On timeless design

The modernists believed that good form could be universal—based on function, logic, and free of unnecessary ornament. That it was possible to create a design language resistant to time, trends, and culture.

Decades have passed since that era, and many of their ideas have been challenged, yet I still hear that good design should be timeless. That durability is a mark of quality. And trends—too fleeting to be taken seriously.

When a principle gets simplified and repeated without much thought, I start to question it. What does timeless design even mean? What makes some projects stay with us for decades, while others fade away? Does design need to be timeless to be good? And if so—what would that even look like?

I don’t have one clear answer. But I do have a few observations that have shifted the way I think about it.

I started by looking at what’s most often considered timeless design. The same objects keep coming up—in articles, books, and forums. Designed decades ago, yet still present in culture and everyday use.
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Porsche 911 (1963) – An iconic silhouette. One of the few cars that has lasted for decades while keeping its recognizable shape and character.
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Coca-Cola bottle (1915) – The so-called contour bottle, designed to be “recognizable even in the dark.” One of the most iconic examples of industrial design—still in use today.
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Monopoly (1935) – A board game that’s remained virtually unchanged for decades. The classic layout, colors, and visual style are still recognizable and widely present. (I’ll admit—this one might be my favorite.)
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Barcelona Chair (1929) – Designed by Mies van der Rohe and Lilly Reich for the Barcelona World’s Fair. Never meant for mass production, yet still manufactured today and considered one of the most recognizable furniture designs in history.
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Chemex (1941) – A glass coffee brewer shaped like an hourglass. Often seen as a design so refined it never needed changing.
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LEGO (1958) – A modular system of bricks whose basic form and function haven’t changed since the original patent. New sets still fit with bricks from the 1960s—often cited as a case of durability built on consistency and compatibility.
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Helvetica (1957) – A Swiss sans-serif typeface designed by Max Miedinger in collaboration with Eduard Hoffmann. Seen by some as beautiful and timeless, by others as too safe and lacking character.

Their form has barely changed in decades. They still work, still look good, still get made and recognized. For many, this is proof that timeless design is possible—that it’s possible to design something so well it never needs to be changed.

And at first glance, that does make sense. But the more I think about it, the more I start to doubt whether it’s really that simple.

Because what exactly lies behind this idea of “timeless design”? The word itself suggests something untouched by time—something that doesn’t age, lose meaning, or require change. Purity of form, durability of function, freedom from trends.

It sounds ideal. But is it actually possible?

Every design reflects its time—it’s created in a specific moment and context, shaped by a particular aesthetic, culture, and technology. Even what we now see as neutral was once radical. Helvetica was a modern answer to the need for order and clarity in a complex world. Today it’s seen as timeless, but it too is a product of its era.

Design can’t exist outside of time. Even if it stays the same, the world around it doesn’t. Technology, needs, and aesthetics evolve faster than ever. The way we use things changes—and so do our expectations.

Something might seem timeless simply because it happens to fit the taste of a particular generation again. But tastes are cyclical too. Antique furniture that once felt outdated is now back as vintage—with a new layer of meaning.

It’s also worth remembering that design alone is never the sole reason something lasts. Products that have endured for decades aren’t just the result of good design. Their longevity is often backed by strong brands, cultural recognition, consistent messaging, habits people form—and sometimes, just plain luck.

But what made them endure wasn’t that they stayed the same. On the contrary—it was their ability to change. To adapt to new realities without pretending to be above time.

Today’s Porsche 911 has different proportions, different performance, different technology. Helvetica has been adapted for screens and modern media. Coca-Cola is now sold in plastic bottles and various sizes—the glass bottle is mostly symbolic. LEGO still uses the same connection system, but the sets now reference contemporary pop culture.

None of these lasted because of a fixed form. What endured was the core—the mindset, the emotion, the identity. Their longevity wasn’t about freezing a design in time, but about constantly reinterpreting it.

With that in mind, it’s hard to speak of these examples as “timeless” in the literal sense. They didn’t endure because they were eternal. They endured because they knew how to change—without losing what made them essential.

They’re closer to being long-lasting. And long-lasting isn’t the same as eternal. It’s not about being immune to wear or existing outside of time. It’s about aging with dignity, without scrambling to escape change.

That’s the word Dieter Rams used in his manifesto: “Good design is long-lasting.” But does that mean every good design has to be long-lasting?

Longevity is certainly a desirable quality. It often signals well-made work—something that has stood the test of time without aging aesthetically or functionally. But not every design needs to be made with decades in mind. And not every design should be.

Some things are, by nature, temporary. Seasonal campaigns, posters, event identities—their strength lies in working here and now. They’re meant to be fresh and relevant in the moment. And that’s enough.

In other cases—when a project isn’t meant to expire—longevity is a reasonable goal. But it’s not an easy one. How do you design something that responds to today’s needs without aging in a few years? We don’t know what future tastes, contexts, or technologies will look like.

“If you want to design something timeless, you have to make it so boring that it’s also going to be boring in 20 years time.” — Erik Spiekermann

Looking at some designs, I get the feeling some designers took that quote a bit too literally. They seem to think that just avoiding trendy typefaces, bold colors, and trends will somehow make their work “lasting”.

But that’s a shortcut. And it often leads to work that’s cautious and forgettable. Minimalism with no character. Neutrality with no voice. If the goal is “not to age,” the designer ends up playing defense—rather than engaging creatively with their moment.

Designs stripped of emotion, context, and courage may feel safe—but they’re also unnecessary. And those are exactly the things that make design meaningful here and now.

So it’s not about pretending to be timeless. It’s about being authentic. About designing from real needs, from context, from personal observations—not from a calculation of how to avoid trends so something doesn’t age too quickly.

One useful clue might be to avoid taking direct inspiration from other design work—because it’s often already part of a trend (though trends themselves aren’t necessarily bad—I’ll come back to that another time). Better sources are other industries, nature, daily life, your own experiences. It’s not about ignoring reality—it’s about not losing your own perspective.

If something truly solves a real problem, people will value it—even if it no longer fits the aesthetic of the moment years down the line. Longevity comes from an idea that gives the work its meaning and identity. As for form? It should change—if it’s meant to stay alive.

In the end, time is what reveals what holds up—and what stays with us.