We’re designing ourselves into a superflat world.
There’s an inherent dance between the digital and the tactile, one I find myself constantly navigating.
Through my Japanese design lens, touch carries profound significance. The subtle textures, the weight of a well crafted package in your hands, these details matter deeply.
This stands in deliberate contrast to Takashi Murakami’s “superflat” aesthetic: that smooth, screen based uniformity where surfaces remain consistently level.
Physical packaging offers something fundamentally different, it introduces warmth and humanity into the experience. It’s never merely protective; it’s transformative.
I think of my mother’s old cookie tin, long emptied of its original contents, now holding her sewing kit. That tin earned its place in our home not because of what it once contained, but because someone designed it well enough to deserve a second life.
I experienced this same principle working on Dunhill’s cigar packaging. Every material choice, the ribbed texture, the weight of the closure, each surface transition was intentional. We used recycled paper and soy based inks, proving that environmental responsibility and tactile luxury aren’t opposing forces. Designed to honor the product, the person holding it, and the world we share.
Consider how people preserve their Apple boxes long after unboxing. There’s intention behind that impulse.
Thoughtfully designed packaging transcends its functional role, becoming an object worth keeping, a small piece of art that earns its place in someone’s home.
The package develops its own narrative, extending far beyond its original purpose. This is what I advocate for: tactile design that adds dimension to everyday moments. It’s a quality worth both preserving and celebrating.
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