The Stockholm Rug: An attempt to challenge the culture of Mass Production
Adelaida Balthazar
The alarming amount of trash polluting Earth and the lack of connection with our material world are rising concerns often present at the centre of contemporary conversations (Simmons). However, these issues are but consequences of the culture of mass production that the world has been immersed in since the Industrial Revolution. Technological developments that took place during the 18th century, such as the water frame and power loom, mechanized process of weaving and with it the textile industry. As a consequence, textiles began to be mass produced, which dramatically lowered the prices of final goods (Berman and Jirousek). Nevertheless, these unbelievably low prices also led to a decrease of the perceived value of goods, which introduced us to what famous climate activist Victor Papanek referred to as the ‘kleenex culture’; a society were objects are injected with obsolescence and are produced with an expiration date in mind (Papanek). Furthermore, machines made for mass production replaced the work of artisans and caused a shift from engaged labour to a systematic activity (Forty).
These quicker, more efficient ways of production continue to this day. However, the world seems to be entering a phase of awakening, with countless demonstrations that reject the culture of mass production taking place (“Trend: Employee Activism”). So much so, that large corporations have begun to listen. The willingness to change can be witnessed in Ikea’s Stockholm rug, which attempts to challenge mass production with a more traditional, engaged process.
According to the company, the Stockholm rug is different from mass-produced alternatives because it is made of durable materials that will ensure a long lifespan, challenging the throw-away culture.
Additionally, it is handwoven by skilled craftsmen (rather than machines) making each one unique (“Stockholm”). But, to what extent is the Stockholm rugs’ attempt to challenge our broken relationship to the material culture successful?
The cycle of constant purchase and disposal of goods stems from the ends of the Second World War, when the idea of changing a car every three years was normalized and even promoted as fashionable by car manufacturers. For pragmatic reasons, cars are now kept for longer (Papanek). Nevertheless, we are still submerged in a throw-away culture. To understand this phenomenon, it comes in handy to explore the concept of stylistic obsolescence: the idea that products are designed to feed a system of quick rotation in which it is fashion, rather than functionality, that determines a product’s lifespan. Stylistic obsolescence is particularly concerning because it presents itself as a response to consumer’s desires, rather than as the manipulative strategy to keep business alive that it really is. These changes, added to the heavy promotion of new models, make objects in perfect condition “wear out”, and instil in users the fear of falling out of fashion if they keep objects for too long (Maycroft). It is then no wonder that consumers feel comfortable with disposing a rug large enough to cover an entire living room, even if it’s in perfect conditions, to acquire the newest trend. This process is even less distressing if said rug was purchased for under 50 euros, something made possible by mass production (“Mainstays Sheridan Fret”). With its Stockholm rug, Ikea is apparently rebelling against this culture by setting durability as one of its main objectives. On their website, they express that it is made of 100% wool and cotton (both durable materials) and that it is “easy to vacuum thanks to its flat surface”. Furthermore, they emphasize that “the rug has the same pattern on both sides, so you can turn it over and it will withstand more wear and last even longer” (“Stockholm”). Since it is expected to survive for generations, the Stockholm rug is priced at 199 euros, a value significant enough to provoke a second thought before being discarded in a few months. This seems to place the rug in a different category to the sea of mass-produced options flooding the market, making its value closer to that of a family relic than to that of a box of Kleenex. However, there is a disjunction between Ikeas’ promises of durability and the true expected lifespan of the Stockholm rug. Due to its quality materials and easy cleaning, the functionality of this rug could easily withstand through decades (“Hand-made vs Machine-made Rugs”). But what about the artificial expiration date embedded in the rug by stylistic obsolescence? If this was truly meant to be a long-lasting product, it would portray a design based on neutral aesthetics as to escape the obsolescence of desire (Mont). As expressed by modern architect and theorist Adolf Loos, products become timeless when they are stripped of ornament, which allows them to separate themselves from aesthetic queues (Lobos). his idea is supported by Lobos, when explaining that durable design must be so honest and simple that it is not subject to changing taste and thus will never go out of style (Lobos). With this in mind, the fact that the Stockholm rug is bright yellow and decorated with a white net pattern becomes problematic. The stylistic choices of this rug are closer to those of the season-dependent world of fast fashion than Lobos’ idea of timeless design. Due to its flamboyant colours and pattern, this rug inches closer to be the equivalent of a Forever 21 t-shirt (meant to be worn only a couple of times) than to a Gap denim jean that can be used for seasons on end (Caro and Martínez de Albéniz). In this sense, Ikea may be producing a higher-quality rug with the potential to survive the physical wear of time. But at the same time, they are knee-deep in the culture of mass production by making sure through ornament that it is fashion, and not necessity, that leads to the industries’ desired outcome: the swift obsolescence and replacement of domestic goods.
Although mass production is widely linked to the environment, it also affects the human aspect of production and the relationship between the chain and the end product. One of the most significant changes brought about by the Industrial Revolution was the shift in the role of the craftsman from an individual invested in his work to a machine-like entity following a systematized process (Forty). Before the 18th Century, a single craftsman was responsible for the entire process of bringing an object to life, from the idea to the actual sale. But this model couldn’t cope with the demand of the wealthier social classes for cheap, uniform goods. To ensure consistency, jobs were separated into a number of small tasks, so not a single worker could make significant modifications to the end product (Forty). But by doing so, the bond between the craftsman and his craft was lost, and replaced by a mechanical, tedious form of labour in which an object was the result of dozens of unengaged hands. This corresponded to Karl Marx’s second stage of capitalism, only to be succeeded by the complete take-over of the machine (Forty). Just like in most other industries, this became the staple of the rug industry, since a hand-made rug required months to years to be complete, while a machine-made rug could be inexpensively produced in just a couple of minutes (“Hand-made vs Machine-made Rugs”). With this in mind, is yet again surprising to learn Ikeas’ Stockholm rug is entirely handmade by Indian craftsmen. This can be seen as an attempt to bring value back to the craftsman and thus re-establish the bond between product and manufacturer. However, there is yet again another incoherence between Ikea’s promises and practices. The company prides itself on the fact that their carpets are “handwoven by skilled craftspeople” and “each one is unique” (“Stockholm”). This statement almost elevates our hopes to believe that the craftsman is allowed to be an active component, rather than a mechanical link, in the manufacturing process. In the end, what ultimately distinguishes a human being from a machine is the engagement and input that only a person can provide to an object (Sennett). But by also promising consistency and showing users a picture of the exact rug they expect to receive, it can be inferred that there is no actual creative room for workers’ ideas on the final design of the rug, and that rather than an expression of their genius, this product is the result of following systematic and restricting instructions. Then,
if there is no room for creativity, and workers are more like reproducing machines than inventive entities, is there really a difference on whether the Stockholm rug is created by metallic or human hands?
All in all, the promises made by the Stockholm rug attempt to challenge the culture of mass production. Nevertheless, there is a clear disconnection between the idea behind the promises they make and the product that they ultimately offer. The rug is made with durable materials capable of withstanding the wear of time, but by being ornamented it is still subject to fashion changes and a contender to the throw-away culture. And even if it is skilled craftsmen rather than machines who produce it, the fact that there is no creative input from the workers on the final piece makes this almost irrelevant. The result of this endeavour is an interesting premise with an ambiguous execution, that leaves the user confused as to what the value and use of this rug should be. In essence, it is but a highly priced commodity that in a couple of years might suffer the same fate as its mass-produced counterparts. Regardless, I believe there is still an intrinsic value in a large corporation, such as Ikea, even proposing a product that directly threatens the system that keeps them afloat; even if it is not effective in its pursuit. All left to do now is sit back and hope that just as the Industrial Revolution was the spark of mass production, this idealist proposal is the spark of a rebellion against the status quo.
