Design is both an art and a science. Form and function must exist in tandem. So, when it comes to the adoption of artificial intelligence, fields like fashion, architecture and interiors have found themselves at a crossroads.
For those who view design as a largely creative endeavor, AI appears to undermine the intrinsic humanity underpinning their work. But for those looking to improve efficiency — whether it’s in idea generation, reducing waste or streamlining manufacturing — the technology can help to enhance the creative process.
Regardless of where you stand on whether (or how much) designers should embrace generative AI, this much is clear: it is having a seismic impact on the built environment, the products on our shelves and the clothes in our closet.
Below, three of the most prominent early adopters of AI-driven design, from across the creative industries, discuss how the technology is transforming their practices:
Philippe Starck, industrial designer
In 2019, my “AI chair” became the first mass-produced piece of industrial furniture ever created with the help of artificial intelligence. I launched the series alongside an Italian furniture company, Kartell, at Milan Design Week and it went on sale that year.
Generative design was in its infancy then, but the chair’s story goes back a few years further. In 2017, I had been growing a little bored with myself and my creations. I wanted to explore new territories, devoid of human, cultural or sentimental influences, which is why I decided to work with AI.
I started to collaborate with Autodesk, one of the earliest generative design software companies. They allocated me a dedicated computer, and I asked it a simple question: “Can you help me rest my body, using minimum matter and energy?”
The AI had to understand what a human body was — and it knew nothing about my culture, my origin, my desires or my gender. The machine struggled for more than two years, going back and forth with me and Autodesk’s engineers on the designs. It was stuck.
The solution came to me, in a roundabout way, when my great friend Henri Seydoux — the CEO of French drone firm Parrot — explained to me that the fingers of a fetus’ hand in its mother’s womb are not formed by adding matter but by removing it. (The hand is initially a paddle-like shape, and the fingers are only revealed when cells in the areas between the digits die off). I told the machine about this via the engineers, to help reorientate the AI’s thinking, and within minutes, it produced a chair.
“AI is not yet the great creator that we are. But tomorrow, who knows.”
Philippe Starck, industrial designer
In those days, it took three years for the machine to come up with a chair. Today, it would probably take a few seconds.
Norma Kamali, fashion designer
I’ve always been very curious about technology. In the 1960s I got a job at Northwest Orient Airlines and found myself sitting at a UNIVAC computer all day. It would give me information about flights, arrivals, issues with the aircraft. From then on, I felt so comfortable with computers. I just thought, “Oh, I get this.”
A few years ago, I was at a meeting in Abu Dhabi where someone pitched an e-commerce site that was run, designed and merchandised by AI. A scientist at this meeting asked if — because I was a designer — they could “download my brain.” I thought it was such a great idea that I should do it myself.
I have a fashion archive, spanning my 57-year career, which is incredibly valuable to my label. I thought, “What if my experience and vision could be part of an AI experience? What if my archive could extend the life of the brand after I’m gone?” When Karl Lagerfeld was hired for Chanel, he religiously repurposed the label’s archive. He brought it back to life. I thought AI could do that for me.
“AI could go anywhere with my design and come up with something new.”
Norma Kamali, fashion designer
I took a course at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology on AI, generating content and writing really great prompts. It went way over my head. There were 150 students, all way smarter than me, and I hoped none of them knew enough about fashion to recognize me. But I’m grateful I hung on. By the time I finished, I was so excited by the opportunities. It was like a whole world opened up.
Now, I have an AI program that has categorized my archive, using tagged descriptions based on silhouettes, necklines and other design elements. When I write a prompt, AI searches my archive for similar garments and responds with design ideas that are consistent with my previous work.
Tim Fu, architectural designer
People think about AI in a very shallow way. But in architecture, it can assist with everything from mood boards and rendering to exploring different floor plan configurations.
Let’s say we’re designing a backyard layout. We would present AI with the main objectives, visual references and some reasonable building materials. The AI then provides us with tons of the best solutions, which we critically analyze and curate. We still need to connect the door to the porch and so on — so the overarching goals of the architect remain intact.
At my firm, Tim Fu Studio, we’ve developed AI toolsets for architectural and spatial optimization. We outline factors that affect our designs — such as maximizing square footage or maximizing sunlight — and let machine intelligence explore different configurations based on those parameters. Evolutionary algorithms keep testing options until they get better and better, then we can cherry-pick the best ones.
“It’s very difficult to lay down your ego and realize, ‘Hey, there could be aspects of my job that machines do better.’”
Tim Fu, architectural designer
We recently unveiled designs for a new resort on Lake Bled, Slovenia, featuring seven luxury villas. We believe this is the world’s first fully AI-driven architectural project.
We used our AI tools for the floor plans, maximizing views of the lake in each property, for instance. But we also instructed a diffusion model to analyze an image database of the region’s architecture to generate designs ideas in harmony with the local heritage and style. The resulting outputs helped us reimagine traditional Slovenian design motifs, such as timber “rizalit” — vertical enclosures often found projecting from the facades of the region’s houses — which we have reinterpreted as glass-fronted atriums flooding the villas with light.
