In-Sites Exclusive: If Everything Is Collectible, Nothing Is
On the misuse of a market term, and what makes a design piece truly collectible.
Hello and happy September!
This letter would normally be sent only to our paid subscribers, but this issue is sponsored by Cuff Studio, a California-based furniture and lighting studio, celebrating the grand opening of its New York showroom on September 9. And yes - we’re invited!!
Scroll down for details and RSVP. It will be a cool crowd, including our own TDR founder Leo. Check it out, make some friends, and take in some very gorgeous furniture.
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This month, we’re diving into a subject we often cover: collectible design. We sat down with Mayfair Design District founder James Malcolm Green to talk about the market’s evolution, and with artist–designer Fernando Mastrangelo on what the next generation might look like.
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One of TDR’s raisons d'être is supporting emerging and independent design, which often falls into two categories: bespoke design (custom, sometimes one-of-a-kind) and functional art, which usually means objects that are “strange” or artistic but still usable: you can sit on it, open it, or see your reflection in it.
Around 2020, we noticed a big shift in the industry. Designers of bespoke furniture, as well as those creating functional art, began pivoting to label themselves as “collectible design.” I can trace this back to a few reasons: trade shows closing during the pandemic, a desire to make creative design for virality on instagram, and the explosion of design galleries being founded.
The result was a push for designers to rebrand themselves, for showrooms to reposition themselves, and for dealers to emerge, leading to an exponential expansion of the collectible design ecosystem.
Now it seems like everywhere we look, furniture companies are branding themselves as collectible design. But if everything is collectible, what really is?
James Malcolm Green began his career at Carpenters Workshop Gallery in 2008, at a time when only a handful of galleries were devoted to contemporary design. It was, as he recalls, an exciting moment when the Royal College of Art, Eindhoven, and Parsons in New York were producing a generation of inspiring graduates, and the nascent design galleries were quick to champion them. The market was still young, dynamic, and risky, which created a sense of energy and unpredictability.
Nearly two decades later, he observes a very different landscape. Prices have risen, and with them has come a more cautious, risk-averse approach. “Although there are still lots of examples of playful creativity,” he notes, “there are also a lot of people just playing it safe.” Auction houses have shifted unevenly: Phillips and Bonhams continue to invest in design, while Sotheby’s and Christie’s shuttered their London departments. Yet Paris and New York remain strongholds.
Meanwhile, the number of fairs has multiplied. Contrary to expectations that the pandemic might thin the circuit, the calendar is busier than ever. Market fortunes have also diverged: certain stars of 2008, such as Ron Arad, have seen values decline as supply has saturated, while others, including Les Lalanne, have soared. Designers like Ingrid Donat, Nacho Carbonell, Max Lamb, and Vincenzo de Cotiis remain in ascent, represented by the most established galleries.
In James’ view, the waning influence of traditional trade shows is no accident. Unique and editioned design was never well suited to cavernous convention centers. By contrast, fairs such as PAD, TEFAF, or Salon create a far more compelling context: booths staged like high-end domestic interiors, attended by what he calls a “pre-vetted” audience of collectors and designers working for wealthy clients.
James believes the role of galleries themselves must evolve. Too many operate with little risk or commitment, taking work on consignment without investing in the long-term careers of their artists. For him, the answer lies in a renewed model of patronage built on mutual trust. “The relationship needs to be formed on trust,” he says, “trust from the gallery that the artist will continue to produce innovative and exciting work, and trust from the artist that the gallery will look after them, not screw them over, support them as needed, give them shows, budget if required, and counsel.” In this new environment, galleries must also think globally: cultivating audiences beyond their immediate city and mastering digital platforms to expand their reach.
For James, the very notion of collectible design remains underdeveloped. He draws a parallel to photography, which only began to be taken seriously as a collectible medium in the 1970s and 80s, despite its 19th-century origins. According to him, design is still in its infancy as a collectible category. Unique works and small editions may exist, but without clear standards or shared definitions, there’s a risk of confusion for collectors, museums, and institutions. “The greater the positioning, the provenance, the concept - as in art collecting also - it should follow that the more stable the investment,” he explains. Without a more rigorous, academic approach, his concern is that collectible design risks being seen as a passing bubble rather than a category worthy of the same cultural weight as sculpture.
“All truly collectible design pieces should be considered luxury — but not all luxury items should be considered collectible.”
--James Malcolm Green
On whether the term itself is losing meaning, James is careful to draw distinctions. For him, rarity combined with demand creates collectibility, which often leads to rapid increases in value. The problem arises when opportunism enters the picture. “There is nothing to stop anybody from publishing or producing an edition of anything,” he notes, “so of course there is a need for the market to regulate itself.” When “limited edition” becomes a marketing gimmick, it cheapens the field, and can turn out what he bluntly calls “worthless junk being sold as a ‘luxury’ item.” The difference, as he sees it, is that all truly collectible design pieces can be considered luxury, but not all luxury items are collectible.
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James is quick to point out that we live in an unusually open moment for creative expression. Designers today have the freedom to subvert function itself: “A chair might not obviously be a chair, or what looks like a table might so obviously be a table to the viewer, until they’re told it’s a sculpture and not to be touched.” This space to play with form and function has produced works that are challenging, fantastical, and deeply debatable, but also capable of enduring beyond their own moment.
In his view, the most compelling examples of collectible design fall into two camps. Some capture a particular cultural moment so vividly that they become instantly iconic, as with Marc Newson’s Lockheed Lounge or Dalí’s Mae West Lips sofa. Others embody such timelessness that they become nearly invisible through ubiquity like the white plastic monobloc chair, produced in the millions, perhaps the most extreme case. He admires designers who can elevate even these everyday forms. He points to Maarten Baas’s Plastic Chair in Wood (2008–2015), a hand-sculpted homage to the monobloc that now sits in the V&A’s permanent collection, as a rare example of a contemporary work that reframes familiarity as collectible.
Artist and designer Fernando Mastrangelo has long been a champion of emerging voices in design, first through his curated exhibitions that helped shape the New York design week circuit, and now through his podcast, Design Discord. The show pulls back the curtain on what it really takes to build a design business today, tackling the challenges and opportunities facing young designers.
As Fernando sees it, the appeal of calling oneself an artist has never been stronger. The equation looks simple: focus on creativity, produce fewer works, and earn higher margins. Compared to the grind of building infrastructure, hiring skilled people, managing teams, and betting on industries still shaky in the post-pandemic landscape, it can feel like a far more elegant way to make a living.
But in his view, the ecosystem that once helped young designers find their footing has collapsed. Trade shows used to serve as proving grounds, places to test ideas and decide whether you belonged in the world of collectible design or the hustle of bespoke furniture. When those shows disappeared, so did the entry point, and “What’s left is a generation of young designers adrift, unsure how to build careers.” With fairs increasingly controlled by gatekeepers, he sees many funneled into pursuing gallery representation or showroom contracts as the only viable routes. “I recently spoke to a class of SAIC students, and almost every one of them said, ‘I want to be in collectible design.’”
The problem, as he frames it, is that few seem to agree on what collectible actually means. For Fernando, it’s not enough for a piece to be unique or time-consuming to produce. He admits he straddles both worlds himself, creating works rooted in narrative alongside customizable or bespoke commissions. But he warns that the distinction between slow, handmade design and truly collectible objects is being lost.
“A collectible design object is driven by narrative, storytelling, or social issues - and it sits closer to sculpture and art.” -- Fernando Mastrangelo
Looking ahead, he sees an industry still unsettled in the transition from pre- to post-covid. PR, he suggests, has reemerged as one of the few reliable tools for visibility. Meanwhile, fairs proliferate globally but often act more as gatekeepers than catalysts for change. The result, in his words, is “an industry struggling to define what’s next, weighed down by a wave of derivative work fighting for space in an expanding sea of sameness.”
With that, we’ll leave you until next time! I hope you enjoyed this longer read.
This letter came a little late, so our next one is next week, where we will crack open the London Design Fair with an explainer on how to navigate and the best things to see, and a little city guide for breaks between exhibitions. It’s a huge show in terms of how spread out the city is, and there are levels to it, which can be a bit tedious. We hope it will be useful to those of you in London or visiting.
Our next In-Sites subscriber newsletter will be a Q&A about the market - or anything design-y you’re curious about! We will dig into our network of social media specialists, marketing consultants, PR experts, gallerists, dealers, fair producers, and established designers, and ask them your questions.
Send us any questions you may have!! Just hit reply.
See you at Cuff Studio!
Julia (and hello from Leo and Zack)
loved this dude