In October of 1997, Philippe Starck received the GSD's first Design Excellence Award and presented his work in an informal talk. The following is the editors' adaptation of that talk, an adaptation that retains much of the original's flavor.

It's strange that you invited me, because I am not an architect. Some architects hate me, and they're right. I agree. I am nothing. And I don't try to be more than nothing. I just try to merit existing, which is, I think, enough.

In English there may nothing to explain the word citoyen. Citoyen is a very French concept. Citoyen is somebody who is deeply conscious of his responsibility in his world. I just try to do that. I am lazy, but I do what I can. I can do small things, like pens - no wait, I do something very well - I have a terrific nap every day. And in having this nap, which can go from one minute to three hours, sometimes it's boring - that's why you have to dream, and because I am not very intelligent, I don't dream about a new society, world, door, or window . . . . I dream about chairs and toothbrushes.

Through that, I try to exist. You must understand why. When I was young, I was better than today, a little more skinny, a nice guy, good family, good sport car - everything. And I had a problem relationel, a problem with other people. The girls didn't look at me, and it was a little difficult at seventeen, and I became a little schizophrenic. I spent a long time in my room, thinking "My God, what must I do to exist?" And I remember my father, who was an airplane engineer, and he told me the only "clean" work is to find an idea yourself, and do it so that you don't take the work of somebody else. I remember a movie, The Invisible Man - you could see this invisible man when he put the white cloth strips around himself. And suddenly I had a flash: I must be like him. Nobody sees me, especially girls. But if I produce something, perhaps I shall exist and people will see me. And that's why after almost thirty years of work, I am like a Christmas tree because I've designed so many Christmas gifts. And what you see is not a designer or an architect, but just a Christmas gift producer. That's life.

So how does somebody like that life? The life is very important, more important than the work. I live alone, almost. Last week I was in my office in Paris, a very small office with my small tribe of five, six people. It was the first time I was in my office for five months. I always spend my time in a collection of desert islands, where I am alone with my wife, with my new baby, sometimes with a few of the tribe who visit us. We live alone, alone, alone. I live like a monk. Either in the middle of a forest, or in the middle of the mud in my oyster farm, or in the middle of the sea, but alone. Why tell you that? Because if you want to make something a little personal, if you want to exist by yourself, it is very interesting to be always alone with yourself. Every morning I try to wake up at six o'clock - that means ten o'clock. And I go directly to my desk, and I put on very, very good music very loud. And I am in from the sea and alone like a beaver, and I do what I can do. It's not work, it's playing, playing with a project. Playing alone is very important, because the sort of work we see now is so trendy. A lot of young people think it's fashionable to be a designer or architect. You go to a cocktail party, and people say, "You are an architect at Harvard. Wow!" "You are a fashion designer in St. Martin's school! Wow!"

I go to bed after working. No cocktail. No reading Domus, Wallpaper, Rousseau, or anything else. It's working by yourself to find what you can do with your own tools to help your friends, your brothers, your society, your civilization. And to find how you can bring happiness and pleasure. The real honesty is to be always out of the trend, out of the mainstream. If you make things like everybody does, why do it? You must have your own responsibility, your own consciousness.

Now that is very serious, but now I can show you the bullshit I produce with this dutiful idea. I will show you less than twenty percent and explain why these things exist.

Alors. The Nani Nani [1989] is something strange. It's the first building I did. I'm sorry to show something so ugly in this famous architecture school. When somebody asked me to make a building in Tokyo, I was very happy. And I said, "But what can I do for these people, because they have Arato Isozaki, Shiro Kuramata, and others. They do beautiful work, and what can I do?" And I remembered something: I work only with intuition. I have the intuition that perhaps we can find a language, a common ground between them and us, using a symbolic monster. Remember Godzilla? Godzilla was the symbol of the atomic bomb; the Japanese people work only in symbols like that. That's why I think they like monsters. "OK, I shall make for them a monster." And I commit "nani nani" - the scream that the Japanese make when they meet a ghost. They scream "Naniii! Naniiii!" And I was waiting for people to do the same thing in the street when they saw my building.

The Nani Nani is just design. And if I am just making beautiful design, I definitely prefer a nap. You know, the idea is to make something special, to make an emotion, what I call "the fertile surprise." But it's very difficult to build in Tokyo, because space is scarce and because there are so many rules. So this building is strictly, purely functional. Some people said I was functionalist because - oooooo! - I made everything square. No. The Bauhaus was seventy years ago, and now there is a new way to be a functionalist with a lot of other parameters. When you are an architect, you will have dreams, and sometimes your dreams will be futile because nobody will pay for them. People say, "My god, your building is too costly - are you crazy?" When a developer tells you that, if you say, "I shall pay for it myself," then it's very easy. I have paid for all the buildings I designed. But I am not rich enough. That's why I made a strong image in Tokyo, so when the developer shows it in the magazines, everybody wants it. Or people want to spend money to be in this incredible building. A very easy way to pay for your dream in architecture is to make something that helps people find their image; then they create the money to build it.

The Asahi Beer Hall [1990] was made for the Asahi group in Tokyo. It's big, 100 meters. It's mainly symbolic. As with everything, I am always not happy with what I do, and I come back to the bridge here, and I was crying a little, and a good friend from Mexico sees me very down and asks me, "Why do you cry?" I say, "Because itŐs an enormous bullshit." And he said, "No, no, . . . well, perhaps . . . I cannot decide, but return and you will see." With something like this, either you hate it or you love it, but you must react. The worst thing is not reacting. Seriously, I don't know even today if it's really bullshit. But I know it's in a very poor area in Tokyo, and the people there are really proud it - they have given it the name of a god, and I love this idea - that's why it's "The God Bullshit." And thatŐs why you should never be afraid. Today this building is on the cover of the Tokyo Guide - it's a sign. Make what you feel, make what you want. Be free, and afterward society will decide; the city and society are self-cleaning: all the things they don't like will disappear. That's why you can make errors and take risks.

The Moondog [1990] we are building in Tokyo now. Somebody asked me to make a building for a bachelor. That's a strange Japanese idea - why make a building for a bachelor? OK, that's why I said, "Why not?:" And, "What can I do for Japanese business men? They wake up, they go down the corridor, take the elevator, go into the street, go through the suburb, go into the office [Starck traces a path around the auditorium walls with a laser pointer.] Oooohhhhh, it's a long way in Japan. It's not very funny. And there is a sickness very known in Japan: people don't go back home; they sleep under their desks. That's why what I can do for them is to give them land. And that's why my bachelor, when he comes back from the office, walks on his own land. And suddenly he finds where he lives. There is a window.

Bachelors, it's terrible to be alone; I cannot imagine that. I must help them to not stay bachelors. That's why I make this big room, so they can party, invite girls, and not stay bachelors. And I make this strange design, like old science fiction, bad utopia. Because in Tokyo, it's difficult to invite somebody - "Oh, perhaps we could have a blast tonight." "Yes, yes, yes, and with pleasure." "Where do you live?" "I live, I live, uh . . . at number 10,023, but there is no number, and it is between the gray building and the gray building. ItŐs impossible to find." So people don't come to your house to have a drink. That's why I make it so: "Where you live?" "I live in the strange building with big stairs and a rocket on top." "Oh, I'll see you tonight."

The Starck House (3 Suisses) [1994] is the best architecture I ever made, definitely the most advanced architecture. It doesn't look like something by Jean Nouvel or Zaha Hadid - it looks a little classic for the most advanced prototype of the modern house. This is because sometimes the modernity is not in the design, but somewhere else, and it's in the "somewhere else" that it's interesting. Lots of good architects make lots of beautiful architecture. You can call them - they have all money problems, so they will be very happy to work for you. But a lot of these good architects will design only a big thing, beautiful and costly. But now, especially in Europe, you can buy a house that costs $100,000 that looks like bullshit. And a young couple will work all their lives to pay for this bullshit. Retired people will have worked all their lives to pay for this bullshit. That's why I have to find a way to say, "OK, every twenty minutes people buy a house like that at $100,000 with 1,500 square feet. Abomination."

And I said, "OK, I shall take the same budget, the same measurement, the same program, and I shall show that there can be something else." In the U.S. and in France you can make a cheap wood house with a strong image. This was intended to be the best design you can get by mail order; it was a solution to oblige the big companies to change their designs. This design caused a big scandal in Europe. I received pressure to not do it. That's why this house is not architecture but political action, not about architecture but about people. Now I am only interested in doing something like that. The main idea was just to make it different and more honest and more human than the bullshit they sell every twenty minutes. When you have a good idea, try in all ways to make the best things for the most people possible. If you succeed, that means the idea was good. Popular is elegant, and rare is vulgar.

The Bo Boolo table [1995] is more interesting for its history than as an object. Every seven years in Europe, there is a fad for wood that is supposed to be an ecology fad - they cut more and more wood "for ecological reasons," which is deeply stupid. That's why I made this table with the National Office of Forests, and said to people, "OK, once more you will see this picture in a mail order catalogue," and you will say, "Oh, what a nice table - so chic." And you will pay for it, but you will receive just the top and the legs. "Oh, something's missing!" But you get a map of France, and on it is a letter that says you will receive the final piece of the table when you go with your map to this forest with an ax. You will have a discussion about the forest with the warden, and he will give you this branch. Then you go back home, and you will have your table. And, it's interesting because people want wood, but they don't know what wood is, they don't know what a forest is, they don't know you have to get wood by cutting down trees. So they come back with a real piece of nature, and now they know.

OK, the Louis XX chair [1992]. I shall give you a history of my plastic chairs. You will see a good product, but the main idea is again not the product. I don't know if, in the U.S., you have this disaster of a white chair that costs $5 and is sold along the road, and some terrible producer made this bullshit in millions. In Europe it's a disaster; it's like rats everywhere. And when I see that I think, "OK, I am in design. I must react. This chair is my problem." So I went to see my producers, and I said, "We produce good chairs that cost $700 or more in France. But why would people spend $600 for a chair when they can buy a chair for $5?" You can sit on the cheaper chair, it's comfortable, it's OK. I said, "We must now produce good products, the best we can, for everybody, and kill this product. To kill it we must produce it for $5." And they said "Are you crazy?!" "Yes. Yes, we have no choice." "Nooooo!!! It's impossible." "We shall see."

Bon, the cafe chair, Dr. Glob [1990], at first cost $700, and I said, "I shall produce one nice, in plastic and metal, that will cost something like $300. Hup! Less money and big success." The producers come back and say, "Whoa, Philippe, do you remember your success with this cafe chair? Twenty thousand pieces per year, your biggest success. But can you make a new one that will be something like 100,000 per year?" "Yes, yes." That's why the year after, I produced this Louis XX chair [1992], with the blue molding, and it cost thirty percent less. Huge success. So, "Hey, Philippe, next year we can make another. . . ?" "Yes! No problem, I have time. I am vicious." And the year after, we produce Lord Yo [1994], which cost $140. Hooph. Huge success. Millions. Revolution of the market. And the producer says, "We want a plastic chair." Success. No design, comfortable, good looking, a variety of colors, good quality, very good product. But cheaper. "You do more?" "Yes. No problem." That's why the year after I produced Miss Trip [1996]. Miss Trip was made to cost less and use wood, because everybody wanted wood. No problem. This cost $100. Success. One more. Dr. No [1996]. Dr. No cost $80. Huge success. The factory must make four molds that operate night and day. They make a lot of money. But the chair we are fighting against cost $5, and this $80. There is a $75 difference. OK, we continue. The Prince Aha [1996] was designed four years ago. After this, a small stool, a sort of Brancusi in plastic, that cost $18. Success. Oh, perfect; we continue! And after the last chair, Cheap Chic [1997], that cost something like $50. Big success. And now we prepare for the next Milano exhibition with a chair that costs $40, and one that will cost $20. We are almost done. In ten years, I have cut the price of the object in half every two years. [Whistles.] The job was not to design the chairs. The job was to give a good product, an honest product, of high quality, something a little more, a better design, more poetic, for the price of the other bullshit, so that people can choose.

The Light Lite [1992] is interesting, because I did the same thing for the lamp as for the chair. One time I opened a box that my producer sent me, a box that held a lamp - "Wow, beautiful lamp." And then I saw the box, and it was beautiful and very interesting because it produced a vacuum that protected its contents. I called my producer and said, "What is the price of the box?. . . Wow, so costly! But perhaps we can design the lamp with the machine that produces the box, and thus we can lower the price." And he said, "It's impossible, my factory. . . " I said, "OK, OK, OK . . . we'll install a tent in the parking area. I'll take the machine that makes the vacuum. I'll design a collection of lamps using the machine." And the lamps cost the price of the box, and there is no box! And again, the work was about how to attack the problem freshly.

The Miss Sissi [1990] was a new beginning for me. It's what I call "low design." "Low design" is now a trend. This is why I now speak about the No Design and the No Product. You must always be in advance. You know the Tizio? - a beautiful black lamp. There are 3,000 copies of that. And it's very intelligent . . . but what if you are sick of that lamp? I said, "Perhaps we can think about a schematic lamp. There is a game you play in the street when you are a child. You ask anybody, "Hey, name a color." And they always say "red." "Name a tool." They say "hammer." "Name a musical instrument." "A trumpet." "Name an animal." They always say, "a lion." And I think, "What is a lamp?" And I think: "a shade and a foot." I produced what everybody thinks in their unconscious a lamp is. It's interesting that it has been incredibly successful. Strangely, this was the most modern lamp you could design. It's more modern today to design this than to think for years about the most sophisticated, complicated lamp. You produce it in plastic with the best company, and you do it cheap, and it's OK.

Here is an Olympic Flame [1992]. You remember Jean-Claude Killy, famous ski champion and president of the Olympic Games? He called me and said "Philippe, do you want to make the torch for the Olympic Games?" I said, "You must be kidding - me with sports? I'm sorry, but no." "Yes, yes, yes, you will do it." And with me, when somebody say you must do it, I always do it. So I buy some books on the Olympics and what I discover is terrible. The Olympic Games were supported by the Nazis, by the military. And I called Jean-Claude and said, "I cannot do it." He says, "You will find some way out." That's why I thought I had to find something that gives the idea but without all these terrible associations. I must speak of sports - somebody wants to use passion and energy and be victorious. OK, no problem. We shall buy a container of gas, and we shall put the hand of the athlete over the gas flame. . . . he will run faster. It was perfect, minimalist, elegant, inexpensive. But strangely they don't accept the idea. So I designed this simple thing, which is just the continuation of the arm, in organic harmony, just the person with his passion, without all the terrible Nazi competition. And reading the newspapers somebody says, "I ran with the Starck torch, and it was magic."

The boat, the First 41 S5 Volier L Coque [1989; exterior and interior], is for Beneteau, a big French company. When Mme. Beneteau asked me to design a boat, I came up with something very strange, a little "retro." And she writes, "Oh, Philippe, it's not new." I say, "Yes, I know, but do you think you need something new for a boat? You need new technology, but basically you need something that expresses the main dream about the boat." This boat is not a space lab - it's more organic, it's white, it looks as if it's fifteen years older that is was. Sometimes the modernity can look older than you expect, because it is not the problem to find where the modernity is. The problem is to find where the right action is, the right product for the happiness of people.

This is pasta, called Mandala [1987]. Twenty years ago I was so naive. Panzani asked me to design a pasta. I was so happy because I'm very interested in things close to humans. I said, "OK, what can I do with pasta? Why do we love pasta? When do we love pasta? We love pasta when we are children, when we are sick, when we are stoned - ah! - or when we are old - in other words, when we are a bit regressed. But sometimes when you eat pasta you become fat. Perhaps the thing I can do is to give the same pleasure, with a good mouth full of pasta, but without making people fat. How I can make a pasta that will be ten percent pasta and ninety percent air? If you make a tube, you have ninety percent air, but when it's cooked, it collapses." That's why I thought of a spring that makes the pasta stay open. And because American and French people always overcook pasta, I made two wings that have a double thickness, so that when you overcook it, eighty percent of the pasta is still al dente. I asked a doctor, "What is in pasta?" and he said, "It's a perfectly well-balanced food." "Well-balanced: yin-yang! Perfect, that can be the spring!" This shows you that even in something small, everything can be functional. If you just make a nice design, it's nothing.

The Juicy Salif lemon squeezer [1990-1991] is the biggest success of all. Strange, because it's a difficult object. Now it's well known, but when it wasn't, you thought, "What is this?" A lot of people told me, "This object is stupid because electric zinzinzin cost half and works better. . . " "Yes it's true. There are one hundred electric things that work better. But sometimes you must choose why you design - in this case not to squeeze lemon, even though as a lemon squeezer it works. Sometimes you need some more humble service: on a certain night, the young couple, just married, invites the parents of the groom to dinner, and the groom and his father go to watch football on TV. And for the first time the mother of the groom and the young bride are in the kitchen and there is a sort of malaise - this squeezer is made to start the conversation.

The Scooter Lama [1992] is the prototype of a motor scooter. When a company called me to design a scooter, I was happy because I drive only motorcycles - I have thirty-two. For me it was a dream. But I saw immediately a problem because in Europe, scooters are mainly used by teenagers to go to school. The problem is that some stupid designer designed them like weapons: black like the moped of Batman, and that was especially stupid because at the time there was war in Yugoslavia. I said, "Why design weapons when a moped is just a very convenient, practical, nice object?" And I was sad when I saw that the guy who is lucky enough to have a moped was just saying, "Look, I have a bigger dick than yours." That's why I made my scooter a sex object. To exist the object must have sexuality, or you don't have relations with it. The problem is that today, 100 percent of objects with engines have male sexuality; more than that, they are ridiculously, stupidly macho. Perhaps the macho look can be interesting if you want to fight dinosaurs. But now to survive, you need intelligence, not power and aggression. Modern intelligence means intuition - it's female. Products like this must follow the female intelligence. I've tried to work on that. This scooter doesn't looks like a female, but it doesn't look like a dick either. It's just a simple animal with a soft skin and ears that are red because the winter is cold.

The Moto Aprilia 6 [1995] is a motorcycle, definitely more male, but a lot less so than the terrible products on the market. The real problem is not sex for the motorcycle, but marketing. The marketing sells to a fake person - "Buy a Harley-Davidson, and you will be a biker. Buy a Paris-Dakar and you will be Thierry Sabine of Paris-Dakar." And it's terrible to buy a personality. It's especially terrible with a motorcycle, because a motorcycle is so intelligent, so minimalist - wheels, tank, engine, seat, basta. My design is just to say, "With this, you are yourself, not a fake Hell's Angel."

So, Della Valle shoe prototype [1996]. This shoe, but better, will be on the market soon. This original model is just to say to Nike and Reebok almost the same thing as we said about the motorcycle: "Why must we be clowns?"