On the secret language of timeless design, branding and interior.
I carry a large cowhide bag, and nearly every time I do, someone stops me to comment on it. People respond instinctively to the pattern: the uneven patches, the warmth of the hide, the sense of something alive. In a world dominated by smooth plastics and uniform synthetics, cowhide stands out because it doesn’t try to. Its irregularity gives it character rather than decoration. No two hides are the same; each carries its own internal logic. That quiet authenticity reveals something larger about why certain objects endure.
The response to this bag hints at what we value on a deeper level. Timeless objects tend to share similar qualities: sincerity of material, clarity of purpose, and an ease that comes from not trying to be more than they are. Cowhide embodies these attributes naturally. It doesn’t imitate anything and doesn’t aspire to a category. It simply exists in its own language. To understand why this kind of integrity continues to resonate — and why certain designs hold their ground while others disappear — we can look at the thinkers and makers who shaped the modern understanding of lasting design.
William Morris understood the appeal of lasting things long before the term “timeless” became a design cliché. The 19th-century designer and writer, often considered the father of the Arts and Crafts movement, believed that objects should be both useful and beautiful — and nothing else. For Morris, this was not decorative advice; it was social critique. He saw Victorian England flooded with mass-produced trinkets and cheaply made ornaments, and he viewed them as symptoms of a deeper cultural issue: disposability, both of objects and of the labour behind them.
His own work offered a counterpoint. Morris’s wallpapers and textiles were built on principles that remain relevant: natural motifs, patient handwork, and a respect for materials. Pieces like his “Strawberry Thief” wallpaper are still produced today, not as retro statements but because their structure is fundamentally sound. They are composed, balanced, and rooted in the rhythms of the natural world.
Morris’s central belief — that design should honour both material and maker — set a foundation for what timelessness could mean in the modern age. A century later, Dieter Rams carried this conversation forward. Working for four decades at Braun, he developed a body of work defined by clarity, restraint, and purpose. His “10 principles of good design” became a touchstone for designers around the world, offering a straightforward framework built on usefulness, honesty, and simplicity.
The final principle, “Good design is as little design as possible,” distilled his entire philosophy. Rams wasn’t arguing for a sterile or characterless approach; his products have presence. They simply avoid anything that distracts from function. His 1963 T 1000 radio remains visually coherent today because it doesn’t belong to a trend cycle. It follows its own logic, and therefore sits comfortably in any era.
The link between Morris and Rams is clear: both saw durability not as a stylistic choice but as an ethic. They believed that design should meet real human needs and respect materials rather than manipulate them. When something is thoughtfully made and easy to understand, it becomes part of daily life without drawing attention to itself. This line of thinking would guide a new generation of designers, including one who would carry these principles into the digital age.
Jonathan Ive, Apple’s former chief design officer, has often acknowledged Rams as a major influence. He even sent Rams an early iPhone with a handwritten note thanking him for the inspiration. The connection is immediately legible. Apple’s design language — clean surfaces, intuitive gestures, restrained aesthetics — reflects the same desire for clarity that defined Rams’s work.
But Ive’s contribution was to translate these principles into a new medium. As Rams observed in Gary Hustwit’s documentary Objectified, Apple was one of the few companies working in line with his philosophy. Ive didn’t mimic Braun’s products; he borrowed their logic.
The early iPhone interface illustrates this approach. Its appeal didn’t come from chasing visual trends but from reducing friction. Icons resembled the objects they represented. Movements behaved predictably. The interface supported the task rather than the ego of the designer. This evolution reveals something important: timelessness is not tied to any specific material. Its principles — clarity, function, honesty — can be carried through wood, metal, glass, or pixels. What endures is the alignment between purpose and form.
The principles behind timeless design extend beyond individual objects. They appear across cultures and eras wherever makers follow the logic of materials rather than stylistic trends. Consider Shaker furniture. Every join, curve, and proportion is shaped by purpose. Ornament is absent not because of minimalism but because it never served a function. The result is furniture that feels complete without trying to impress.
Japanese stoneware offers a similar lesson. The clay, glaze, and firing determine the final surface. The process is visible in the outcome. Nothing is disguised, and the imperfections are part of its integrity. You see these ideas echoed in Scandinavian mid-century design — chairs shaped around the human body, wood grain left visible, forms that feel both familiar and modern seventy years later. Their longevity comes not from cultural nostalgia but from the inherent stability of their materials and proportions.
This lineage continues in contemporary work. Orlando Pippig’s furniture reveals its structure openly. Maha Alavi’s pieces treat joinery as a design element rather than a detail to hide. MOCK Studio pursues essential forms, while Bryan O’Sullivan blends classic references with modern restraint, creating spaces that feel anchored rather than styled.
What connects these designers is not a shared aesthetic but a shared discipline. They refine essentials instead of chasing novelty. They design from what remains constant in human nature: our instinctive responses to balance, texture, proportion, and authenticity. This approach becomes increasingly meaningful in a fast-moving culture that often prioritises the new over the necessary.
When objects are designed to last, they inevitably influence how we consume — and this is where sustainability naturally enters the conversation. Rams’s principles encourage designers to build things that don’t require frequent replacement. Durability becomes not just an aesthetic preference but a decision about resource use.
Much of today’s production works in the opposite direction. Fast fashion that stretches out after months, electronics sealed to discourage repair, furniture made to last only a few years — these aren’t accidents. They reflect a manufacturing culture tied to turnover. Timeless design rejects this logic. It argues that an object can deserve maintenance, that it can earn a long life. A well-made piece conserves resources over time and avoids the waste associated with rapid cycles of replacement.
Yet the environmental argument alone doesn’t fully explain why we’re drawn to things that last. There is also a psychological dimension. In a culture built on constant upgrading, owning something that remains useful offers steadiness. Longevity becomes a form of continuity, a way of resisting the demand to always move on. Timeless design resonates not only through function but through the stories objects carry. An inherited chair holds the weight of those who sat in it before. A building with an old façade links present-day life to the people who once passed through its doors. These pieces become part of a shared vocabulary across generations, reminders that usefulness and beauty do not need seasonal updates.
Interior designer Marylou Sobel describes timelessness as a balance between the familiar and the contemporary — a quality that allows spaces to feel grounded yet adaptable. These environments support daily life without asking for attention, and their calmness becomes part of their value. Objects that last often gather meaning simply by staying. They mark time without being consumed by it.
In the end, our attraction to timeless things is a quiet form of resistance. It counters the pace of disposable culture and affirms that some objects deserve to be kept, cared for, and passed on. Their steadiness offers a sense of place in a world that moves quickly.
This has nothing to do with nostalgia. Nostalgia clings to what was. Timeless design faces forward. A well-made object remains relevant long after its contemporaries have faded. The pieces that endure often deepen with use — leather that softens, stone that weathers, wood that records the marks of daily life.
This brings us back to the cowhide bag. It doesn’t perform or posture. It accepts its own form, and that acceptance gives it presence. Its irregularity, its warmth, its honesty — these qualities draw people in without effort. The same logic underlies Morris’s nature-driven patterns and Rams’s disciplined designs: objects endure when they remain true to their material, their purpose, and the human needs they serve.
As our world becomes increasingly digital, our connection to physical materials becomes more vital. We continue to respond to texture, weight, warmth, and the unpolished patterns found in nature. Timeless design offers these anchors. It reminds us that beneath technological complexity, we are still creatures who recognise authenticity by touch. What endures does so because it doesn’t try to outrun time. It is steady, honest, and confident in its role. And when we learn to value those qualities, we begin to see what in ourselves deserves to last — what we can preserve, refine, and carry forward.
A commissioned article on how the Honolulu Museum of Art bridges Hawai‘i’s local heritage with global cultures through a century-long commitment to community connection.
House Of Narratives contribution to concept, branding and interior advice for SImone Dining based in the South of Morocco's coastal town Tamraght.
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