Kitsch appears to be a direct product of a consumer-driven society, characterized by the rapid production of ephemeral artifacts. These items are often generated so quickly that they become obsolete almost immediately after purchase, rendering them incapable of true consumption. This landscape is populated by superficial creations, instantly comprehensible at a glance, devoid of hidden depths or shadowed nuances. The fleeting nature of kitsch prevents it from aging gracefully, with its most enduring examples merely transitioning into the aesthetic category of vintage.
This perspective highlights a broader cultural tendency toward disposability, reflected in an aesthetic defined by transience and a kind of programmed obsolescence. Frequently, kitsch borrows from the memory of other objects, reconstructing them with synthetic materials. Wood, stone, concrete, and metal are replaced by printed plastics that imitate their appearance, while solid, weighty substances give way to lightweight, hollow forms. As a result, the artifact’s material essence is supplanted by mere symbolic suggestion.
This phenomenon — often embraced by the masses and scorned by collectors — was notably critiqued by Adolf Loos in his condemnation of the revival of ornamentation(1). Loos denounced kitsch not as a singular concept but as a monstrous hydra, with new manifestations emerging at every minor provocation(2). Kitsch is an omnipresent force, sustained by the diversity of its forms and its relentless proliferation across even the most unexpected environments. Yet, it also serves as a distinct voice of contemporary culture. Any attempt to denounce its spread risks veering into moralism or, worse, crude prohibitionism(3).
The trigger for this impromptu note on kitsch was the discovery of a postcard from Asakusa, featuring the Asahi Beer Hall — an architectural work designed by Philippe Starck in 1989 as a symbol of Japan’s leading brewery in central Tokyo. The postcard showcases the Asahi Beer Hall in both detailed and panoramic views, with photographs by Nacàsa and Partners (Tokyo) and Alberto Venzago (Zurich). This distinctive building was conceived to enhance the company’s image and was the result of an explicit request for Starck to create a structure capable of generating interest ahead of the launch of Asahi Dry beer.
Amid the Asakusa skyline, three prominent elements emerge: the luminous base, symbolizing energy; the dark box, reminiscent of an urn, evoking mystery; and the striking golden flame that crowns the building, representing, according to Starck, “burning passion”(4). These symbolic components overshadow the building’s structural aspects, forming an iconic shell that dominates the city’s skyline. The golden flame — an enormous, hollow structure weighing over 360 tons, stretching 43 meters in length and rising 14 meters high — has inspired a range of colorful nicknames. From Kin no unko (golden excrement, considered a good-luck symbol in Japanese popular culture) to a floating tadpole or a blob of mustard squeezed from a tube, these interpretations have amplified the building’s fame and drawn countless tourists intrigued by the peculiar landmark.
In the postcard, the oversized plastic-like structure towers over the city, bathed in the overly saturated red hues of a Tokyo sunset. A Geisha, clad in traditional attire and standing before the building, captures the relationship between the architecture-object and consumer culture.
Although I encountered this building several times during a study period in Tokyo in the spring of 2017, it was the discovery of the postcard that offered a unique perspective from which to observe it. In this format, certain characteristics of the golden flame become more apparent, isolated from the surrounding cityscape and other urban elements.
The postcard itself embodies key traits of kitsch: the presence of both a sender and a recipient, the ability to condense meaning within a confined space (the classic 15×10.5 cm format), and the immediacy of visual reference.
From this vantage point, the intended meaning of the architecture emerges, revealing an intangible yet intriguing mystery behind its form. This consumable icon(5) leaves nothing unresolved, yet it retains an air of provocative naivety that elevates kitsch to a seemingly deliberate aesthetic. Consequently, the Asahi Beer Hall appears to fall within the realm of neo-kitsch(6)— an aesthetic category where modernist functionality gives way to fiction.
Kitsch, in this context, evolves into a new dimension, shifting from an unintentional byproduct to a proper mode of production, shaped by an increasingly self-aware and ironic engagement with popular culture. The emphasis on surprising, shocking, and confounding through an embrace of elevated bad taste becomes central to this peculiar aesthetic. Starck’s creation exemplifies this approach, blurring the line between sign and meaning while treating kitsch as a deliberate design strategy. Authenticity becomes indistinguishable from imitation — the flame, after all, is not real. Its dynamic flicker is frozen into a static form, transforming into a constructed pictogram.
This playful — almost irreverent — quality defines the artifact, which seems to materialize effortlessly. Here, the focus shifts from the object itself to the experience it generates for its audience.
Ultimately, as Milan Kundera emphasizes:
“The feeling induced by kitsch must be a kind the multitudes can share. Kitsch may not, therefore, depend on an unusual situation; it must derive from the basic images people have engraved in their memories […] Kitsch causes two tears to flow in quick succession […] It is the second tear that makes kitsch kitsch”(7).
Notes
1. See A. Loss, Ornament and Crime, Penguin Classics, London, 2019.
2. See G. Miriam, Decoration and Decorum, Adolf Loos’s Critique of Kitsch, in “German Critique”, No. 43, 1988, pp. 97-123.
3. See N. Skradol, Fascism and Kitsch: The Nazi Campaign against Kitsch, in German Studies Review, Vol. 34 No. 3, 2011, pp. 595-612.
4. See P. Starck, Asahi Beer Hall (Japan), available at the link: https://www.starck.com/asahi-beer-hall-japan-p2030 (accessed 12/15/2022).
5. See J. McHale, The Plastic Parthenon, in G. Dorfles (ed.), Kitsch. An Anthology of Bad Taste, London, Studio Vista, 1969, pp. 98-110.
6. See A. Mecacci, Neokitsch, International Lexicon of Aesthetics, Spring 2018 Edition, available here.
7. M. Kundera, The unbearable lightness of being, London, Faber, 1984, p. 250.
Author
Niccolò Di Virgilio is an architect and Ph.D. (Architecture. Theories and Project, Sapienza University of Rome). He holds an MA in Architecture (University of Ferrara) and has undertaken research periods in Japan (Waseda University, Tokyo) and UK (Manchester School of Architecture). His research interests are mainly centered on issues of method in the architectural process, concerning the experience of making and its transferability. He co-founded nag atelier (Florence), a practice operating at the intersection of craft, design, and architecture.