Founded in 2003, Tokyo-based BALMUDA refers to itself as a creativity and technology company that creates home appliances and other products designed to deliver "thrilling and wonderful experiences." Last year they entered the US market with products such as The Kettle and The Toaster. A toaster is perhaps one of those things that isn't usually described as being thrilling. But BALMUDA The Toaster is one beautiful toaster, and according to Monocle Magazine it has become a sleeper hit around the world. (The company went public last December in Tokyo and its share price is up nearly 80% at the time of writing this.) It has a special steaming technology that keeps bread moist on the inside and crispy on the outside. What you do is add 5 cc of water to the toaster before heating it up and that produces a thin layer of steam within the appliance. I never knew that my bread needed this, but clearly it does. Watching the latest movie from The Minimalists has taught me nothing. I hope these guys start shipping to Canada very soon.

Image: BALMUDA

I took a class during my undergraduate degree about the material culture of the Victorian era. I took it mostly for fun and because I found the lessons relevant to architecture. But it also allowed me to write papers about things like gin (though I remember not doing very well on that one).

My big takeaway from that class, which continues to stick with me to this day, is about how difficult it was for the Victorians to process and ultimately accept new technologies and ideas. There seemed to be immense skepticism and concern for everything that was novel.

Take, for example, the first ever escalator. An invention of the Victorian era, there were very serious concerns at the time about what such rapid changes in elevation would do to the human body. That's why they initially gave people booze at the top of the ride. A little something to calm the nerves after such a traumatic experience.

This, of course, seems silly today. But I always come back to it when I see us trying to process new technologies. Will posterity eventually think that we too were being silly for worrying? Will they think it's cute that we thought social media was turning us all into narcissistic and envious creatures? Probably.

Still, there's no denying that material culture impacts us all. I was reminded of this while reading this WIRED article by Craig Mod called, "The Glorious, Almost-Disconnected Boredom of My Walk in Japan." (Tim Ferriss shared it in his most recent newsletter.)

Craig does ultra-marathon walks. And the article is about one that he did in Japan. While this may seem like a recipe for a whole lot of nothing, there are things to be learned here. In it, he talks about how he rationed his use of technology on these walks and how "boredom" became something of value.

In the context of a walk like this, “boredom” is a goal, the antipode of mindless connectivity, constant stimulation, anger and dissatisfaction. I put “boredom” in quotes because the boredom I’m talking about fosters a heightened sense of presence. To be “bored” is to be free of distraction.

Perhaps the biggest drawback of our phones is that they allow us to fill every second of boredom with stuff. Have 3 three seconds to spare? Pull out the phone. On the one hand it's nice to never be bored. But on the other hand, it's harder to be contemplative. It's harder to go deep into things. And it's harder to find that right kind of "bored."

Or maybe we're just being fuddy-duddies who will one day be made fun of by future generations when somebody decides to teach a university course about early 21st century material culture.

Fashion, like architecture, says a lot. It is, according to Wikipedia, an "aesthetic expression at a particular time, place and in a specific context." So it's interesting to consider how fashion might translate, and not translate, around the world. This recent article by The Economist, called "The United Nations of Uniqlo," offers up one comparison, albeit a generalized one, between Japanese and American clothing preferences. (It's an article about the Japanese fashion label Uniqlo.)

Japan:

At first glance there seems nothing obviously Japanese about Uniqlo’s wares. But a strong strain of minimalism pervades Japanese culture. Buddhism remains an important influence on Japanese society even in an increasingly secular age, and among its core tenets are renunciation and detachment – concepts that mean being able to suppress one’s lust for the material elements of daily life. Mario Praz, an Italian critic, contrasts the Japanese style with the suffocating abundance of Victorian interiors in Europe and America which, he says, stemmed from horror vacui (fear of emptiness). More recently, young people in the West have also grown less enamoured with acquiring stuff, hence the widespread popularity of another Japanese export: Marie Kondo, a professional declutterer.

America:

The American market has proved harder to crack. The 56 Uniqlo stores in America fall far short of Yanai’s plan, in 2012, to open 200 there. They still operate at a loss. “When you think about the American market, you don’t always think of subtlety,” said Steve Rowen of Retail Systems Research, a consultancy. “This is a social-climber society. Even if you want to fly under the radar, there still has to be some indication that you’re fashion forward.” Once that urban millennial with a starter job begins to make real money, Rowen postulated, “they move past a brand like Uniqlo pretty quickly.” Americans are perhaps willing to embrace invisibility only until they are rich enough to want to be seen.

You could probably also fashion a similar argument around housing preferences. The Japanese are known for their minimalist houses, as well for completely different views on housing in general. But we shouldn't forget that good minimalism is expensive. Remember: "Only the rich can afford this much nothing." Maybe that's what Uniqlo needs to do in America. The problem is that its nothingness isn't expensive enough.