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This, surely, was the very premise of the Frankfurt Kitchen of the 1920s. It optimised movement in a compact space so as to waste less of the housewife’s energy. In the Dyson Airblade Tap, the modernist project is alive and well, but instead of sparing the housewife it will save microseconds in an airport toilet, streamlining the journey to the departure gate. It will be of most use to those who rule junkspace, jetsetting executives, perhaps the kind who wear Breitling Cosmonaute watches. The Cosmonaute’s number-encrusted face measures time in quarter seconds. Surpassing the human’s ability to even perceive such differentials, it embodies the ethos of hyper-performance. It is an ideal manifest in a mere instrument. It fulfils (rather than enables) the ambitions of stockbrokers in 14th-floor offices to feel like pilots in a dogfight at 30,000 feet.
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