Perhaps it’s something simple, something that works.

We are, by nature, beings who consume, and perhaps we don’t need to think about it as neither good nor bad, simply a fact of existence. Need, after all, is not just an empty space waiting to be filled. It’s a driving force, a beginning, a reason for movement. A doctor will say we need oxygen, water, nutrients, from the first instant of life, even before we are aware of living. A philosopher might say we consume ideas, knowledge, time, memories. And somewhere there in between, we find objects, the things we make and collect and use, the things that shape our days in ways we rarely notice.

We wake up, and an object awaits. We move through the day, touching, seeing, wearing, using. Even in sleep, we do not part from objects completely: a ring that tracks our breath, a mattrase that supports our body, a phone that waits to wake us, a watch counting our heartbeats in the dark. And we aren’t “happy” with only one watch, we may collect multiple ones, because a watch is not just a functional object, it is a companion to our mood, a reflection of the self we wish to show or feel.

And when we decide to replace it, we do it, not when it breaks, but when it no longer speaks to us. Objects lose their place not because they fail to function, but because they fail to mean.

This world, built by the speed and hunger of industry, surrounds us with a flood of things: things that call out to be chosen, to be wanted, to be bought. They change shape not because they must, but because novelty sells, because attention is a currency, and desire is easily stirred. The result is a repetition of shapes without reflection, a seduction of form at the expense of consequence. The price is often paid not only in later disappointment but in waste.

So then, what is a well-designed object, in this world of too many choices? Perhaps it’s something simple, something that works. But to work is not a simple thing. It means to meet our practical needs, yes, but also to meet us where we are, where we’re ought to be, to respond to how we feel, to support the strange and shifting choreography of daily life. We have all, at some point, faced a button that betrayed us, a product that promised clarity but delivered confusion. Design must consider more than form, it must understand people. And to understand people is to observe the world they live in, the meaning materials convey, the gestures people repeat, the silent conversations they have with the things around them. The designer who does not observe, who does not listen, creates, but does he or she actually design?