out about doing something that one never thought the
software could do. These little discoveries give us a pleasure that was not
present when we first used the product. We might feel that the product is
‘offering up its secrets’ to us. The converse of this is that when the product
mis-functions in some way (either by design or by accident) we feel let
down. But this mis-functioning only adds to the plot of the story. It is
possible to think that a product mis-functioning could be an important
component of our developing a liking for it, or at the very least forming
a relationship to it. Nicolson Baker in his novel The mezzanine31 writes
about his relationship with sugar ‘tube’ packaging:

What sugar-packet manufacturer could have known that people would take to flapping
the packet back and forth to centrifuge its contents to the bottom, so that they could
handily tear off the top? The nakedness of a simple novelty in pre-portioned
packaging has been surrounded and softened and made sense of by gesticulative
adaptation (possibly inspired by the extinguishing oscillation of a match after the
lighting of a cigarette); convenience has given rise to ballet; and the sound of those
flapping sugar packets in the early morning, fluttering over from nearby booths, is not
one I would willingly forgo, even though I take my coffee unsweetened.

It is this developing relationship with a particular product that clearly gives

value to the consumer. Equally it is a relationship that cannot be determ-
ined—and hence intended by—the designer. But why buy the product in
the first place if one is unable to know what this value might be before
one is engaged with the object? Forty maintains that people are buying
into ideas that the product somehow expresses, embodies, represents, or
symbolises. It is, however, debatable whether this historical explanation of
what the design ‘came to symbolise’ can account for actual purchasing
behaviour directly after the initial product release. There may be other,
inchoate, reasons for buying a product. This brings us back to the argument
against the personal creativity of the designer determining design success:
30 Norman, D A The design of
everyday things Doubleday, New ‘no design works unless it embodies ideas that are held in common by the
York (1990)
people for whom the object is intended.’ In the next section of the paper
31 Baker, N The mezzanine
Granta Books, London (1989) we return to the Starck lemon squeezer, considering what it might have

What was Philippe Starck thinking of? 245

 embodied and expressed, and whether this might provide us with a suf-
ficient condition for its initial success.

4 What the lemon squeezer might embody and

express
The lemon squeezer is made from cast, polished aluminium, it has a diam-
eter of 14 cm and a total height of 29 cm. The form consists of an upward
facing teardrop body, 14 cm in height and with 12 evenly spread, shallow,
vertical troughs around it’s circumference to allow the squeezed juice to
run down it’s length. The body is supported by three legs, one every 120
degrees around the body’s circumference and fixed about 4 cm up from
the tapered end of the teardrop body, precisely on one of the shallow peaks
either side of two troughs. Each leg consists of an upwardly angled 2.5
cm ‘thigh’, a well defined knee point, and a ‘lower leg’ descending 21 cm
in a shallow, slightly outward running, arc. There are three small, black,
rubber feet inserts at the bottom of each leg.

The lemon squeezer comes with user instructions and a diagram of use. It
should be placed on a stable surface and a glass should be put under the
body. One hand should hold the object firm by gripping one of the legs,
the other hand should squeeze the halved fruit by putting it on the rounded
upper surface of the teardrop body and making slow rotating movements
back and forth. The juice will then collect in the glass standing underneath.
The squeezer should be rinsed immediately after use.

There are a number of aspects to consider about the lemon squeezer. The
first is the material it is made from: aluminium. Compared with steel, alu-
minium is a modern metal, one that has associations with aircraft, with
lightness, and with anti-corrosion. The lemon squeezer won’t rust away, it
has a feeling of permanence about it. This permanence is emphasised by
the temporariness of its rubber feet. The user instructions rather apologise
for the fact that the rubber feet will wear out, noting that new ones can
be bought should they do so. The feeling of the object’s permanence also
comes from the method of making the squeezer: casting. It is a simple,
traditional technique, that sometimes produces imperfections, but generally
works well. Strong things are usually cast. Industrial revolutions were
founded on cast iron as an industrial material. The modern material is,
then, underpinned by a traditional technique. The result is a monument,
standing with the ‘power’ graphic perspective of socialist realism. This is
also how it is presented on the packaging: a photo taken from a low angle
(Fig. 4). One could easily imagine it as a huge object, out of all proportion
with human scale.

Aluminium as a material has been said to give a feeling of ‘nostalgia for

246 Design Studies Vol 24 No. 3 May 2003

Figure 4 Original
photograph for Juicy Salif
packaging (copyright Alessi)

the future’32, and there are other features of the lemon squeezer that one
can associate with a future imagined from the past. Chief among these is
its rocket or spaceship associations. Not with rockets of the present, but
with old-style rockets, like those of Soviet inventors (Fig. 5). At the time
rockets promised an exciting, high-tech future of space exploration, a long
way from war-torn planet Earth. This ‘future of the past’ feeling is main-
tained by the streamlining of the squeezer’s body (a teardrop being a good
aerodynamic shape). Starting in the thirties and continuing into the fifties
32 Nicols, S Aluminium by streamlining made everything look modern, and the metaphor of streamlin-
design Harold Abrams, New
York (2000) ing, speeding unhindered towards the future, became a metaphor of social

What was Philippe Starck thinking of? 247

Figure 5 Soviet rocket from
the 1930s, designed by
Ivanovich Polyarny33

and technological progress22. In the late 1980s streamlining might just be

thought of as retro, but it could also be taken as ironic, especially as there
is actually a fluid moving over the surface of the lemon squeezer, albeit
not at a speed that streamlining would help at all.

What could a monument in a progressive, social realist style mean? An

ode to the socialist ideals of the then crumbling Soviet Union? It’s certainly
plausible though there are also less monumental aspects to the lemon
33 Ordway, F I (III) and Lieb-
ermann, R Blueprint for space: squeezer. Its tripod configuration combined with the long legs and the top
science fiction to science fact
heavy form gives a feeling that the squeezer might easily tip over, and
Smithsonian Institution Press,
Washington DC (1992) indeed it takes only an angle of around 10 degrees for the squeezer to

248 Design Studies Vol 24 No. 3 May 2003

 become unstable. Could we find here the embodiment of a monument just
about to topple? The Soviet Union perhaps, which did finally topple in
1991, or the eighties commitment to rampant capitalism, that didn’t.

One might also read a certain sexiness into the object, the raised legs
suggesting can-can images of the Follies Bergere, and the exaggerated
length of the lower legs recalling the portraits of Vargas (Fig. 6). Addition-
ally the lemon juice dripping off the body is reminiscent of micturation.
[Note 2] Why have this suggestion of sex in the kitchen? It could be argued
that by the late eighties, cooking had come to stand for a traditional,
restrained sense of pleasure, whereas sex had come to stand for more lib-
eral, and less restrained values towards pleasure. In Peter Greenaway’s
1989 film The cook, the thief, his wife and her lover, food is enjoyed by
a wealthy pig-like thief who constantly preaches survival values, while his
wife flies away to the more nobler pursuit of sex, aided by a liberal cook.
This, against the backdrop of national campaigns to control the spread of
Aids. People were being forced to think realistically and publicly about

Figure 6 Vargas legs

(copyright Alberto Vargas)

What was Philippe Starck thinking of? 249

 promiscuous sex. A sexual object might express a liberal attitude
towards sex.

We have, then, a number of possible ways to construe the lemon squeezer

as an object that expresses or embodies ideas. We have the idea of perma-
nence, the idea of ‘a past future’, the possibility of irony, the idea of insta-
bility, and of sex. A sexy, Soviet, statue; a morality tale for the over-
spending consumer: beware of fixed, top-heavy systems, for they may be
toppled. And these, we have tried to show, might have been ideas running
around people’s heads during the social and political situation of the late
eighties (when the lemon squeezer was produced) and the early nineties
(when it was introduced into the market).

This is a potted historical sketch, certainly, but a sketch that puts the lemon
squeezer in some sort of historical and political context able to suggest why
the ‘ideas’ of certain groups of people might chime with the expressive
possibilities of the lemon squeezer and go some way in explaining its
success. It is a suggestion that makes no attempt at all to take into account
Philippe Starck’s professed intention for the lemon squeezer, instead trying
to work from the ‘facts’ of it’s form, construction, and function towards
the values and ideas prevalent in the society of the time. Unfortunately it
is rather unconvincing. This is because as a historical and situated account
it provides a ‘reading’ of history with little explanatory power across large
differences at the cultural, or even individual, level. One could say that
such a reading is almost as ‘creative’ as the design itself.

5 The fate of the designer: omnipotence or

impotence, life or death?
We started this paper with two contentions of Adrian Forty. The first was
that the success of a design could not be entirely due to the personal crea-
tivity of the designer. The second was that ‘no design works unless it
embodies ideas that are held in common by the people for whom the object
is intended’. Taking the two hypotheses together we set out to find out
whether personal creativity could be considered a necessary or sufficient
condition for a design’s success. To this end we took Philippe Starck’s
lemon squeezer Juicy Salif as a case study. First looking at it from the
viewpoint of Starck’s creativity, then from the viewpoint of what the lemon
squeezer might embody or express in wider terms. We concluded first that
it was unlikely that any other designer could have come up with the parti-
cular form that Starck did as a lemon squeezer; good evidence for us
attributing Starck’s creativity, or at least his personal background, as a
necessary condition for its success. Secondly, we suggested that the argu-
ment for the lemon squeezer embodying the zeitgeist in some way—and

250 Design Studies Vol 24 No. 3 May 2003

 its success being attributable to consumers sensing (and wanting) this
embodiment—was a little shaky.

So does it matter at all what Philippe Starck thought when he sat in that
Italian restaurant just off the coast of Tuscany and started to sketch? The
evidence would suggest that he sat down with the intention of designing
a lemon squeezer—an object to squeeze lemons that is—and probably do
it provocatively and with some style. The lemon squeezer clearly does
squeeze lemons, however badly some people may think it achieves this. It
does also start conversations, Starck’s professed intention for the design;
this paper is testament to that function. Could these simple intentions be
a sufficient condition in accounting for the product’s success?

We argued earlier that the actual intentions about a design must logically
exist prior to the existence of any particular design. The intention to design
an object to squeeze lemons must certainly precede the design of any lemon
squeezer, but the intention to design a ‘conversational object’ doesn’t
necessarily have to (otherwise the object would be called a ‘conversation
starter’ and not a ‘lemon squeezer’). It would seem that ‘starting a conver-
sation’ is more of a description of the products actual functioning than its
intended functioning. Yet this kind of description used to justify a design
might go a long way in accounting for the success of a design. This is
because it is a description that can encompass the idiosyncratic use, system-
atic mis-use, or multiple uses of a product. These are the stories that emerge
about a product once a consumer lives and engages with it. All Starck has
done, we suggest, is observed how his product is actually used, and turned
that into his realised intention as the reason for its success. But such a
description is never something he could intend to produce in the design
object since not every consumer will experience the lemon squeezer in its
‘social lubricant’ function. If a lemon squeezer does start a conversation
it is because of the manifold associations, symbolisations, ideas, and evalu-
ations it produces, and how these reveal themselves during the ongoing
interaction with the product, not by the design of a single individual.

This conclusion is also that of Stanley Fish34 and Roger Scruton35. Both
argue, rather differently we might add, that consumers choose a product
with the abstract aim of that product fitting their way of living (Fish), or
goals in life (Scruton). And this abstract aim cannot be given in advance
34 Fish, S ‘The unbearable
ugliness of volvos’ in S Fish since the product initiates the process of realising those aims. The success
(ed.) There’s No Such Thing as
Free Speech. And it’s a Good
of the product, then, only comes about through the consumer’s engagement
Thing Too, Oxford University with that product. The idea of the omnipotent designer may actually turn
Press, Oxford UK (1994) pp
273–279 out to be useful for the consumer in realising those aims—in shaping the
35 Scruton, R The aesthetics engagement with the product—but this omnipotence derives from a differ-
of architecture Methuen, London
UK (1979) ent source than ‘merely’ solving a demonstrable problem through design.

What was Philippe Starck thinking of? 251

 The irony of all this of course is that, in questioning the omnipotence of
the designer, the name of Philippe Starck has appeared in this paper 27
times. If we wanted to kill off the idea of the omnipotent designer, we’ve
certainly been going about it a funny way. This contradiction alone should
make us alive to the possibility of a design’s success in some way
encompassing the idea of the omnipotent designer. The main conclusions
of our analysis suggest that we should conduct our search for the reasons
of a particular design’s success by looking for descriptions of engaged use
that contradict, ignore, but sometimes support the original intentions of the
designer. [Note 3] And of course these descriptions can come from the
designers themselves, it is just that they shouldn’t be misconstrued as evi-
dence for omnipotence, only as another drop in the ocean of consumer
experience.

In summary it could be argued that a designer’s personal creativity does

form a necessary condition for a design’s success, but it will never be a
sufficient condition. For that we would need to take into account, not the
ideas present in a particular society as Forty has suggested, but the personal
creativity of the consumer to use or misuse the products that they buy.
There is certainly skill in designing, it is just not a magical skill, and not
a skill that extends past the completion of the design into its consumption.

6 Discussion
(Discussant: Linden Ball, Department of Pschology, University of Lancas-
ter, UK)

LB: You’re interested in the causes of design success and you seem to
attribute this to three causes. Firstly, the creative designer or individual
‘hero’. Secondly, you talk about the notion of some kind of zeitgeist or
ecological context, you take the late eighties and early nineties as an
example. Thirdly, is the creative user (or the creative misuser). I would
like a stronger feel for what you describe as necessary and sufficient causes,
especially the role of the creative designer which you seem equivocal
about, you seem to arrive at the idea of the creative user / misuser of the
product and I’m not sure where that fits in exactly.

DS: The first aspect, the creative design process started from the idea of
designers having intentions about the way a product would be, but that
shifted into the idea of the personal history of the designer. It is also partly
to do with the sort of data that you’re looking at. When you look at histori-
cal data you see certain things, like the role of the media, and you think
should we attribute it to this or attribute it to Starck, or maybe the ideas
held in common by people? So then my definition of what is creative

252 Design Studies Vol 24 No. 3 May 2003

 genius turns into personal history: can we attribute it to anyone’s personal
history, or can I maintain that nobody else but Starck could have come up
with this idea? I think you need personal history to understand the success
of the lemon squeezer, I think it is a necessary condition. For the second
aspect, the ideas held in common, you often get the feeling that there’s a
lot of guesswork involved, and that perhaps you shouldn’t interpret so
much. That’s why we came up with alternative explanations for the
design—in terms of user inventiveness and cultural capital.

LB: Are there any other causes of design success beyond the three you have
identified? Could, for example, involving the user in the design process be
a sufficient condition for success? And how much can you generalise from
this specific case?

DS: I think a lot depends on the type of market that you are designing for.
User involvement would obviously benefit architects, but I think in this
case user involvement would have been problematic. It would be difficult
for users to express why this is a better lemon squeezer than a much
cheaper one, certainly in terms of function. On the other hand there is no
doubt about the remarkable success of this squeezer. I think the manufac-
turers, Alessi, introduced an idea of how to consume a certain thing, and
a kitchen utensil with certain sexual connotations was a very good thing
for them

Questioner 1: I actually wonder who has been more creative in this process,
Phillipe Starck or Alessi.

DS: It is true that in the early nineties Alessi was changing its attitude to
putting products on the market, a more commercialised way, but I think
that this is one of the items that they produced with a sense of ‘design
masterpiece’, following very much in the tradition from the mid-seventies
onwards with, for example, Richard Sapper. I think that Starck has as much
to do with the lemon squeezer’s success as Alessi in this particular case.
Later cases I’m not so sure.

Notes
1
David Hume in his Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion36 asks exactly the same question about inferring
the nature, and intentions of the designer (in Hume’s case a putative God) from the qualities and functioning
of the artefact (in Hume’s case the world). Hume, writing in the mid-eighteenth century when attacks on
creationism had to be veiled in irony, argued that it ‘might’ be impossible to infer either the nature, or the
intentions of the creator simply by looking at the characteristics of the artefact.
2
36 Hume, D Dialogues con- The name of the lemon squeezer, Juicy Salif, would appear to derive not from the name of a character
cerning natural religion Oxford in a Phillip K. Dick novel, as many of Starck’s other designs have, but from the French word for saliva, salive.
3
Paperbacks, Oxford UK (1779) See also Meikle37 for similar arguments.
37 Meikle, J L ‘Material virtues:
on the ideal and the real in
design history’ Journal of Design
History Vol 11 (1998) 191–199

What was Philippe Starck thinking of? 253