Written thoughts
Un fiume sbiadito
È un movimento costante. Come un fiume arrabbiato che ci scorre davanti, portandosi via con sé tutto, sempre.
C’è qualcosa di tremendamente romantico nel guardare al passato, nell’osservarlo attraverso qualche foto sbiadita dal tempo, sfumata dai gialli caldi di allora, di nostra madre, pelle paffuta, tenace e bella, che ci tiene in braccio, di quella cosa, di quel istante lì, in quel momento, che non c’è più e non ci sarà mai più.
C’è anche qualcosa di tremendamente goffo a guardarsi indietro. Guardarsi a come eravamo, e cosa usavamo e come ci vestivamo.
Pantaloni troppo stretti, o troppo colorati, telefoni troppo piccoli o con troppi tasti, auto troppo rumorose, televisioni troppo piccole, computer troppo profondi e così via.
Forse tutto è sempre già inadeguato, tutto già un po’ antico, mascherato dall’illusione del tempo. Noi umani siamo invariati da migliaia di anni. L’uomo che dormiva nelle caverne e cacciava basicamente è lo stesso uomo che oggi ci fa le multe. Però ciò che ci circonda è in costante fatica e tensione di stare al passo con l’uomo.
Forse è proprio vero, allora, che quel telefono troppo grande o quella TV troppo piccola a due colori erano già molto antichi. Automobili, pantaloni, telefoni, computer e via dicendo. A guardarsi indietro sembra tutto un po’ goffo, come gli outfit degli anni ’80, o quelli di Luigi XIV.
Un po’ come quando guardi le tue foto di quindici anni fa e provi quasi imbarazzo per come andavi vestito.
Ciò che ci circonda, quindi, qui e ora, non è poi così perfetto e onnipotente come spesso sembra. La tecnologia di oggi, allora, non è poi così su misura per l’essere umano. Forse bisogna darsi una calmata. Forse questa osservazione serve a non farsi intimidire da cosa c’è lì fuori, d’altronde basta guardarsi indietro.
È proprio questa metamorfosi costante, nello spazio temporale, che ci insegue nei ricordi, nelle foto degli album di famiglia, nei film, nelle macchine antiche che vediamo ancora per strada, in nostra nonna che usa ancora il telefono a tasti. L’imbarazzo o la nostalgia di guardarsi indietro è forse il prezzo che paghiamo per questa trasformazione così forte e continua.
Ho comprato da poco un’auto nuova moderna, ma ho la sensazione che fra qualche anno, guardandola da una fotografia un po’ sbiadita, con qualche nostalgia romantica, realizzerò che andavo non proprio con una gran macchina.
Probabilmente tutto questo è normale. Alla fine, ogni epoca è chiusa, inscatolata in una percezione in cui tutto sembra moderno, appena uscito, fresh.
È un po’ come con le generazioni. Le generazioni appena entrate vengono giudicate da quelle più vecchie. Vengono viste come immature, ingenue, fuori misura.
Poi quelle che un tempo erano nuove si ambientano, crescono, si ingrossano così tanto da spostare quelle vecchie dal precipizio, diventano loro padrone dello spazio. Però il tempo scorre sempre.
Forse questo discorso è per tutti coloro che sentono che è già troppo tardi. Tardi per fare qualcosa o, per noi designer, per dirne una, che lo spazio è già troppo saturo. Ma penso che in realtà sia semplicemente nel suo punto della linea temporale, chiusa nella propria percezione del presente, aspettando solo di essere portata via dal fiume.
The Anti-design bro
I’ve always been fascinated by design that enters the world, but not to decorate it. Design that is born from a question. Design that takes responsibility, even when it doesn’t fully solve it. Design that highlights a problem. Uncomfortable design, maybe a bit ugly, maybe less cute, maybe less pretty, but functional. Or maybe less functional and more emotional.
I think some people can be identified through what could be called design of attitude — people who carry with them an attitude toward a theme, a race, a cause… Or maybe ethical design? Or anti-design? Anti doesn’t mean against design, but against the beautiful, cute, functional mainstream.
And then, what does design really mean? As Ettore Sottsass said: saying design is like saying literature — it means everything and nothing. But that’s another discussion.
Still, Sottsass really was an anti-designer designer. An anti-design bro, but so deep inside the industry, the mainstream. He didn’t talk bs just from the outside. He was one of them, maybe a different kind but for sure a natural. A talent for looking, for questioning, for doing. Sottsass was anti-designer because he put emotion before function. Life before the object. In a world increasingly made of yes or no, he brought the maybe, the if, and the but.
Maybe a bit like today. We’re becoming a bit too yes and too no. The maybe, the but, and the if are slowly being forgotten. They become uncomfortable acts, difficult, maybe even too slow, in a world where everything is prepared, packaged, digitalized, fast, and simplified.
Now, cities, houses, objects, machines, clothes, TVs, bathrooms, lamps, toasters, lamps again, knives, forks, and sooner or later even us — everything moving toward a single thing. One big thing. One big object. One function, one click, until the click is gone too, simplified as well. Toward unification, simplification, human–machine integration. This is technology.
What questions should we be asking in this context, in this historical moment, before the storm, who knows? What would an anti-designer do, or what would an ethical or attitudinal designer say?
If Sottsass were alive today, what would he ask himself, what would he look at, and what would he propose? Would he ask what kind of human beings we are becoming? What we are sacrificing in the name of comfort, speed, and simplicity? What remains of the human relationship when everything becomes digitalized and robotized?
Would he look at hyperconnected loneliness? At the gradual loss of touch? At performance anxiety? At bodies increasingly seated, still, switched off? He would look at people, not products.
And maybe he would propose objects that don’t optimize, objects that don’t simplify, objects that ask for time, objects that don’t explain everything, objects that make you feel something. Slow things. Maybe slow but necessary things. Things you don’t like immediately.
13 January 2026, Cascais
dogs
Like a dog that stops biting its tail.
The tail returns to its intended form: made to express excitement or fear.
Made to communicate, not to be bitten. To be what it’s meant to be.
The dog biting its tail feels like a metaphor for an anxious, unproductive, endless loop.
Like our relationship with technology: essential, yet destructive.
Excited, electrified to the point we never close our eyes.
Electrified like when people are truly electrified
eyes wide open, teeth clenched in a face that isn’t a smile.
You can see all the teeth, almost.
A body that’s still, but a state, mirroring the opposite of stillness.
That’s where we are now:
texts, apps, likes, fires, and hearts. pure dopamine...
Masks. Untruthful tales. Lies and Endless Stories. Endless scrolling, as they say.
Every day.
And the finger stays plugged in - electrified, half dead, half alive. But connected
15 Luglio 2025, Rome
Vintage grandmas
In an era defined by our relentless toxic-love with technology, we find ourselves on a path with no turning back, steering towards a world, a life, and an environment that increasingly resembles Blade Runner’s cyberpunk metropolis.
The life around us - cities, houses, objects, cars, clothes, TVs, bathrooms, toasters, lamps, knives, forks, and humans- all moving towards one thing. One big object. One big function. One thing that does everything. Towards unification, simplification, integration. I believe this is technology. Anyways, this is another topic.
We’re in a unique period of humanity, balancing between two worlds. We‘re living between past and future. The past feels more vintage-like, like analog, while the future offers us glimpses- like little time machine windows -that show us what we are becoming.
The generations of our parents and grandparents are still present and trying to survive at all costs, intertwined with the ever-growing, prodigious humanoid we’re raising. Kind of disturbing, I guess; however, quite romantic.
We still carry phone chargers everywhere, stop to put liquid in our cars, and complain about always being glued to our phones. If you think about it, these things are already quite antique in our growing tech society. Interestingly, we can still fight it. Like choosing to put the phone aside for a moment and look up.
If you want to take a time machine into the past, just go visit your grandmother - or if you no longer have one, go for a walk in a countryside village. You’ll witness what is on the verge of extinction.
This exact period we’re living in, right in the middle, blends two completely different realities that are drifting further apart.
Cars running on oil, wired batteries, screens, and vintage grandmothers are still here- but just for a moment. Take it all in and appreciate it, because it will all be gone soon. Everything will be automated, integrated, and perfectly functional…
19 January 2025, Rome
The life around us - cities, houses, objects, cars, clothes, TVs, bathrooms, toasters, lamps, knives, forks, and humans- all moving towards one thing. One big object. One big function. One thing that does everything. Towards unification, simplification, integration. I believe this is technology. Anyways, this is another topic.
We’re in a unique period of humanity, balancing between two worlds. We‘re living between past and future. The past feels more vintage-like, like analog, while the future offers us glimpses- like little time machine windows -that show us what we are becoming.
The generations of our parents and grandparents are still present and trying to survive at all costs, intertwined with the ever-growing, prodigious humanoid we’re raising. Kind of disturbing, I guess; however, quite romantic.
We still carry phone chargers everywhere, stop to put liquid in our cars, and complain about always being glued to our phones. If you think about it, these things are already quite antique in our growing tech society. Interestingly, we can still fight it. Like choosing to put the phone aside for a moment and look up.
If you want to take a time machine into the past, just go visit your grandmother - or if you no longer have one, go for a walk in a countryside village. You’ll witness what is on the verge of extinction.
This exact period we’re living in, right in the middle, blends two completely different realities that are drifting further apart.
Cars running on oil, wired batteries, screens, and vintage grandmothers are still here- but just for a moment. Take it all in and appreciate it, because it will all be gone soon. Everything will be automated, integrated, and perfectly functional…