Shrooms are at the center of intense discourse abroad. Seoul is experiencing a similar, less risky infatuation with mushrooms. Light emitting mushrooms to be exact. I can’t pinpoint when it is that they started to surface on tables at cafes and restaurant, illuminating dishes in an array of florescent colors that change with a tap; pink, green, blue, yellow lights filling the space between diners. The important thing is that they’ve taken root and are now part of Seoul’s indoor landscape.
I’ve been aware of Seoul’s waxing interest in mushroom lamps for some time. But realization that the said “interest” has evolved into a penchant dawned on me last weekend when I went to Seoul’s Living Design Fair . The epiphany struck after seeing mushroom lamps just about everywhere—displayed on tables, desktops, drawers and even weaved into rugs. The craze over mushrooms is real.
This prompted me to wonder what’s so magical about them when they’re not even actual shrooms. I was able to come up with a few hypotheses:
a) they’re fun to touch
b) they’re aesthetically pleasing
c) they’re legal surrogate shrooms
But in all seriousness, the rate at which mushroom lamps are cropping up across Seoul’s social spaces warrants a good probe.
“Please do touch”
We’re often confronted with signs instructing us to “not touch” the object in front of us. Such signs are in place because we’re naturally wired to touch things that pique our curiosity. To be more specific, we touch to get a good feel of what we’re seeing. We instinctively know that touch affords us a better understanding of the enigma in front of us. This is why we pick up and handle objects that we can’t make heads or tails of. Touching is an attempt to draw closer to the core of the subject of interest. When we see an object (i.e. a pen, toy, painting, sculpture, sofa, etc.) that deviates from our expectations, we feel compelled to reach out and touch. What we can’t comprehend through sight we try to compensate for via tactile examination.
Touching is an attempt to draw closer to the core of the subject of interest.
We also touch because it’s satisfying. I’m pretty sure we’ve all felt the urge to run our fingers through a cat’s upturned belly as it stretches. The ensuing belly rub (if we succeed in cajoling the furry feline that is) is for us as much as it is for the cat. Likewise, playing with stress balls is a fulfilling experience; the repetitive motion of squeezing and releasing the ball induces a calming effect. As such, we derive more than just discriminative information from our sense of touch. The act of touching is a vehicle that propels us towards a subtle catharsis that punctuates the mundanity of the everyday.
In this vein, the mushroom lamps that are proliferating across Seoul most likely owe their popularity to their touch-inducing design. There’s something inexplicably fun about being able to bop a lamp into yielding varying types of light. From a certain lens, there is a Mario-esque aspect to the mushroom lamp’s mechanism. I’m referring to the scene where Mario bumps his head against a brick block to absorb whatever random item (e.g. supersize-me inducing mushroom) that subsequently sprouts forth. The mushroom lamp’s playfulness emanates from precisely this element of variety. Parallels can be drawn between the range of items granted to Mario and the spectrum of light offered to lamp users. This is where the mushroom magic lies.
Formally speaking, it’s possible to construe the variety in light intensity and color as a means of reinforcing the idea of what a lamp is supposed to be. A lamp exists to provide light of an adequate color, shade and intensity that befits the ambience of its surroundings. In other words, a lamp’s quintessential properties are reified by enhancing the scope of control vested to users. Our mushroom lamp does precisely this. Users can, at will, alter light intensity and switch colors by simply tapping the lamp’s enticing mushroom cap.
Formally speaking, it’s possible to construe the variety in light intensity and color as a means of reinforcing the idea of what a lamp is supposed to be.
Thus, the mushroom lamp’s bewitching magic lies in its ability to formally state its raison d'être through a lexicon of touch. A lamp’s monotonous function is transformed into a customizable play of lights that is orchestrated by the user—yet another example of how fun often goes hand in hand with agency.
Forgoing touch
As vital touch is to registering the world around us, there are moments in which it is sometimes forgone.
A day before attending the aforementioned Living Design Fair, I saw an exhibition featuring selected works from Albert Watson’s oeuvre.
What struck me as brilliant is how Watson frees viewers from the impulse to get physically close to the artistic subject. He divorces understanding from touch. The urge to stroke, finger, caress his photographs doesn’t arise. What Watson seeks to convey can be felt even with the naked eye.
Touch is not always physical. When we say “I’m touched”, the phrase implies a deep level of resonance that is grounded in mutual understanding. Likewise, Watson’s photographs demonstrate his extraordinary ability to identify and capture the essence of his subjects. Kate Moss once remarked that Watson’s 1993 portrait of her—the outcome of a fourteen hour photoshoot on her birthday—is the best that she’s ever seen. Having stopped in front of the same photo myself, I can’t agree more. Watson illustrates in a single photo why Kate Moss rose to fame in the early 90s; the pensive way in which Moss crouches, her gaze fixated on something outside the frame, brings out a nymph-like quality that has since become the star model’s signature look.
Touch is not always physical. When we say “I’m touched”, the phrase implies a deep level of resonance that is grounded in mutual understanding.
The beauty Watson pursues through photography isn’t artificially fabricated. Instead he digs into the core of his subject. He gets to the bottom of what makes the person in front of him unique and non-fungible. To him this is beauty. Unearthing the essence of a subject and crystallizing it is his way of touching both the subject and audience. He bridges strangers through a lens that enables them to arrive at a point of mutual understanding—this encounter or “touch” is timeless. It exists suspended in a non-physical dimension where only the pure energy of emotional feeling reigns, effacing differences in race, culture, thought until only the subject’s core is left bare.
Tangibility in brands
Mushroom lamps and Albert Watson’s photography, as unrelated as they seem, both point to a simple truth: tangibility is at the core of experience.
What this means from a branding perspective is that brands are only as memorable as their most visceral experiences. Therefore, it is worth reflecting on how well a brand manifests itself sensually. While the end product doesn’t always have to be tactile, it should be able to be felt.
There is no set recipe for creating a well-made brand. However, at the end of the day, sought out brands all have one thing in common: they prompt audiences to say “I feel touched”.