When did high design become synonymous with luxury? The question kept surfacing in my mind as I walked the thousands of steps of Milan Design Week, my iPhone keeping track of the calories I was shedding along the way (theoretically, elevated pasta intake excluded). Getting steps in is a point of pride for many, especially when it comes to Milan, where you are constantly on the move — except for when you find yourself in an interminably long line to get into some palazzo, or even one of the more popular halls at the fair itself. All of this energy is going toward experiencing design in all of its permutations. But one of those variations was more pronounced than others: big luxury. 

What is luxury? It has different meanings for different people, but I’m talking about the luxury market. The appeal to this rarified segment of buyers reverberated across the seemingly utilitarian novelties — say, the hundreds of soft seating systems you encounter at the fair — all the way to the more artisanal creations around town. At the Salone, the sofas seemed statelier than ever, which is understandable; brands need to get the masses excited. But the overall effect was one of exclusion. This velvet-upholstered sectional for 20 and this massive marble table — in a proprietary colour and vein — would look perfect
in your villa on the Amalfi Coast. At some of the pavilions at the Salone, where you should be able to sit down and test out a sofa’s comfort and ergonomics, feel its fabrics and get close to its construction — all means of assessing its design — you were held back by a barrier of some kind. Furniture was no longer about function, only about form. But it isn’t art, it’s a chaise longue; it’s not the Mona Lisa, it’s a coffee table.

At the off-site events, many held in the palazzi of erstwhile aristocracy, this meant you often found yourself walking into gilded rooms filled with gilded furnishings and accessories. The venue wasn’t a dramatic contrast to the display of modern furniture; it was a rarified environment befitting the rarified pieces within, pieces not modern in the spirit of modernism, but new, pretty and camera-ready. There was plenty of impressive craft on display, but its luxury aspirations amplified a message that seems to ring louder and louder each year: Don’t linger too long, just take some snaps. In one palazzo, the feeling was acute. Moving with the current alongside a wave of visitors, I encountered interior after interior of beautiful, precious works — a pair of marble chairs here, a sculptural cabinet there — culminating in a serene outdoor garden where we were warned away from sitting on the furniture. At another marquee event, innovative pieces coexisted (again, in an impossibly glorious estate) with ornate confections. The artistry was pronounced, but the sense of look, don’t touch prevailed.

Otherworldly luxury has always been part of the thrill of design week. We need spectacle, a sense of awe. We once drooled over Swarovski chandeliers. But in the past, there was less of a feeling of preciousness, more of a meaning to the madness — how did Paul Cocksedge evoke the actual Mona Lisa visage in his crystal light installation? Maybe the long lines of this year’s event distorted the image, but it feels more and more like the design lover going to Milan is a gawker at a zoo of excess. And this is compounded by the influence of the many high fashion brands that have entered the fray over the past decade; Thom Browne and Loewe recently joined the Italian houses of Versace, Dolce & Gabbana, Gucci, Fendi and others as design week attractions. What is strange is that some of the old-guard brands seem to have met them in the middle. 

There might be a point-zero-one-percenter clientele they are all appealing to, but This is not for me, I kept thinking. Too rich for my blood. Yet I could imagine many of these furnishings being enthusiastically spec’d for a luxury project, like a lavish residential interior or an opulent hotel. Far removed from the invention, sense of play or instinct to solve problems that are the typical virtues we champion in great design, it all felt more about ostentation and signalling wealth — which, of course, has always had its own cachet.