Yuri:
My friend, it has been some time. So good to see you. So much has happened since the last time we were together. I’m excited to spend some time with you today. Let’s begin. I have a set of questions for you, and we can start there. Do you believe you became a designer out of curiosity or out of necessity?

Mathieu:
Probably both. When I left school, I wanted to become an artist. I studied at the Beaux Arts in France and stayed for six months. Very quickly, I realized that I didn’t want to be alone in a workshop all day, painting or sculpting. I wanted to be in the middle of something, interacting with people from different fields like scientists, historians, or philosophers.

So I pushed the door of a design school. Honestly, I didn’t know what a designer was supposed to be. It was an industrial design program, and I wasn’t ready to design toasters or machines. But I felt that design could combine creativity and art with something that interacts closely with people and society.

Yuri:
At that age, did you worry that you didn’t have everything figured out? These days, young adults are pressured to know exactly what they want to do.

Mathieu:
It was thirty years ago. The design world was different. There was no star system in design, no pressure to become a celebrity. It was just a profession. My parents were supportive and told me, “Do whatever you want, but do it seriously.” If I wanted to be an artist, fine. A designer, fine. A musician, fine. But whatever I chose, they wanted me to commit fully.

That gave me freedom without anxiety.

Yuri:
Design often involves elimination, removing layers until only the essential remains. Do you ever worry that you’re removing too much?

Mathieu:
The process happens in two steps. First, you combine things that aren’t supposed to be together. It’s like sculpting with clay. You add elements because you want to express something, create a mood, or make people feel something. In this stage, there are too many ideas and too much noise.

Then comes subtraction. You remove what isn’t necessary. You merge things that belong together. You keep the intensity of the core. You stop removing when taking away even one more element would cause a loss. It’s similar to painting. When do you stop? You stop when removing one brushstroke would make the piece weaker.

For a long time, removing makes the work stronger and clearer. But when the next subtraction makes the piece lose energy, you stop.

Yuri:
There’s a sense of poetry and science in your work. Is it fair to say you are an artist disguised as a designer or a scientist disguised as a poet?

Mathieu:
Probably both. Design can have the same impact as art, but it arrives differently in people’s lives. Art often stands vertically, saying, “Admire me.” Design approaches horizontally, like a Trojan horse. It enters people’s homes quietly, then reveals itself. I like that strategy. It’s subtle but powerful.

Yuri:
Do you believe objects have souls?

Mathieu:
I believe objects are like stem cells. They have potential. Their “soul” is not fully formed, but the possibility is there. My job is to plant a seed of soul. I put a part of myself in the object, but the owner also puts part of themselves into it. It becomes a dialogue, an exchange of energy.

For me, design is all about energy. Call it magnetism, attraction, or emotional resonance. I begin a project by thinking about the energy I want to create between a person and an object. Attraction, surprise, calm, wonder — whatever it is, the piece must create that connection.

Yuri:
What does it feel like when you create an object that truly communicates with you?

Mathieu:
I learned a lot from my children when they were young. I once placed random objects on a low table, a toy, a remote control, a tool, and observed which one they touched first. They rarely chose the toys because toys are too obvious. There’s no mystery. They chose the object that had ambiguity.

When I design something, if people fold their arms and say, “Nice, elegant, beautiful,” it’s a failure for me. If their first instinct is to touch it, then I’ve succeeded. Touch means desire. Desire means connection.

Yuri:
Do any of your kids want to follow in your footsteps?

Mathieu:
I tried, I swear. I told them one of them must become a designer. They didn’t care. My son works in the film industry, and my daughter wants to become a lawyer. That’s okay. I think my education gave them autonomy. I’d rather they live their own lives than follow mine blindly.

Yuri:
Many designers like to control materials, but your work has a sense of wonder. When control meets wonder, what wins?

Mathieu:
The object must attract you first, like meeting someone at a bar. Their appearance gets your attention for a few seconds, but the question is: Do you want to know more?

A good object must have chapters. The first chapter is attraction. The second is discovery over days and weeks. The last is a long life, the object must reveal layers over years, just like discovering a person again and again. This is the challenge: to design something people want to live with.

Yuri:
Before all the meetings and projects, who are you in the morning, in your first thoughts?

Mathieu:
My day never starts in the morning. My days and nights are one long thread. I always have ten or fifteen questions in my mind. I never design by drawing first. I design by thinking. The morning is simply a continuation of the night’s thinking.

Yuri:
Do you think about legacy?

Mathieu:
No. It feels pretentious. A year after my death, most people will forget me. Maybe galleries will make money with my work because I’ll be gone. But legacy in the sense of “helping the future” — no.

What matters to me is opening tiny doors in people’s minds today. When students say, “I became a designer because of you,” that matters. When someone says, “You helped me see design differently,” that is enough.

Yuri:
Are there doors you still want to open?

Mathieu:
One example is my diploma project from 2001. It explored designing medicine, the object itself, to improve the relationship between the patient and the treatment. The idea was to make patients allies in their healing, not passive consumers of pills.

The project hasn’t been industrialized for financial and marketing reasons, but I believe one day it will. That’s a door I opened early that may fully open long after I’m gone.

Yuri:
Design is often about improving people’s lives. Do you feel that responsibility?

Mathieu:
Who am I to improve someone’s life? That feels arrogant. I can barely improve the life of my wife and children. What I can do is feel what deserves attention.

Recently, for Maison & Objet, I focused on survivalism. After the pandemic, many people asked, “What if something collapses? Where will I go? How will I live?” These instincts already exist in society. Designers don’t invent them. We translate them.

Just like in the 1970s, when designers sensed people didn’t want to live like their bourgeois parents. They created low, lounge furniture because people were already sitting on the floor. Designers gave form to an existing feeling.

Yuri:
Let’s talk about your childhood. What was it like growing up? Are you more like your mother or your father?

Mathieu:
I am the youngest of seven. That means I was born into a ready made society. In a big family, nobody has time to focus on you. So you must find a balance. You are unique, but the group cannot center around you. I spent my childhood observing people, their interactions, tensions, jealousies, and attractions. I didn’t build things or draw. I watched. That observational sensitivity is the root of my design work.

Yuri:
Have your parents seen your success? How do they feel about it?

Mathieu:
My mother is proud in the classic way mothers are. She thinks everything I do is wonderful. My father finds it harder. Maybe he feels a little jealous.

A funny example: billions saw the Olympic cauldron during the ceremony, but my parents didn’t. My wife had to invite them for my birthday to show them the cauldron in person. That’s how disconnected they are from my work sometimes.

Yuri:
Before I let you go, I ask every guest to recommend a book, a movie, and a future guest. What do you recommend?

Mathieu:
For a book, I recommend one that people probably won’t find. It’s the first old book I ever bought, from the late 19th century, about the Great Coral Reef in Australia. The photographs show landscapes that no longer exist. It’s like a time capsule.

For a movie, I choose George Lucas’s first film, THX 1138. It’s a science fiction film with no sets. A white void with only human beings. For someone who designs objects, it’s fascinating to watch a world without them. It reminds me why objects matter.

For a future guest, you should invite Joachim Ronson, the head of design for the Paris 2024 Olympics. He oversaw the entire design language of the Games. He understands what happens before the final object appears, and he’s a great person.

Yuri:
My friend, I’m so happy for you. The last time we saw each other was years ago, and you were incredibly generous with your time. Let’s not wait another six years. Next time, let’s share a glass of wine without the cameras.

Mathieu:
We are still young. Thank you, my friend.