A consideration for more connected and long-lasting ownership.
What are we designing for?
The Earth is dying: plastic is filling the ocean, species are going extinct, AI is consuming more energy than the country of Japan, and climate change is definitely real. And yet, we produce more and more everyday. Many young designers find themselves in a state of crisis, questioning the purpose of adding more objects into an already saturated (eco)system. In the interest of profit, product lifetimes have been reduced. Materially, emotionally, and socioculturally, the period of relevance our possessions enjoy is getting shorter. Longevity has become a luxury; it seems exist only high-end furniture or archival fashion which remains inaccessible to most of the population.
‘Consumer’ is a tricky word. It reduces individuals into buyers, and thus strips away the emotion, experience, and connection objects evoke. The term is outdated, disconnected from the humans who interact day to day with the objects that surround them, and instead implies a top-down relationship between industry and the great unwashed.
Designing for consumption feeds into a cycle of disposability, ignoring the human experience of living with, using, and treasuring what we own. Designing for attachment offers a different creative lens that could help the current status of the industry, wondering about the value of our objects and how to work with it, by raising a fundamental question - what if we designed for lifetimes? To explore this, we’ll look at what truly creates material attachment.
Identity, community and ownership
Attachment means bonding. It means linking something external to you and your identity. If we see something we own as an important part of ourselves, its lifetime is automatically expanded. Character is important. Years of neutral palettes and minimalist resurgence have stripped many products of colour and defining features, essentially reducing emotional traits. This trend towards the “blank page” aesthetic has left us with items that are clean but soulless, designs that are easy to mass-produce but hard to love.
When an object has character and personality, it’s easier for those with similar traits to relate to it – to see it and think “oh, that’s me”. Relatability makes us feel seen, feel part of a group and allows us to show those traits externally. Owning that object becomes an act of self-expression, a way of marking our presence in the world. Items can become a visual shorthand for who we are, or at least who we want to be perceived as.
Subcultures are often built upon and represented by material culture, from punk’s ripped denim and safety pins to streetwear’s sneaker culture, the objects we own work as signifiers of belonging. These objects carry the codes, values, and stories of the subcultures they represent, holding insider knowledge and community. This attachment is not purely sentimental, it’s performative and communal. People collect, curate, and display their belongings so they can carve out their identity and connect to their tribe.
The role of rituals in attachment
People build relationships through time and experiences. We build relationships with each other by dedicating attention and care to each other. Similarly, we can care about objects – we polish leather shoes, we oil our bikes. This might be a positive example of sunk cost fallacy: the more time and effort we invest in something, the more we value it, thus deepening our commitment. The moment of hands-on interaction brings a point of connection, adding a layer of intimacy and a sensory memory.
Care can come at different points of a product’s lifetime – creation, installation, preparation for use, maintenance, repair. Each phase will create a slightly different relationship with the owner, but will in any case foster a stronger bond. Perfect objects are boring, they have no room for narrative. It is only through taking care that we can genuinely have the space to create memories and relationships. Rituals create a sense of belonging and continuity; through this, there’s a shift from ownership to stewardship, where the act of care becomes a form of love.
Design with, not for. When sustainability and emotional durability become guiding principles, the term "consumer" feels disconnected from the values of meaningful ownership. Instead, we need to see people as collaborators, co-creators of the stories behind the objects they use. When objects hold meaning, they resonate on a personal level, they are kept, repaired, cherished, and product lifetimes are expanded.
The value of a lived experience
Ultimately, the objects most of us are emotionally attached to are the ones that have evolved with us, with visible and invisible marks that reflect the experiences lived together. The value in physically long-lasting products is not only material durability, it comes in the history these objects carry - how a leather jacket softens and ages alongside its wearer, how worn-out jeans accumulate memories in every rip and stain - displaying a silent archive of our lives. Experiences get engraved through the complex and often intangible ways people engage with the items they choose to bring into their lives, making them irreplaceable because of the journey shared with their owner.
In a time that increasingly prioritises the new, the shiny, and the instantly replaceable, these lived-in objects serve as anchors to our past, reminding us of where we’ve been, who we were, and how we’ve changed. Emotional patina becomes a form of luxury, counteracting throwaway culture. It’s about items that become more precious as they age, not despite their flaws but because of them. They are unique to you, impossible to replicate, woven both from the ordinary and extraordinary moments of life.
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Defying obsolescence is complex, but it is necessary for the future generations. For young designers, this is an invitation to rethink their approach: how can you build products that become more meaningful with age? How can you integrate moments of care into the lifecycle of your designs? The future of sustainable design isn’t just about using the right materials or reducing waste; it’s also about creating objects that encourage users to invest in them emotionally, extending their lifespan naturally.
Understanding the psychology of attachment becomes a fundamental toolkit to be able to create something that can be meaningful in the world - objects that are meant to be lived with, not just used, with the potential to shape a more thoughtful and intentional consumption culture. Items that don’t just withstand the test of time but thrive through it.
