The Cord That Explains Design

The military parka Deyan Sudjic describes has a long green cord attached to its zip. It lets the wearer pull the fastener without taking off their gloves. That small detail tells us more than the coat's silhouette: someone anticipated the cold, fingers made clumsy by gloves, and the simple need to fasten a jacket.

Sudjic bought the parka in Milan. He was drawn to its heavy brass zip, its fastenings, and a label bearing a stock number and a description of the garment's purpose instead of an ordinary brand name. Everything seemed to suggest an object made primarily to be used. Then he adds a complication: he cannot be sure that its persuasive authenticity was not faked.

This is a useful way into B Is for Bauhaus, Y Is for YouTube. Sudjic encourages us to look at an object from several directions: the task that shaped a detail, the meanings it acquired, and the reasons we want to own it. The cord really does help a gloved hand. The feeling that we have found “the real thing” calls for a different kind of examination.

What looks authentic?

In “Authentic,” Sudjic explores a tension that becomes particularly clear with mass-produced objects. An old object can be carefully preserved, keeping the marks of time. Or it can be restored to something like its original factory condition. Both approaches can claim authenticity, although they move in opposite directions: one preserves changes, while the other removes them.

Wear alone therefore tells us little. It may be evidence of use, a deliberately created finish, or the result of neglect. An immaculate surface might indicate precise workmanship, but it might also conceal an object's history. We need to know what we expect the object to preserve or do.

The parka makes this distinction interesting because Sudjic is not immune to its appeal. He wants a garment that seems to stand outside fashion, while recognising that the parka has already become part of fashion's vocabulary. His uncertainty about its origins does not undo the thoughtfulness of the cord. It shows why a useful detail and a credible story about provenance are separate questions.

Imperfection takes work too

In “Imperfect,” Sudjic turns to the designer Hella Jongerius. She works within industrial production while exploring possibilities for variation: combining craft methods with new materials, changing degrees of gloss, and moving away from compulsory symmetry and pure colour. For her, making things in series leaves room for differences between them.

This is more demanding than an instruction to make something a little uneven. If every surface must be equally smooth, a standard can be specified and checked. Once variation becomes part of the intention, the designer has to decide which particular departure is appropriate. Simply declining to polish something is not enough.

Sudjic explicitly distinguishes imperfection from a defect. Consider a hypothetical cup: an uneven glaze might be a desirable feature, while a handle that is uncomfortable to hold presents a different problem. A “handmade” label does not answer both questions at once. This is an application for the reader, not an exercise taken from the book.

It suggests a useful pause when choosing an object. Instead of stopping at “I like it because it looks full of character,” ask what has actually been done differently and how that affects its use. Attention shifts from an overall impression to a particular decision.

A zip without a single hero

In the final essay, “Zip,” the fastener returns as an example of design that needs no famous signature. Sudjic describes the development of a fastening made from interlocking teeth: earlier constructions were unreliable, and Gideon Sundback altered their structure so that the teeth held together more effectively. He added a needle-like projection on top of a tooth and a corresponding hollow underneath. Behind a familiar part of our clothes lies a succession of attempts, technical adjustments, and manufacturing decisions.

This also changes the question of authorship. Telling a story about one genius is easier than explaining the contributions of everyone who gradually made a mechanism usable. Yet “anonymous” can be misleading too. Near the end, Sudjic reminds us that these objects are also the work of particular people making particular decisions. The absence of a famous name does not mean the absence of authorship or labour.

We can now look at the parka more precisely. The cord answers a question about a hand inside a glove. The coat's appearance evokes associations with a way of life. And the zip itself has a history of improvements that cannot be contained in one designer's signature. A detail is enough to begin looking at design—as long as we keep going beyond the first explanation of its appeal.