The first dimension we explore continues to be a topic of heated debates among designers, critics, and the public. The question at the center of the debate is how important is design to the overall experience? Or, in other words, which is more important--form or function?

This is of course a "chicken or egg" kind of a question, one for which right or wrong are contextual to each specific instance. But it is the process of trying to answer the question that is tremendously important, because the debate challenges accepted views of design's mission and principles, and fuels the advancement of theoretical and practical topics across all design disciplines. It is an interesting dilemma, but first, to some basic definitions:

• Function: It is about how well does a product perform what it is supposed to do. Experiencing a function is often associated with the gap between our expectations from the product, and its actual performance.
  For example, a phone is meant to enable a user to dial someone remotely and have a real-time conversation, or conversely, accept a call from someone and have a conversation. The expectation is to hear the conversation clearly, and to be clearly heard by the other person. If the quality is consistently poor, calls are often dropped and dialing is cumbersome and prone to input errors; we feel that the product has disappointed us, that the experience of using it for its primary function is poor.
• Form: It is about the aesthetics of the object. Experiencing form is evaluating the degree its use gives us pleasure beyond fulfilling its basic functions.
  Continuing the phone example, a brightly colored plastic case might appeal to younger users, or those who like bright colors more than polished aluminium cases, which might appeal to business users who want a more hi-tech look. Function-wise, both devices are identical, so technically the case could be made of either material.

When the focus is on making the phone looks and feels amazing, but the experience of phone calls is poor and important features are missing, it is an example of form taking over function.

Consider the peacock and the Lamborghini shown in the preceding image. Both are visually striking, and in both, form significantly appears to overshadow function--perhaps for a good reason.

Male peacocks have an amazingly beautiful tail, which they fan to attract female peacocks. The larger, more beautiful the fully-spread tail, the more successful the male may be in its amorous pursuits. In most species, male or female bodies have strong visual features as a means for attracting the opposite sex, but male peacocks seem to be way out there.

It is not difficult to find an analogy between the peacock and a Lamborghini--a symbol of the ultimate show-off. The Lamborghini and other super cars are meant to be seen by others and shine a glamorous light on its driver, as they are built to provide the excitement of cutting-edge automotive technology and design.

An elaborate tail can be a real liability for the peacock. The size and weight of the tail makes the bird less agile, and exposes it to more risk from predators. Likewise, Lamborghinis are expensive to purchase, own, and maintain, and they have very limited space for passengers and cargo.

But this is where the tail of the peacock and super car literally ends--the male peacock is born with its fancy tail, and uses it for a function, which involves form. Cars, on the other hand, are products--for some they are pure utility, the means for getting from point A to B, while for others they are a source of deep emotional experiences, a declaration of self, and a public expression of status, personality, and life style--a class and social statement.

Transportation has played a major role in shaping our emotional attachment to cars, and to product experiences in general: The domestication of animals and the invention of the wheel and axle combination, about 6000 years ago, led to robust commerce and exploration opportunities. Most people, however, did not travel much, because there has been few reasons to do so. For those who did, the experience must have been poor--trips took a long time since land crossing options were one's own feet, or the power of strong animals such as camels, horses, and such--an improvement, but still limited to low sustained speeds. The roads were unpaved trails and carriages exposed passengers to the elements. Roadside inns were of questionable quality and far and few along the path. Finally, the looming danger of occasional robbers further curbed the demand for long-distance travel.

The invention of the self-propelled automobile dramatically changed the experience of travel within a few decades, and also created new categories of emotional experiences. The sense of independence was primary--the notion of freedom afforded to the driver, the ability to cover long distances at speeds never imaginable before. Many desirable destinations became reachable within minutes or a few hours, as was the option to live in a quiet suburb and commute to work.

American society and culture, in particular, has been deeply shaped by the automobile experience, which was a catalyst for major social and economic changes. And in most countries, albeit often pushed by dictatorship regimes, the idea of a "people's car" ignited the imagination of, well, the people because a car really meant a new degree of personal freedom and independence, and the excitement of the potential to explore new places.

Car riding services such as Lyft, and the promise of self-driving cars, are leading a transition that marks the next phase in the emotional connection between people and their cars--the car as a smart appliance and entertainment center. The driving function, just like the voice phone call with smartphones, is becoming marginalized. Which is why Apple, Google, and other hi-tech giants are entering the car design and manufacturing space, in direct competition with traditional car manufacturers.