Red Dot Design Museum

If you have ever wondered what it would be like to physically walk through a magazine, this is it. But rather than reclining in your favourite wicker chair, bathed in sunlight, sipping a mimosa while reading a magazine you stole from the doctor’s office, you’re schlepping your poor tired ass through a room of posters wondering why they don’t even have any of those goddam award-winning chairs to sit on.

The monotony and the disappointment were only punctuated a few times by a lonely physical object perched atop a white box. We longed to get near it. Pressed our faces to the glass and imagined what the hand-woven fabric must have felt like. Oggled at the juxtaposition of materials. Oh, those wooden curves; I bet they are tight. And then, more posters. Mercifully, there was a wall with a number of smaller items encased in glass that grabbed my attention. But they only grabbed my attention in contrast.

To be fair, we may have come at a bad time. Maybe this wasn’t the optimal exhibit to peruse. Perhaps other exhibits once offered greater interactivity, movement, or interest. Maybe, much like it has everything else, COVID fucked it all up for everyone. But for a museum that touts itself as interactive and engaging; a chance to experience everyday consumer products, furniture, electronics, transportation design, communication design and futuristic concepts, I have seen more effort go into a high-school science fair, and by those lazy-ass millennials, no less.

Perhaps by interactive, what they really meant is that you can touch and buy the items in the gift shop. Not exactly a unique museum concept that will blow you out of your award-winning, Swedish, ergonomically designed chair made from recycled ocean waste fabric and compressed coconut husk, right? But still, we spent most of our time in the gift shop exhibit, searching for anything we could put our $5 voucher toward. A set of plastic, fold-out vases? Miniature paper cutouts? A wooden llama? $5 wouldn’t even cover 1/16th of the price tag for any of these innovations. So we left, the jangling of the red curtains simulating the sound of laughter as we exited.

Now, before all you innovators and product designers come up with a scathing retort, this was absolutely not a reflection of the amazing products that were being celebrated. I just would have preferred to read about them in a magazine, while sitting on the bay, relaxing in the shade; a drink in one hand and the crumbs of a pandan chiffon cake gently rolling down my shirt.

Don’t misunderstand me, I absolutely love design. I’ve been a student and practitioner of it for longer than I would care to mention; let’s just say I’m old enough to get grey beard hairs but young enough to still convincingly dye them. I have shelves of neatly arranged design magazines, thick black-and-white architecture books, and product design inspiration dotted throughout the house. I own every sleek and well-designed coffee cup that whistles for my attention, regardless of the fact that this is incontrovertibly a blatant defiance of their purpose: to reduce waste. And what’s that I see in the window of a homeware store, a minimalist, geometric paperweight? Sold!

So when I am visiting a museum dedicated to celebrating innovation and showcasing award-winning product, communication, and concept design, I expect the museum itself to live up to that standard. Not too much to ask, right?

The Red Dot ‘Poster’ Museum is located in the beautiful Marina Bay District near The Shoppes and, from the outside, it is an incredibly striking building. And it has to be, right? To stand apart on the Marina Bay skyline, the facade needed to be something special. The building is made up of striking geometric forms and a full glass facade. The entrance is draped with what can only be described as giant red plastic chainmail curtains that clank and jangle in the bay breeze. At first, it is a little unsettling, conjuring images of chain-clad horror flick psychopaths at your window, but take a few deep breaths and imagine them as simply oversized hippie bead curtains from the ’60s. 

When we enter the museum, we notice that one both enter and exit through the gift shop. Clever, but not innovative. So, ignoring the tables overflowing with merchandise, we head to the counter to purchase our entry tickets. Don’t worry, we’ll be coming back shortly, full of inspiration and vibrating with innovation; thoroughly primed to make an outrageous emotional purchase. 

With our free $5 vouchers and freshly magnetised plastic card tickets in hand, we stroll past a few more tables of expensive hoity-toity tchotchkes, swipe our way into the museum, painfully ascend the stairs, and are immediately taken aback by the sheer quantity and magnitude… of posters.

Glass-covered tables of posters of award-winning products. Rows and rows of glass cabinets filled with posters of award-winning products. Here a poster, there a poster, everywhere a poster-poster. It’s like Oprah walked in and joyfully exclaimed, “You get a poster! You get a poster!” They were everywhere. It was a veritable visual thesaurus of the word poster. There were posters, hanging visual displays, placards with text and images on them, printed wall arrangements, whatever you want to call them; there were just so many.