IKEA: A UX Love Story

Or: Form, Function and Feeling

I love Ikea. As in, I really, really, really love it, for lots and lots and lots of reasons.

There’s the clean, smooth, simplistically elegant look and feel of the assembled products – the kind of comfortingly functional, minimalistic design that just sings ‘hygge’ (to the tune of Abba’s ‘Dancing Queen’, at that).

Swedish sunshine in chair form

There’s the no-fuss wit, quirk and charm that infuses every word of marketing and guidance copy throughout the entire customer experience, from cheeky Valentine’s Day Instagram teasers…

Valentine’s Day at Ikea: I’m just a girl, standing in front of a Billy Bookcase, asking for it to be delivered to my home immediately please

… to in-store messages that are the epitome of relatable content:

Because Ikea knows the best kind of sit downs are the impromptu ones

And, of course, there’s the magical journey that is every trip through the Forest of Aspirational Aesthetics (a.k.a. the showroom floors) and the Land of Meatballs (a.k.a. the restaurant), right through to the Warehouse of Wonder where all interior design dreams come true.

In Ikea’s words, their artificial plants “never wilt and look fresh year after year.” And, you can make your very own Forest of Aspirational Aesthetics at home

But above and beyond the products, the words, and the sense of adventure that comes with every day out to the big blue-and-yellow dreamworld (because let’s be honest, a trip to Ikea is never a couple-of-hours type job), one of the things I love most about Ikea is the way it makes me feel about myself.

Hej to you too

Every time I put together something from Ikea – in fact, before I even get the bits out of the box – I feel like a legit superhero. Or a master code-breaker. Or a professional artisan. Basically, someone who gets s#!% done and gets it done well.

Opening everything up, sorting the various parts into neat little piles on the floor, turning the first page of the instruction manual – every step makes me feel like I’m mastering a new skill, and that what I’m about to assemble will be the greatest piece of art to ever grace the earth with its existence. For me, it’s not just about putting together a practical piece of furniture – it’s about empowerment.

This evening, for example, I assembled my brand-new MULLFJÄLLET conference chair. With every screw I tightened with my shiny little Allen key, I felt a growing sense of accomplishment.

This was the point at which I called through to my boyfriend: “I am basically a mechanic.”

Being able to follow the wordless instructions to a T, without having to ‘get a man in’ (something hopefully no-one says or feels the need to do in 2022), made me feel capable and confident – and that fact that the whole thing took less than 15 minutes made me feel even more like a boss.

The handy little holder I discovered on the back of the chair to keep the Allen key safe when not in use only added to the generally delightful experience

I think the fact that something as simple as a chair or a bookshelf or a coffee table – through a combination of straightforward design, simple instructions and an overarching brand vibe that feels like the furniture equivalent of a cool, down-to-earth friend (possibly one who makes a mean plate of meatballs) – can make you feel like an excellent human is a tremendously valuable part of Ikea’s overall brand and user experience. It’s a perfect example of how good design is not just about form and function – it’s about feeling. And in my case, I feel like a legend.