The Aesthete Stephen Bayley

An uncomfortable truth: beauty has died

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I have a recurrent fantasy that I will be re-invited back - as I often once was - to address designers in the car industry. I can picture the scene: a purpose-built secure unit in the posher parts of Warwickshire. As the last guest is ushered in, a guard locks the door. The atmosphere is tense and expectant. I adjust my black polo-neck sweater.

I'll probably begin by saying: 'If you think being responsible for establishing novel character-lines is a bit of chore, try spending all your career to pensionable age fretting about rear light clusters.' There is a polite chuckle. But I'll state my business quickly. And I will say 'I want to talk about beauty.' Now there is an uneasy shuffling of bums on seats.

My point is that beauty is not a delicate subject. It's an emotional cudgel, an instrument of social war, a measure of civilisation and a calibrator of culture. If ever you want to start an argument, questioning someone's taste is a good way to start. State your case about beauty and someone will reply 'But that's just your opinion' as if to suggest that opinions don't matter. Opinions are hard-won from experience, and if you don't have any, it's never too late to get some.