Sleekness and simplicity are not one and the same - as Patrick le Quément finds out ever time he just wants to listen to some music.

I should have refused it, but was that even an option? Of course I could have given it instead to Pascale Siouffi, my very bright assistant, who was also present. Alternatively, I could have given it to Fabio Filippini, who, as director of our satellite design studio in Paris Bastille, was also part of the party that Saturday morning of September 13, 2003.

In the end, I decided that when Steve Jobs offers you an iPod, you just don’t refuse it. You take it and cherish it for the rest of your life as a prized possession. In fact, it turned out this was to be its fate sooner, rather than later, as the iPod broke down three months later. I was offered a replacement for it, but turned it down. Instead, I kept it in my special glass cabinet, together with other prized icons, such as a scale model of my old Ferrari 328 GTB, an overly complicated watch, given to me by Flavio Briatore, and Felix the Cat, a book which made me cry every night as a toddler, whenever those nasty rats burnt Maurice’s whiskers.

Anyway, let’s forget Felix and concentrate on that moment when I was initiated to the magic world of iGems. You see, up to then I had suffered the humiliations of high-tech products inflicting a test of my speed at entering some code upon me. As I was untrained, I often lost to the crude digital beast, resulting in a bonafide case of «Rage against the machine». But as I’ve often noted, people ignore design that ignores people, so I moved on to the delightful interface of equally clever and beautifully designed products from Cupertino with some pleasure. These were all conceived during the time the founder was at the helm.

It must be remembered that at the time, digital products were almost inherently user-unfriendly, which naturally brings me to a most memorable meeting with Bill Moggridge, the co-founder of a design agency giant named Ideo. He described to me a very telling experience he’d had with an early hi-tech digital watch, which he’d bought from a trip to Japan for his son. The watch was black, of course, and it came with an impressive explanatory manual, whose English language translation was pure mumbo jumbo. Fortunately, reading the Spanish and the Slovenian translations enabled him to almost decipher the operative steps necessary to control the rebellious watch. But more than that, it presented him with an hilarious after-dinner story, relating to the standard «push 3 times on button B whilst keeping a permanent pressure on button C» instructions people of a certain age have all experienced. For on the first night after it had been set up, the watch woke the entire household with a screeching alarm sound. After some futile attempts at following instructions that required the pressing of button A three times whilst hopping on one foot, the black watch died from the lethal blow of a hammer.

*One more thing: No more complexity - at least for a while (photo © Apple Inc.)*

This was the state of the art of early digital equipment when Steve Jobs arrived and led a worldwide revolution that changed our lives. When he passed away in 2011, Apple’s design department was left in the trusted hands of (yet to be knighted) designer, Jonathan Ives. The products that were created during that period were inspired, often delightful and always wrapped up in elaborate packaging that staged them in a most appealing manner - even though, quite a few years later, my conscience made itself heard, as it started voicing certain concerns regarding the waste this entailed.

As time passed, Apple products became ever so slightly more complicated to operate and less intuitive. Whereas it took one operation to shut off one’s wonderful holy white phone, this now increased to two, with the scenario on this occasion requiring the holding of both buttons at once. The wiz geeks that had obviously gained a strong influence in Apple’s design department appeared to be continuously dedicated to impressing one another, taking more liberty with the rules of good design interaction in the process. As a result, many of the early customers have now reached the point where they dread news of a software upgrade, for each time they know that things will get just that little bit more complicated.

What is at stake here is the notion of innovating to offer a genuine improvement, rather than just changing for change’s sake. In recent years we have witnessed an increasing number of changes in our products that are regressive moves and cannot be associated with progress. When I graduated as an industrial designer I was intent to shape the change rather than just change the shape. Many, many, years later I remain true to my engagement - despite the fact that I’ve failed many times…

Today, more than ever, I therefore believe in Simplexity, a catch-all term I coined in the early 1990s whilst at Renault. This amalgamation of seemingly contradictory terms was used to encompass the following:

pre-eminence given to the notion of simplicity over that of complexity

the commitment to « Simplexity » as a consequence of technological complexity

Technological complexity is welcome, as long as it takes us as a society forward. It needs to provide provisions to be used simply and effectively by the customer. After all, technology ought to serve mankind, rather than the other way round.

This truism was put to the test once more when I was offered a set of those lovely AirPods ear phones. Packed in a resolutely pleasant-to-hold case, sized to fit comfortably into the closed hand, it appeared at first as though it might be a soothing, comfortable object, an adult pacifier of some sort. But that impression only lasted for a few moments, as once one manages to open the hard, shiny and decidedly slippery plastic container, one is confronted with two beautifully shaped, smooth objects that appear decidedly reluctant to leave their sanctuary. As a consequence, it requires several slippery attempts to prize them out. They then seemingly fit well into one’s ear - or at least that’s what I thought at first, before the AirPods’ unfortunate tendency to drop out if one wears them whilst walking makes itself apparent.

*The case for AirPods is elusive (image © Apple Inc)*

This phenomenon isn’t an effect of any anatomic anomalies. For I learned that AirPods falling on the Japanese underground’s rails have pushed citizens of that ever so disciplined nation to lose their cool and become desperate in their attempts to recuperate their fallen possession, risking life and limb in the process. Apparently, Japan Railways have developed a contraption to recuperate lost airPods as a consequence, in order to prevent desperate owners from risking their lives.

Even if AirPods don’t get lost, they provide for mundane, everyday suspense. Such as when trying to slot the pods back into their container, which feels close to the excitement felt when participating in a game of chance: Being handed pods means the likelihood of finding the right cavity is a one-to-two chance.

It’s said that the road to hell is paved with good intentions and I’m sure that, within Apple, no one has decided to ignore their customer’s aspiration for serenity. That being said, we are far removed from those times when the first remark elicited whenever one was proudly presented with the latest iPhone inevitably was: «it’s so easy to use».

As a designer, I regularly reiterated that you don’t have a second opportunity to make a first good impression. So, designers at large, when in doubt: just keep it simple. Vive la simplicité!

(Editor’s Note: No primary colours were harmed in the making of this article)