Deviating from her brief to write an article on innovation in fake tan, Lennie Rowles discovers Chindogu and the art of the useless.

While at the bar purchasing Sambuca last weekend, my good friend Heydon told me I should write an article on Innovation for this issue of the Don’t Panic magazine. He suggested that I focus on fake tan. This either reveals something hideous about my intellectual and spiritual depth, or exposes him as a big bronzalicious nancy-boy.

I did think about the fake-tan-phenomenon for a short while. But then I stumbled upon a remarkable little book at my mum’s house and got to thinking about 'Chindogu' and the real meaning of innovation…

Innovation: (the use of) a new idea or method (Cambridge Dictionaries Online)

I think I sniffed at the idea of fake tan as an ‘innovative’ product because I was under the naïve impression that innovation should be defined by exciting, important, pioneering concepts and positive change. But actually, by definition, anything that employs a new method of doing something counts as innovative - even if it’s a bit bullshit and essentially unnecessary.

Chindogu is a Japanese term introduced by Kenji Kawakami in 1985. Derived from the Japanese words ‘chin’ meaning unusual and ‘dogu’ meaning tool, it refers to a universal concept: a product that appears to be useful, but on closer examination, serves no reasonable function (see http://www.chindogu.com/).

The unique comedy of Chindogu is in the fact that in creatively trying to eliminate an old inconvenience, an even bigger inconvenience is caused: The Tongue Cover will prevent you from burning your tongue while drinking hot coffee, but will also prevent you from tasting it. I look down now at the remnants of my most recent attempt at faking a beautiful, natural tan - stains that look like poos have slid down each of my bare forearms - and can’t help but draw some comparisons.

The charm of Chindogu is that when we look at one we laugh, not at the inventor, but at ourselves – because for a second we can see its purpose, we almost want one. Chindogu exposes the modern world as a place where things infiltrate our lives when we don’t really need them, and implies a life without ‘things’ as a life of freedom. Chindogu provide an antithesis to the monstrous commercial culture, pushing against capitalism and giving birth to a new form of art.

Innovation for innovation’s sake. I like it. Giggling my way through ‘99 Unuseless Japanese Inventions’, I find products that I momentarily fall desperately in love with (Self-Lighting Cigarettes! Rotating Spaghetti Fork! Portable Armrests!) but resign myself to forget – thanks to the 1st and 5th tenets of Chindogu: “A Chindogu cannot be for real use” and “Chindogu are not for sale”. Kawakami explains: “they reside on a higher plane, removed from greed, where concepts like purity, innocence and nobility reign”.

Give me purity, innocence, nobility and wondrous imaginings about Portable Armrests over pooey sunless tanning any day. Fake tan’s just a Chindogu that sold out. Big time. And it makes you smell like old biscuits…