This year’s Milan design week was a noisy assault on the mind that often felt light on substance and heavy on commercial opportunism, writes Max Fraser.
For as long as I’ve been attending Milan design week, I’ve contended with two conflicting emotions: that which gets a buzz from the influx of creative novelty, and that which struggles with the unapologetic onslaught of new stuff.
Usually I’ve managed to inhibit that latter feeling. This year I struggled.
The annual gathering of the international design community in Milan is truly a phenomenon unseen elsewhere, and one of the most concentrated moments of publicly accessible creative expression. The sheer amount of time and effort that goes into delivering the many design presentations is impressive. And the fear of missing the best of them is real.
It has become one of the most exploited, noisy and over-subscribed moments in the calendar
By virtue of this, it has also become one of the most exploited, noisy and over-subscribed moments in the calendar. It would seem everyone wants a piece of the action. Perhaps that was always inevitable – what company wouldn’t want to boost its brand perception in front of a potential audience of hundreds of thousands of local and international design enthusiasts?
The mass influx of visitors is generously absorbed by the host city of Milan each year; due to the vast economic boost it brings, it’s a disruption the municipality embraces, the citizens tolerate and others exploit.
Notably, the price of mediocre accommodation is inflated for the week, often to absurd levels. For those considering attending on their own dime, I’m sure many have been pushed out by the costs.
But the expense isn’t a new phenomenon. What is new is the arrival of a vastly different demographic of both exhibitors and visitors.
The week was once a key moment for mostly European producers of furniture and interior products to showcase their objects in a trade fair environment. More experimental design found its forum in unusual settings around the city. The avant garde of objects has always attracted the cool and the discerning, marking Milan as the key setting for the trends of the year ahead.
Understandably others want a slice of that cool cake. For many years now, the week has been commandeered by a broad swathe of related industries, including fashion, art, beauty, technology and automotive. Big consumer brands are great at identifying and hooking onto key hotspots to “activate”. Milan design week has definitively become the hottest target for those looking to broaden their market penetration.
I met one executive who was thrilled that people had to wait two hours to get into their show
As more big-budget presentations have arrived, all participants have had to shout louder to be noticed. Every form of media has been steadily amplified and ballooned into an unwieldy citywide marketing frenzy.
The stakes are high. Significant investment is required to commission big-name designers, implement high production values, pump out marketing campaigns, hire impressive venues and also staff them. Success seems to be marked by popularity and amplification, rather than a tangible boost to the bottom line.
Indeed, there is nothing more visceral than a queue of punters snaking around the block to represent success. Marketing directors are able to report that their multi-million euro presentation of brand ideology had huge influence. I met one such executive who was thrilled that people had to wait two hours to get into their show. But for the rest of us, the experience is frustrating and boring, to say the least.
As a member of the press, a perk of my job is being able to jump those queues via a dedicated media lane. This privilege affords me a quick zip around any of the over-subscribed events. For the most part, my reaction to said event would vary between indifferent to positive, depending how interesting/beautiful/well-crafted/fun it was, even if I may have departed somewhat puzzled by the core intent.
However, with every minute that one waits in a queue, one’s expectations increase. Had I waited two hours for entry, I’d likely have departed agitated, perhaps even angry at the unfulfilling consumption of my time, feeling duped by the hype.
This year, those eager to bypass the queues had often made the effort to pre-register for specific timeslots, only to find out that everyone else had done too, and they still had to wait.
Surface-level designs were aplenty, of the “just because you can doesn’t mean you should” variety
All of this leaves me wondering what spell has been cast on us that we so willingly expend our valuable time dedicated to what is, as design strategist Kuan Chi Hau put it in a LinkedIn post, a form of “brand tourism”.
Fashion brands in particular seem to have perfected the recipe: dangle the carrot of some kind of free gift to eek out an audience, make them wait, give them a selfie moment and then insult them with a free perfume sample as they leave. Fuelling it are Instagram accounts such as Milano da Scrocco, dedicated to the venues where you can find free stuff during the week.
But the days of dressing up superfluous stuff and placing it amid vapid installations in exceptionally beautiful spaces surely need to stop. It feels like a trick and it’s an assault for it to saturate our brains. The never-ending iterations of gregarious, materially intense, hyper-luxurious furniture dressed up in nonsensical marketing language is exhausting.
The noise – visual, audible, mental – puts great strain on one’s propensity to delve deeper than the superficial. And surface-level designs were aplenty, of the “just because you can doesn’t mean you should” variety.
I found myself craving unfussy, simple, well made, functional commercial designs. The kind that you can imagine real, honest, everyday people wanting to own. These sorts of products can still be found at Salone del Mobile, Milan’s trade fair. But yes, many of the mega-brand fortresses there also have queues.
For all my misgivings about Milan design week in 2025, it should never be forgotten that there are still so many carefully considered, materially sensitive, socially and environmentally relevant creations to admire and learn from. There are still quiet, nuanced, delicate presentations in unexpected locations to seek out.
So much of the important stuff is getting drowned out, pushed aside by the prevailing hype machine
There are still hundreds of cross-cultural conversations to enjoy with some of the most imaginative talents in the business and there is still business to be done. There are still opportunities to knock heads together and put the world to rights over cappuccinos, gelato or negronis.
There are still everyday Milanese eager to engage in some spectacle, have a fun day out and broaden their understanding of design. And as much as I’ve come to dislike the word “immersive”, there is still the occasional immersive experience that can tickle the imagination.
The problem is that so much of the important stuff is getting drowned out, pushed aside by the prevailing hype machine. I doubt this noise will dwindle much next year.
Meanwhile, the same roster of big-name designers and big-name brands continue to dominate. Any hope of reaching those lofty heights must feel unattainable to young and emerging designers today.
Beyond the selfies, the posturing, the queues, the fancy stuff and a fair amount of chatter about US tariffs, one thing jarringly missing from the conversation was design’s responsibility to reduce its environmental impact. Sure, the word “sustainability” continues to be thrown around the place but any substantive change, or rallying calls to action, were few and far between.
Towards the end of the week, I chanced upon a symbolic sight: only metres from yet another enormous queue was a largely neglected mural proclaiming “There is no planet B”. It had been brandished with a flyposter for a nearby pop-up perfume giveaway from a luxury fashion label.
Smart guerilla marketing or opportunistic vandalism? Or perhaps a sour reminder of just how little attention we’re paying to the most pressing existential issue of our time?
Max Fraser is editorial director of Dezeen.
The photo is by Max Fraser.
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