The book also has the insightful observations on creativity from the editors, Barbara Townley and Nic Beech.

As for my chapter, I think the best way to approach talking about it, since I cannot critique it (at least not today) is to give you the abstract:

Designed by Philippe Starck, Juicy Salif is a kitchen utensil supposed to squeeze citrus fruits and, in particular, lemons. It does not, however, perform its function with the effectiveness of its cheaper rivals. Citric acid may corrode the aluminium or gold from which it is made; its dimensions are unfit to be comfortably stored in a standard kitchen cupboard; its ergonomic characteristics, which should make its use a pleasant experience, leave a lot to be desired. Nevertheless, it is a best selling product and a design icon.

So, if it does not squeeze lemons, what is Juicy Salif for? What is its purpose? What value do viewers, owners and users get out of it? This study will take on a psychoanalytic point of view and will look at how Juicy Salif may, in shop displays and gallery spaces, stand in the place of the object cause of desire, or what Lacan called Object (a). Presenting Juicy Salif as a case study and drawing on examples of other products that have shaped our understanding of objects and lifestyle (Jonathan Ive’s ubiquitous iPod, Manolo Blahnik’s desired shoes) this chapter will argue that what makes Juicy Salif culturally valuable is its ability to seduce, to lead consumers and viewers astray from what may be considered right behaviour.

Here is the first page of my chapter:

And, of course, as you can see from the abstract, I managed to fit some Jacques Lacan in a text about lemon squeezers, value and design. Why not?

I liked participating in something that is beyond my PhD, something that the degree will hopefully enable me to do more of, and more often. I like writing. I like writing books, even. I will go as far as to say that I like the publishing process despite editors, going over words time and time again and working with writing done over two years ago. Publishing is not for the faint hearted, or the impatient. Neither is writing, I am finding out. I am going to contradict myself: I hate writing, but I like to have written and seeing the cover of the book, with the title of my chapter and my name next to it (its accent in the right place) brought me that proud feeling, that well-being.

All the more because, as I mention in my chapter, I am coming into this as an outsider. I am a fine artist, writing about a design piece for a book on management. Of course I wasn’t sure about it but I followed my friend Glyn’s advice: when you are starting, never say no. To anything. I was lucky that the team that edited the book have been very supportive and have done an excellent job. They were very kind to strangers. And from that position, one I know very well (because I constantly seek it), I have been able to produce something I am quite happy with, as it gives an outlet to a bit of research that, sadly, did not have any place in the 40,000 words of my PhD. Still, readers will find my usual obsessive self in my words; there is also seduction, psychoanalysis and admiration of a creative piece of design that I am very happy to own.

With thanks to Charlotte who bought Juicy Salif for me when I left my last job and told me about her shopping experience, which partly inspired the chapter.

Talk info:
Juicy Salif as a cultish totem. The Discipline of Creativity: Exploring the Paradox, Session: ‘Ars longa’: establishing value, Institute for Capitalising on Creativity, Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama, Glasgow, 2 May 2007.

This made me smile after a hard day’s work. Finally, someone has put Starck (and the masculinity he represents) back in its place. With thanks to Alastair, who can always make a perceptive comment or two…

I used to go to the Alessi shop in Brook Street during my lunchtime, just to look at and hold Juicy Salif. Even though the shop was full of colourful and imaginative products, the menacing lemon squeezer always stood out. Being taller than any other product in the shelve (and certainly taller than any other manual lemon squeezer as it barely fits in the cupboard), its clumsiness was somewhat defiant.

I knew from its price tag, that this cult design object was within my range, that I could own it, but I never found the impetus to buy it. I was in two minds when I thought that, even if a design icon, was I was intending to purchase was an impractical lemon squeezer. I don’t even drink lemon juice… Instead, it was always on my wish list for someone to give it to me as a gift. It was as if I wanted juicy Salif to mark an occasion. Eventually, someone bought it for me. The night it was given to me, I was at a busy pub. When I opened it and placed it on the table people reacted in two different but distinct ways. Some immediately recognized the object, some other screamed: ‘What’s that!’

Like in the Spanish film, my Juicy Salif does not reside in my home’s kitchen but in my bedroom. I have never used it to squeeze lemons. I did not even get it with that intention in mind. What I very consciously wanted was to own a design icon, and not any design icon, but one that was subversive and changed things even if in a small way. Lemon squeezers don’t and shouldn’t look like Juicy Salif. This object is beautiful, thought provoking and imaginative (who could have thought of placing the glass under the squeezer?) but, essentially, it doesn’t function very well. I still don’t understand how that works but I think that adds to the overall status of Juicy Salif.