Moral Compass
Copycatting
“‘Good’ is always a question of time. Short term pleasure is totally different than long term bliss … Instagrammable means a short term impact, good design means long lasting smart solutions. Nanosecond vs lifetime … It is not a question of scale of values, just a scale of time. We sometimes need nanosecond visual impact for a good long lasting life” — Mathieu Lehanneur
In recent years, even pre-pandemic, people have increasingly been spending more and more on their interiors; whether that be on home improvements, furniture or art. This is perhaps in part as a result of social media and in particular, Instagram, which has helped contribute to the democratization of interiors. For those in the public eye (and for those who aspire to be), artfully curated interiors shots are now almost de rigueur, and as a result, we’re no longer interested only in how people dress themselves, but in the way they dress their homes. The circulation of print media has long been in decline, and as a trend it explains why within the interiors sector there has been an increasing focus on “celebrity homes” as a way of generating attention; in much the same way the likes of Vogue, Elle, Harper’s Bazaar, Tatler etc have been plastering actors, singers and reality TV-stars across their covers in order to boost sales. This cross-over has only served to blur the lines between fashion and interiors, and certain furniture items have now become as covetable as “It” handbags and shoes; in terms of classics, as well as the Hermès Birkin and Manolo Hangisi, “influencers” are now lusting after Jeanneret “Office” chairs and Perriand tripod stools — desperate to create the right image for legions of adoring fans who, inevitably, will scrutinize every detail of their carefully curated selfies. To some extent this has created a distorted image of what constitutes “normal” in terms of furnishing an interior — and those who lack the cash to splash on the real thing are resulting to fakes and knock-offs in order to portray a certain aspirational image. As with fashion, this has a trickle-down effect and high-street brands like Zara, Anthropologie and West Elm are pedalling cheap “trend based” products from an audience desperate to emulate their online icons (Already H&M home are producing pieces heavily inspired by Jeanneret’s cane-back creations). Like the proverbial snake eating its own tail, PR agencies will then send these watered down knock-offs to lesser influencers, to post online as “paid promotions”, which has the unfortunate effect of stripping originals of their interest and desirability. This in turn all feeds into a universal Pinterest mood board of imagery, everything from paint colours and fabrics to furniture and complete interiors seen ad infinitum and copied shamelessly by those less talented designers catering to a clientele with little or no knowledge of design history, who want achieve a particular “look” on a limited budget. The truth is that as with high-street copies of high-end fashion, the majority of people simply don’t care if they’re supporting an industry that negatively impacts those artists and designers who created the original works. One tends to think of such industrial-scale copying only in terms of design icons, for e.g. Eileen Gray’s E-1027 table and the DSW chair designed by Charles (1907–1978) and Ray (1912–1988) Eames — but increasingly so, it’s something effecting contemporary artists and makers, who, often, don’t have the finances to institute lengthy legal proceedings.
An “Ours Polaire” sofa (c. 1950) by Jean Royère, one of the most sought after icons of twentieth century design, Royère simply didn’t produce as many as seen in recent interiors, Image c/o Phillips
A wonderfully atmospheric interior by Alyssa Kapito, featuring a Jean-Michel Frank sofa a designer frequently copied by unscrupulous makers, image c/o Alyssa Kapito
Instagram is of course an invaluable marketing tool, and as it’s grown, so has the opportunity to build a professional following — creatives, artists, designers and dealers alike can curate a visual gallery from which to represent and promote themselves; and in doing so, they are able to bring followers into their own personal universe, thus creating the sort of rapport that would be un-achievable through any other medium. On the flip side, the inherent nature of such platforms often serve to strip original works of their context; an image of an interior or a piece of furniture for e.g. might be re-sized, re-filtered, re-posted, screenshot and shared to the extent that it becomes unclear where it came from, who took the photograph, or even who the designer is. For that matter, many popular “design” accounts are concerned primarily with a well-curated aesthetic, so as to lure in superficial followers and garner likes; by and large, far less attention is paid to providing any form of description, or even proper crediting. It’s all too common for a client to approach an interior designer armed with a portfolio of “mood imagery”, or to request a “look” they’ve seen on social media; however, excluding collectors, or design enthusiasts, it’s highly unlikely they will have heard of for e.g. Jean Royère (1902-1981) or Jean Prouvé (1901-1984), or, for that matter, to be able to discern between the work of Pierre Yovanovitch (b. 1955) and Pierre Augustin Rose (who, contrary to popular belief, are a trio of designers, and not a singular individual). Accordingly, a good many designers are more than willing to have an item of furniture copied, or to buy a replica, if it means a client gets what they want within budget, especially so if there’s little or no prospect of publication; though of course, with Instagram, as a practice, it’s becoming increasingly dangerous, as if clients publish images on a public account, it leaves documented, time-stamped evidence of plagiarism. Such shameless copycatting is by no means limited to those on the lower rungs of the design ladder; one frequently sees the instantly recognisable details from for e.g. David Collins (1955-2013) and Joseph Dirand (b. 1974) crop up in the work of well-known decorators, who apparently feel no remorse in ripping off a balustrade, fireplace or panelling detail so long as they achieve an editorially attractive interior; one can’t say with certainty if it comes from laziness, a lack of design talent or simply a complete disregard for the work of other designers. It will come as little or no surprise that those working within the creative industries likes to gossip, and one frequently hears talk of such copycatting in design; though perhaps understandably, such tales of skulduggery rarely go further than the proverbial water cooler as many publications are afraid to name and shame such offenders for fear of upsetting a designer, or even worse, heaven forbid, losing advertising revenue.
Alexandre Birman’s Park Avenue apartment, designed by Studio Mellone, the sort of carefully curated interior that has come to epitomise elegant contemporary living, image c/o Studio Mellone
Recently however, the anonymous Instagram account @DesignWithinCopy has been shining a light on many of those who think nothing of ripping off another designer’s work: “interior designer @AllisonElebashInteriors & woodworker @EricBrooks_CustomWoodworks shamelessly knock off @Adam.Rogers.Furniture for @Radnor.co’s ‘Marilyn Bed’ …” reads a recent post. Having quickly garnered a following of thousands, including a number of influential magazine editors, many within the industry — from designers to showroom reps, PR agents and retail executives — are desperate to know the identity of this daring individual. We spoke to the anonymous poster, who, as background, has been formally trained in design, and currently works within the design industry, what spurred them to start the account: “Seeing designers get ripped off by other designers, as well as other retailers, and nothing happening to them — no accountability whatsoever and a lack of consumer awareness about original design, was what really frustrated myself and my colleagues,” they explained. “What these copycats do not understand is the amount of creativity, time, energy and money that goes into creating and marketing an original design. There is such a stupid sense of entitlement from these copycats as well as the ones who seek them out.” Even when “called out” for such behaviour, a good many designers double down, reeling off excuses for why their “copy” is entirely justified. Furniture designer Thomas Hayes for e.g. whose Basic dining chair bears a striking resemblance to Brazilian architect and designer Sergio Rodrigues’ Marco chair replied: “Sergio was a dear friend of mine … I have always paid serious homage to his masterful designs … He was well aware of the chair being honoured in your post. He loved the swivel. I actually took the swivel back from some different Brazilian chairs that I think were by Jean Gillion.” Of course, given Rodrigues is at no point mentioned on the product page, it does seem a strange way to “pay homage”.
Given those in the industry are prepared to rip of the work of other contemporary designer, whose work is often published and has been seen en masse, it should come as no surprise that the work of twentieth designers is considered ripe for the picking. Interior designer Brian Paquette’s Aquidneck nightstand for e.g. bears a number of similarities to a chest of drawers designed by celebrated architect Eileen Gray and produced in 1920. Having been overlooked and patronized by men for the majority of her life, Paquette chose first to dispute the import and influence of her work: “Respectfully I would disagree with VERY identifiable. If I’m correct it wasn’t even put into production” (this is despite the fact that it’s depicted in almost every published book on Gray), going on to state “While I’m not in the camp of damning others for copying and being inspired by deceased designers … it’s an interesting topic for sure.” In reply to a ruinous string of comments re artists rights, and despite the fact that Aram London currently hold the worldwide copyright for Gray’s designs, Paquette claimed contritely: “I’d gladly write a check to Ms. Gray but I doubt she’d be able to cash it from her grave. This is why I specified designs from deceased designers.”
“Harlequin” pendant, plaster, by Stephen Antonson, a designer frequently imitated and copied, as highlighted by @DesignWithinCopy
The topic is far from a black and white and whilst some of those designs flagged by the account are indisputably clear copies, others perhaps fall into something of a grey area. Questions of copyright law vary from country to country, and artists and photographers are often better protected than designers: for e.g. earlier this year a French appeals court upheld a 2018 ruling that Jeff Koons (b. 1955) Fait d’hiver (1988) had plagiarised a high profile advertising campaign by clothing brand Naf Naf; this is despite the fact that there are numerous differences between the two works, the most obvious of which being that the former is a three dimensional sculpture and the latter a black and white photograph. Compensatory damages for a copyright infringement are awarded in terms of the demonstrable loss a copyright owner suffered as a result of the infringing activity; in the case of a designer copying for e.g. the work of an obscure, twentieth century maker, the financial harm is clearly negligible. However, if one approaches the matter from an ethical perspective, in terms of harm to the creative industry, then the waters are further muddied. The majority would agree that a chair or table for e.g. which is, for all intents and purposes, a carbon copy of another designers work is unacceptable. However, in terms of detailing, for e.g. the shape of a chair back, a handle or a table leg, where does one draw the line between inspiration and shameless imitation? Storied French designer Jean-Michel Frank (1895-1941) for e.g. is thought of as one of the most original designers of the twentieth century, yet many of his furniture shapes and panelling profiles are taken from eighteenth century precedents.
In large part, it seems @DesignWithinCopy is motivated by shining a light on those designers whose work, due to a general lack of art-historical and design knowledge (even within the industry), are thought of as original, ground-breaking even, whereas in reality, their success is built on the back of another’s work. “The sheer amount of egotism found in the design industry is just appalling, and we felt like calling these people out,” explains the anonymous poster. “Where music, film and photography copyrights are well protected — design is not. Pursuing legal action can be incredibly financially, emotionally and time-wise draining for a small designer. So most do not even thing about it as an option. The least we can do is offer a bit of shaming, and design education.” Of course, nobody designs in a vacuum, there’s always historical precedent, and in part, it’s the role of great designers to reinvent and reinterpret references from different eras and epochs in a way that’s relevant to our time. Outwith the judicial process, the extent to which we police that is open to interpretation.