Muji Madness
Muji’s “no brand” policy is being challenged. The problem is that Muji itself has become a brand. Walking through the store is a minimalist experience—unadorned practical commodities in limited color selections have become part of the store’s image. The logo’s bold English and Japanese lettering have become familiar to the consumer, symbolic of quality.
Originally called Mujirushi Ryõhin, the literal translation of the store’s name is “no brands quality goods.” While the absence of brand is being challenged, it seems the quality of goods are under attack as well (in this article). Between two of Muji’s seemingly mundane products—a folded cardboard file box set and an umbrella—a case can be made for each that exemplify the best (the former) and worst (the latter) of Japanese design.
One inch packs of flattened cardboard stacked 20 high on a low shelf don’t seem to scream “best designed.” The modest printing on each package reads “cardboard file box set.” There are three files in a set, used for storage of important papers, or child’s drawings, or whatever needs filing. It’s fantastic—commendable for it’s clean look and series of genius folds. In three easy steps, fold…fold…fold…flat cardboard gives life to a filing box. The compact design is a space saver, economical for shipping and storing.
Japanese culture is known for it’s compactness. The country is size constricted—lots of people on a limited land mass. Through necessity the Japanese have developed a style of ingenuity comprising of space-saving solutions for compact living. Architecture and product design in Japan is full of imaginative solutions as the masters of managing small spaces fold and tuck and reduce as needed. Homes are small, and lightweight partitions are opened and closed, creating flexible room spaces. Japan makes the best compact cars. Automated parking garages conserve space by utilizing elevators to create towers of vehicles. Capsule hotels encourage dense occupancy with multi-use stacked compartments that accommodate only one person. Cell phones and cameras are tiny. From narrow urban streets to minute bonsai trees, Japan is known for all things small.
Less complicated than the traditional Japanese art of origami, the foldable quality of the boxes also depict design excellence. Today many foldable products are credited to Japan’s creativity. Futons and folding screens in the home alter spaces and their function. Innovative folding bicycles and even folding helmets are utilitarian, allowing ease of transport and storage. Like the file box—efficiently conserving space until they are transformed for use.
My umbrella from Muji is properly compact and foldable, but it’s not smart. Quite dumb actually—it’s cumbersome and infuriating. Before opening, metal prongs need to be coaxed into their proper places—the possibility of an inside-out scenario always looms. The metal branches of the umbrella, if they were arms, would be complete with elbows that bend any which way. Once it’s open the handle occasionally unscrews and falls off and constant vigilance is necessary. Closing the umbrella is a puzzle an expert origamist would have difficulty solving. The arms fold down and the elbows back up, but one at a time and with little cooperation. And frustratingly, I get wet. It takes five minutes to open and five to close—that’s ten minutes of rain on my head.
My little Muji umbrella also has a moisture problem. The arms and elbows and complicated folding unwittingly create pockets for wetness to nestle in. In the warmth of my bag and overnight the umbrella refuses to dry and sports the menacing scent of mildew. On rainy days my biggest annoyance is the prospect of a future umbrella cleaning.
Good Japanese product design caters to their obsession of cleanliness and order, and my fragrant umbrella does not. Perhaps because of the density of population cleanliness has always been highly regarded on the island nation. Products like antiseptic pens and pencils and face masks are popular in Japan, as preventative measures against spreading disease. Electronic toilets eliminate the need for touching undesirable surfaces. And in the home, the tradition of shoe removal ensures that dirt from outside stays outside.
The best and worst of Japanese product design are found inexplicably together in one store that advertises quality. The file box set is compact, space-saving, and smart. My umbrella from Muji is compact but difficult to operate. It’s foldable but hard to negotiate. Sure, folds have become inherently Japanese, and the elegant tucks and pleats were beautiful—on the shelf in the store. They properly attracted interest and inspired the subsequent purchase. Yet I’ve not been able to recreate the arrangement and I’m aware I’ve been fooled. It’s not quality, it’s crap.
