Like a faithful companion of humanity, it stands around, this simple white plastic chair that goes by the name "Monobloc." Though few people know its name. It's like that one guy from the neighborhood whom you've been greeting for 20 years but never asked for his name because at some point it became too late to ask.
The Monobloc is the most democratic of all chairs. It costs about as much as two cappuccinos, weighs less than a six-pack of water, and is more stable than some marriages. It was invented in the 1970s when someone had the brilliant idea to produce an entire chair from a single piece of polypropylene.
Since then, it has multiplied like rabbits. Experts estimate that there are over a billion of these chairs worldwide. A billion!
What fascinates me most: The Monobloc is a chameleon of meanings. In German allotment gardens, it embodies bourgeois comfort. On the terrace of a French bistro, it suddenly becomes witness to philosophical conversations over red wine and Gauloises. In my photos, it transforms sometimes into a prominent supporting actor, sometimes into a timeless sculpture.
Design critics like to turn up their noses at it. Too banal, too cheap, too… plastic. But that's exactly what defines it. It's the anti-star among furniture, caring not a whit about design awards. While dining chairs in Manufactum catalogs preen themselves at the price of a used car, the Monobloc sits relaxed in the corner thinking: "As long as it's practical."
In times where every piece of furniture is supposed to be a statement, where people define themselves by the origin of their kitchen chairs, the Monobloc is refreshingly characterless. It's simply there. A silent servant to the world's seating needs.