The Architecture of Design: Retail Aesthetics

In William Gibson’s Pattern Recognition, a character named Hubertus Bigend posits that “Far more creativity, today, goes into the marketing of products than into the products themselves.”

In a world where lesser quality ‘fast-fashion’ approximations of a major atelier’s output inspire epic line-ups, it’s relatively safe to say that marketing, and the overall presentation of a brand, has become a crucial focus for every company. The humble shop, once a simple space for displaying the true treasures – the merchandise – has itself become the attraction. People will base their brand fidelity as much on where something is sold as what it is.

Just a few decades ago high-end retailers favoured the posh ‘sitting room’ aesthetic, and even multi-brand department stores opted for a rarified aesthetic. This all began to shift post-Warhol, with the hyper-pop window treatments of Simon Doonan and Steven Sprouse.

All of a sudden, Wedgewood and white gloves weren’t enough, and in rapid succession luxe became pop, became art, became glam, and so on, until we arrived at a point where a $20 million reno of a former slaughterhouse is nothing more than the latest spot to cop kicks.

Design and architecture, in this specific circumstance, has a more elaborate meaning than in other arenas. If you’re asking someone to pay $1000 USD for a pair of jeans, you need a little more than a shelf. You need atmosphere. Glitz. Presence.

You need a space whose very reference heightens the perceived value in shopping there. A space that whispers into people’s ears “$58 USD for shampoo seems reasonable, no?” And that requires creativity, inspiration, intuition, and, more often than not, money. There are distinct histories that explain how we got here. One relatively complicated, one not.

The first is that the so-called ‘concept shop’ led to the now-ubiquitous awareness that retail environment is crucial.

That Kawakubo Rei and COMME des GARÇONS Guerrilla Stores (hyper secretive pop-ups that showed up in a city for no more than 1 year, in a wholly unexpected location, put together for a cumulative budget of no more than $3000 USD) led to the realization that a shop itself could be the destination. Which brought about 10 Corso Como, an all-encompassing post-modern lifestyle bazaar. And then colette, firmly located on the right side of Paris’ tracks, on the Rue St. Honoré, just a stone’s throw from Hermès, Saint Laurent, and everyone else who shows at fashion week. More than a decade later, colette is still the litmus test for all things cool.

These shops showed the extraordinary reach and power that highly curated lifestyle shops could exert, and the clear plausibility of the shop-as-destination. The flip side of this coin is the remarkable flagship boutique that Rem Koolhaas and his firm OMA (The Office for Metropolitan Architecture) did for Prada on West Broadway in New York, in 2001.

“If you’re asking someone to pay $1000 USD for a pair of jeans, you need a little more than a shelf. You need atmosphere. Glitz. Presence.”

Now known simply as the Prada Epicenter, the $40 million USD, 23,000sq/f space was an avant-garde vision. It lured celebrities from across the globe, was given a place-of-pride cameo in Sex & The City, and managed substantially more foot traffic than the building’s previous tenant, the Downtown Guggenheim Museum. We’ve come a long way since then. And, once again, we see a divergence in the primary ideology with regards to architectural expression that brands are taking on. Some show a Kubrickian rigour in displaying a unified feel.

Ralph Lauren’s flagships, for example, which are the sheer embodiment of a lifestyle. The Bon-Chic-Bon-Genre of Newport and Bal Harbour. Of Darien and Wellington. This can also be seen in Hedi Slimane’s codeine-glam aesthetic, which he utilized while personally designing boutiques for Dior Homme as their Creative Director, then rekindled in crystalline form after taking over at Saint Laurent. A sort of chrome and marble distillation, which perfectly embodies the hotel room-trashing rockstar that lives within every stitch of his clothing.

The approach of Mr. Slimane is perfectly emblematic of that version of the mythopoetic genius creative, which allows for the promotion of a cohesive aesthetic. Ditto Tom Ford, who is equally adept at presenting a wholly encompassed lifestyle vision. And the magnificently shadowy teams at Maison Martin Margiela. Margiela’s latest boutiques, particularly the recently opened Via Sant’Andrea in Milano, deserve serious kudos for aptly concentrating so elusive, so abstract a vision as that of the iconic Belgium house.

In the aforementioned Milano boutique the upstairs’ Versailles-meets-KRINK aesthetic kills it, but the main floor’s use of an innovative new material called Wood Skin truly delights, while confusing the viewer. A folded curtain of what initially appears to be bathroom tile, while somehow feeling like Pine, baffles.

This subtle use of innovative material for demure aesthetic purpose is the ideal presentation of MMM. It’s likely that 90% of the shop’s visitors will never notice this tiny glimpse of the future. Yet it somehow perfectly embodies what the house of Margiela is all about.

“Storytelling is more important than architecture,” said nearly 70% of contributors to Frame Magazine’s 2014 retail survey. Frame is comprised of possibly the most design literate readership on earth, and the fact that they acknowledged that narrative intuitively trumps form in this particular area is incredibly instructive. It gives great credence to the unified theory of retail design. However, narrative can take many forms, and not all of them are linear.

Some brands are diversifying their aesthetic narrative. Safeguarding the essence of their identity, while expressing them in different ways, via a variety of studio’s interpretations.For example, Camper and Aesop.

Camper has been extremely successful as a manufacturer of appealing, well-designed, and reasonably priced shoes for decades. However, in recent years, their international reputation has been largely driven by the design of their boutiques, rather than the design of their shoes. Architects and designers that they have collaborated with include Shigeru Ban, Nendo, Kengo Kuma, Marko Brajovic, the Bouroullec Brothers, Diébédo Francis Kéré, and others.

“”Storytelling is more important than architecture,” said nearly 70% of contributors to Frame Magazine’s 2014 retail survey.”

The aesthetic of their Neri & Hu-designed Shanghai flagship is all house-within-a-factory. Floating floors, exposed beams, shoes hanging from steel rods in an external courtyard, in a cheeky reference to 2nd-world laundry practices. On a strictly superficial level, it couldn’t couldn’t be further from the streamlined minimalism of Nendo’s ‘House of Shoes’ Camper boutique in New York. 1000+ pristine white resin casts of Camper’s iconic Pelota shoe cover every inch of wall space, forming a sort of geometric lattice. Inconspicuous slate flooring and white resin blocks serve as the entirety of the interior decor.

And yet, there’s a cohesion to the differences. A sense of playfulness. A strong expression of both understanding and appreciation for design. A willingness to let both product and shop speak for themselves, while still complementing one another. It’s a strategy that has worked exceedingly well for Camper. Their footwear has long been respected, and justifiably, but their continually interesting boutique design choices have been the subject of an incredible amount of attention. Which does a great service to both the brand’s reputation and (presumably) sales.

Aesop, the Australian skincare firm, has shown a similar flair for architectural expression. Rapid growth across the globe has been assisted by the gorgeous (and entirely unique) design of each and every one of their shops. But where Camper consistently taps big-name architectural firms, Aesop is developing an almost mythic reputation for picking small firms that provide outstanding work. And an Aesop commission (bearing in mind that the shops are very small, and money wouldn’t be substantial) is becoming a dream assignment for small young firms with big dreams.

Deezen did a ‘Top 10 Aesop Store Designs’ list, and firms like Paris-based Ciguë have managed to parlay an early-career Aesop assignment into not only another half-dozen Aesop shops in Paris and London, but a series of Isabel Marant boutiques across the globe, the atelier for Dior Homme designer Kris Van Assche, and much more. Designs from firms including Tacklebox, Superkül, Schemata, NADAAA, and many, many others are concise, beautiful, and markedly different. Almost inconceivably different. Though part of Aesop’s genius in this regard is their understanding that their product line stands up to virtually unlimited interpretations. That no one materiality is required by their essence.

Seeing the promise, potential, and value in a host of different studios, and their various aesthetics, has many upsides. It’s good for the industry as a whole. Particularly in light of Aesop’s continued discovery of interesting young firms. Still, there is a part of me that will always be instinctively drawn to the essential aesthetic. The uncompromising aesthetic. The cohesive output that was clearly born without, or even in defiance of, a market research report.

Junot Diaz once remarked upon “the problem with a short story as compared to a novel. A short story can be perfect.” It all depends on what you’re looking for, then. The glossy veneer of perfection, or the hairline fractures round the edges of a sublimely patinated ongoing vision.