It's No Crush, I'm In Love: The Life of Aldo
It all began in a small factory in California during the year 1972. Three materials were transformed, separately at first, but then joined to create one final product. This end good was labeled as a DCM chair, better known as Dining Chair Metal. While finalizing the product a small date was stamped along the bottom of the seat and a receipt was slipped into the box before it was loaded onto the truck in order to be shipped to the retailer who would then sell this item to an eager customer. At this moment it was a commodity. It had value. Soon it would become something else. It would become part of the consumer’s life, part of their home, and part of their family.
Within a matter of days the DCM chair will move through the hands of any middlemen involved and into the arms of his new possessor. From this point on it is no longer on the market, is no longer for sale, has broken its new dwellings threshold, and we will now refer to it as Aldo. Aldo leaves the box with smooth wood free from any nicks or scratches and his chrome frame still glistens free from any signs of rust or residue. Once all the wrapping and stickers are removed he is pushed up to a six-person office table of similar design alongside five others just like him.
The chairs that sat in this position prior to Aldo were cheap vinyl held up by a metal base and frame. Green vinyl was not necessarily out of style during the seventies, but the green tone now popular was closer to a darker portion of avocado (we all know the type). Their frames of metal were not only simple bent square tubing of chrome but had begun to tarnish years before they were disposed. Overall, their function was much like Aldo’s. They had legs without casters, a back but no arms, and chrome plated backbones.
Eleven years Aldo sat next to that office table. Day in and day out he was sat on by office workers, visitors to the office, and occasionally a family member of one of the workers. Throughout these eleven years Aldo had not only been sit on but had served a variety of purposes. He also served as a stepstool and coat rack during numerous occasions, and had even been used as a prop during a rousing office game of musical chairs. For eleven years Aldo served this office members in whatever they asked him to do no matter what was requested. At no time during this time did he have to worry about his status among the office clan either.
Would anyone argue that Aldo was the most comfortable chair they could sit in? Probably not, and coincidentally the desk chairs sat in by these workers a majority of the time was far more fitting and relaxing. But his only purpose was not to provide grade one comfort, but was to achieve a certain level of comfort while also offering aesthetic pleasure. Furniture is not always designed and chosen simply by one factor. In a discussion of the chair by Galen Cranz he argues, “You may easily forgive chairs for relegating comfort to second place, particularly if you have a special fondness for art and beauty. After all, a chair can be viewed as a work of art.” (Cranz, 1998: 65) While we would not want a chair that lacks comfort all together, this aspect can be moved one peg down the ladder to fulfill other means. One issue with choosing a stylistic piece of furniture is that the heavier it is on style the harder it is to hang on to it when changing the décor of a home or an office.
After eleven years a new office style finally caught up to Aldo. Its not that the office clan did not like Aldo anymore, but his style just wouldn’t blend well with the new glass conference table that could now seat up to ten people luxuriously in new chairs made of black leather and swivel bases. These chairs were an upgrade for a growing company that decided it needed to follow the style of the eighties. Not to mention these new chairs had arms; something office workers occasionally commented on concerning Aldo. Within a matter of minutes Aldo was pushed aside to make room for these new chairs to ascend as focal features of the office, and later in the day he was shown to his new residence tucked away in the dark recesses of a newly overcrowded storage room.
Confined in a dimly lit storage space for the next thirteen years gave Aldo much time to consider his place in society. He no longer served the function for which he was created. Thirteen long years of solitude gives anything enough time to think about almost every aspect of their previous life. An initial point of inquiry into his life began with possible shortcomings as well as comparisons between the successor and himself. At this point in his relatively early life there were not many signs of wearing starting to show, and his function was served just as potently as it was upon his arrival. What then could be the real reason for this betrayal?
Deborah Leslie and Suzanne Reimer explore the transition furniture has been taking part in, and the way in which it relates to the fashion industry. These two entities were at one time fairly distinct but over time the lines have been blurring. Interior designers, architects, and furniture designers began blurring the line early in the twentieth century by designing more than just that typically within their realm. They began looking at the design of other objects that fit into someone’s lifestyle and attempted to create an overall style. As time passed it was the fashion designers who took these blurring lines to the next level by introducing furniture lines by popular designers. In effect there has been a more recent trend in the furniture design industry that is converting furniture into something fashionable. What does this mean? A furniture industry that once sold goods that were considered durable purchases is now making the move to a more fashionable industry with more turnover. According to Leslie and Reimer, the furniture industry “demand might be boosted by shift(ing) consumer perception of furniture from a “commodity” to a “fashion” item, thus speeding up the replacement cycle.” (Leslie, 2003: 430) The furniture industry is pushing furniture as a fashion, and is attempting to make it something that is replaced more often than the average of 1.5 times per lifetime of a consumer.
There were various reasons for Aldo’s seeming demise. First, he was born into an era where furniture was being pushed as a fashion item. It was something to be discarded and replaced with changing styles. This was the eighties after all. Soon it would become an IKEA world. Cheaper goods being produced with heavier stylistic features pushed the market heavily in this new direction, whether the consumers wanted it or not. Second, Aldo was part of a culture that not only contains much wealth, but also is seemingly obligated to display it. At initial purchase Aldo was purchased in order to display the company’s status. He was a sleek chair that stood within a certain price point demonstrating a small amount of affluence. As the company grew and entered a new tax bracket these molded plywood office chairs no longer symbolized the company. In a Chicago Tribune article dating back as far as 1959 these values were already presented; “the upward striving family wants to possess symbols of its aspired status. The right furniture is one of these symbols.” (The Study of Furniture, 1959: 17) As for Aldo’s company: they wanted an office that would show visitors and investors how well the company was doing. Therefore, Aldo was no longer needed.
What does a chair do when its intended purpose is no longer necessary in its current habitat? Aldo did not want to spend the rest of his life in some back office storage space. He had been there thirteen years when desperation took hold. By this time it was in the middle of the nineties and surely if he even was released from this prison no one would want him. Still in near mint condition, Aldo longed for more and wondered how long he could remain in his current location, but soon there would be a chain of events that would change his life forever.
All that Aldo ever wanted was to serve his purpose. He still looked good and functioned at a very high level. It seemed hard to imagine that there was no place on earth he could be of use. In June of 1996 Aldo was pulled out from his storage chamber, placed into a large U-Haul rental truck, and was delivered to the local Salvation Army. A new low had been reached. Aldo was now nothing more than an old chair that nobody wanted. He had been recommodified, but was now labeled with a sign reading “$14.50.” Was he really worth less than five percent of his original value? Inflation alone should have taken care of such a staggering miscalculation. What more could anyone want in a chair? Maybe it truly was his lack of arms that turned away possible suitors.
No more than an hour went by before a red haired woman was staring at Aldo. She spoke out loud to someone around the corner, mentioning its remarkable price and excellent condition. It did not take long for this lady to pay the cashier and haul Aldo off to her own large sedan where he easily fit into the back seat. Aldo spent the next thirty minutes in the back seat listening to an obscure country radio station and wondering where this trip would take him. No sooner than his imagination could run wild the car cam to a stop and Aldo was again grabbed by the neck and carried by this young redheaded girl. This walk led them down a narrow bridge and into a building that looked like a white perched bird spreading its wings in the air flowing off the lake. It was magnificent, and was rivaled only by the interior. Was this home? A sign just inside the door read MAM, or the Milwaukee Art Museum. After being ogled by a few men standing at the door, Aldo was ushered down a flight of steps and placed onto a square white pedestal. Lights were pointed at him and other chairs of different styles were in similar positions around this room.
Everyday hundreds of visitors walk by Aldo. They look at him closely and examine his construction. They remark on how well he was built, how nice he looks, and how brilliant his creators were. Aldo may have outlived his initial purpose, but his function had now moved in a different direction. Objects in similar positions as him have often traveled this direction. “Most three-dimensional objects in a museum collection have long outlived the life span envisioned by the artists and craftsmen who made them, but they have been preserved, and often repaired when necessary, because of their artistic and historical interest.” (Shelley, 1987: 1) We look back at objects such as Aldo to remember what once was in everyday use. These objects provide us with a window into the lives of its users who now had either passed away or simply moved on to something else to serve the function once fulfilled by our object in question. Aldo may not be the chair he once was. He may not provide a place for sitting, standing, and games. Yet everyday museum patrons pass by and call him an icon, a wonderful piece of art, and a good chair.