Once the forgotten piece in the bathroom, the humble tap has evolved
into a designer favourite, writes Colin Bisset.

I was flicking through an interiors magazine the other day and began to wonder if I’d picked up Tapware Monthly by mistake. The more pages I turned the more aware I became of the number of ads for taps. There they were, as sexily photographed as anything in Vogue, parading their variety of spouts, levers and spindles accompanied by juicy words like ‘enchantment’ and ‘dream’. One promised to enhance my bath environment whilst another showed a woman dancing around a sinuously phallic tap (no subtlety there), wearing a frock inspired by the tap makers. I mean, really, who is this for? Who can get excited by a tap? And then I remembered a friend spending a small fortune on a single mixer tap for his newly-renovated bathroom. He gave it as much thought as he would an expensive piece of artwork for the walls. When he told me the price of the tap (eg. high), I asked if it included the basin and possibly all the other fittings as well. ‘Crazee,’ I thought.

It occurred to me that the tap has become one of those signature designer pieces that show a certain something in a way that a gold-plated swan tap used to: class (or, in the gold-plated swan’s case, lack thereof). They’re all at it – Philippe Starck particularly. And judging by the amount of money companies have lavished on the promotion of the tap, you have to wonder how much of a difference they’re going to make to your life. None, I would have said, but once you start looking at them, your el cheapo chrome taps in the bathroom and kitchen begin to look distinctly dull.

I always believed that the main difference between a cheap tap and an expensive tap was the difference between washers that wear out and drip, and the ceramic kind that mean turning on the tap is as pleasurable as anything else that requires a deft flick of the wrist. But now I’ve started looking at the various shapes available and the types of metal being used, I’m completely snared in the trap that is designer fittings.

Wouldn’t brushing my teeth be so much more pleasurable if I could flick a lever and the water cascaded out of a chunky spout like one from the Kubus range by Phoenix Tapware? Or might I prefer something more elegant like the Milan range from Dorf? And aren’t levers so much more Zen than fiddly spindles? (Take your pick at www.reece.com.au) As my friend said, he spends most mornings in his bathroom so why not be greeted by something that works beautifully and peps him up for the day?

And he has a point. Often the details of our environment give us the greatest pleasure. So when we start building up these details we then begin to create something that has design integrity with good quality and definite class. And perhaps that reflects who we are. Maybe a tap is a whole lot more important than we think, after all.

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