Whenever a door is opened, an impression is left, finds Patrick le Quément.

*There are no second chances at leaving a first impression (photo © Shutterstock)*

On the one hand is the hand: that portion of the upper limb distal to the radoiocarpal joint, comprising the wrist, palm and fingers. In other words: that part of the body with fingers.

On the other… is a door handle. Often a small, round object or lever that is attached to a door and used for opening and closing it. Even without picturing either object, it immediately becomes evident that the word hand appears integrated in the word handle. To would-be designers, this should act as a subtle reminder never to forget the tactile contact of the hand with a door handle. Having said that, how many times have we all encountered an uncomfortable lever that poses as a door handle? Neither on ancient doors nor modern motor cars are we ever truly save from these heinous devices.

*Opening the door to a new way of thinking (photo © TecnoLine GmbH)*

I suspect that for many years door handles were simply not required to be nice to hold. They just had to work, since only butlers and other servants with their work hardened hands were ever confronted with any tactile unpleasantness. More often than not in those days, door handles were endowed with a flurry of overly decorative elegance to represent the house owners’ taste or lack thereof. Then, at the turn of the XXth century, door handles began to be designed by architects, rather than being the work of artisans. The arrival of Art Nouveau eventually resulted in the emergence of an enormous supply of organic designs. These had the merit of being rather comfortable, particularly those specimen designed by Hector Guimard or Joseph Hoffmann. Then came the counter revolution, led by the modernist movement, who imposed geometric rigour and thus democratised discomfort for everyone’s doors. Nevertheless, little criticism can be levelled at Bauhaus master, Walter Gropius’ choice of a simple cylindrical form for his 1923 design, as this includes all one could ever want in all of its simplicity - despite being a little on the stark side. This leads me to make a huge jump in time to Philippe Starck’s Kleis Apriti door handles, which look like a large tadpole and indeed seem to have been inspired by an even bigger tadpole that landed on top of the Asahi Beer Hall in 1989. This door handle design features a curvaceous shape and sports a sharp point, a regular characteristic of this extraordinarily talented designer/decorator-cum-stylist.

*Opening up an entirely new world (photo © Kleis)*

To make a long story a little shorter, I would venture to say that product design stars have, in recent years, repeatedly displayed a tendency to design more for their own ego and their adoring followers than for real human beings. This has led to far too many products like door handles invading our shops that are, in fact, mere styling exercises, rather than good, human-centric designs. Nevertheless, in recent history, some designers have felt remorse for their peers’ insensitivity to the human body, and shown greater care for Touch Design, as well as taking into account the needs of disabled persons. And thus the C-shaped handle has emerged, which prevents the user’s hand from slipping off at its end. But how about the parallel world of automotive design?

Before talking about the object itself, let’s first look at those who design these objects: It’s important to know that within most automotive design centres, there has been an expansion of a hierarchy. An increasing number of posts and titles has resulted in talented exterior designers having been promoted and hence propelled to a status close to that of rock stars. Intriguingly, this only applies to exterior designers. In contrast, interior design is sometimes referred to as inferior design, despite the reality being quite different - for a proficient interior designer requires both talent and fine analytical prowess. These are rather useful traits after all, as good design is the result of 90% of analysis and 10% of magic.

In most design departments, the exterior designers relegated to designing door handles are those with lots of experience acquired over many years of practice, who happen to have not been promoted to a managerial position. For this reason, they are sometimes looked upon as being past their creative peak. For many years, these creatives designed perfectly functional objects that were considered merely add-ons by their designer colleagues. The move from chrome to body colour finish eventually contributed to making door handles less prominent - but that was disregarding the growing influence of the « form overrules function » brigade. I still remember when Mercedes-Benz switched from its solid, ergonomically perfect door handles to those ovoid, body-coloured (and flimsy-plasticky) items that have outlasted no less than three chief designers since. Was there ever more ’tangible’ a symbol for a change in ethos? Almost every manufacturer elected to adopt this same mediocre solution as it happened to reduce cost - after all, even Mercedes was doing it! Yet door handles remain the first tactile contact with any car; those cheap and nasty afterthoughts therefore completely go against the notion that there is no second opportunity for leaving a good first impression.

*«Look, ma: no read door handle!» (photo © Alfa Romeo)*

When we all felt that function had finally been struck down and could not possibly be taunted any further, along came the Nissan Pathfinder in 1985, a rugged looking 4WD vehicle that featured - God only knows why - a rear door handle located in the C-pillar. This went mostly unnoticed, until the arrival of the beautiful Alfa Romeo 156 in 1997, which was the launching pad of the meteoric rise of the highly talented Walter de’ Silva. This car was an utter ocular delight, even though it featured that major design heresy of a door handle located in the most awkward position. Being Italian, remarkably proportioned and so well executed, the Alfa Romeo 156 became a reference which, in some way, legitimised that awful rear door handle. I’ve even heard some designers argue that having only one visible door handle contributes to making cars look sleek and passing them off as a two-door coupé. Well, it doesn’t. And anyway, if it’s «awesome» for some, it’s «oh no» for me.