Technology to Trope
The end of summer still makes me think about school. This is the second end-of-summer since I graduated, and even though it no longer signals the start of class for me, I wonder if it will ever lose the association. Already though, the association is changing: when I was a student, the start of autumn meant scheduling seminars, moving my computer, and remembering how I had left things with friends. Now it conjures viewbook images of brown leaves falling on sunny campus quads, students- now a group that I think about rather than belong to- carrying their books and leading study groups near old stone bell towers. I unconsciously transformed Labor Day’s meaning from a set of personal tasks to a common trope, in order to save space. I no longer deal with information related to being a college student daily, so my mind compressed the intricate structure of relationships, appointments, goals- basically, the interface I had built to interact with life- into a story-like memory.
Objects also come with a history of information that’s no longer relevant to their everyday use. They retain design features that were functional in some other context, but now serve as reminders. Even pens, one of the most purely utilitarian products around, have design cues that were once functional, but now just tell stories. Maybe the oval pattern on this “Vision” pen by Uni Ball represents the speed of your thoughts hitting paper as you scribble with this black and chrome ink missile. These shapes would make sense cut into the surface of an engine as air intakes, but they tell a story without context on a pen.
Think toys: most depend on features that imply a function that the toy itself can’t actually perform. Some would say this is what separates toys from non-toys; I believe it separates good toys from bad. The value of Barbie’s Jeep comes from reminding a kid (or parent) of a real Jeep, while being small and slow enough for a kid, and pink enough for a girl, to drive. The gnarly treads, fog lights, bumper and grill were technologies that dealt with the Jeep’s rugged environment, and were completely functional in that context. The Power Wheel Jeep doesn’t do as well in its functional context – helping a little girl explore a park or her yard with a friend – because it apes the look of these features, not their functional spirit.
While real cars inspire the Autmoblox cruiser at right, the toy’s value comes from its building-block design that encourages reinvention. Its headlights, spokes, and treads are taken from real cars, but they’re simplified riffs that belong to no specific model. Most importantly, the cruiser’s shape serves the designer’s intention, and each feature can be justified in the context of creative play.
Just as I remember my time at Swarthmore through compressed narrative because I’m no longer actively engaged with student life, design that doesn’t encourage thoughtful interaction has to reference existing, widespread tropes for meaning.
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