What Exactly is Bad Taste?

Written by Marie Greindl

Slim Aarons, Seafood Smorgasbord, A buffet of Seafood at Lyford Cay in the Bahamas.

Easy to dismiss, harder to define; bad taste is impossible to ignore. Understood as the antithesis of refinement, bad taste has long been the punchline of cultural criticism and the black sheep of the aesthetic family. It is the foil against which cultivation defines itself, a cultural mirror reflecting what we wish to reject or outgrow. It is vulgar. It is excessive. It is trivial. But how do we determine where good taste turns bad? And who decides? After all, how often does what we sneer at today become the work we later queue for? In short, just how bad is bad taste? To answer these questions, I deferred to the expertise of two art historians with little in common beyond their sharp opinions. Dr Robin Schuldenfrei, Bauhaus-devotee and Dr Tom Nickson, gothic aficionado. (Reducing their expansive fields of work to two words hardly does justice—but for now, it will have to do.) I meet Tom in his book-filled office and Robin on Zoom, a fittingly modernist medium.

Robin starts by throwing the ball in my court. ROBIN: “Okay, so where do you want to start?”I decide to jump straight into the heart of the matter:

MARIE: “So, we’ll start maybe with the most obvious question about bad taste itself, because it’s something very easy to spurn, but actually defining it is hard. It’s a term thrown around a lot, but it’s difficult to pin down what it actually means. So, how would you personally define bad taste?”

ROBIN: “It’s a hard question. From the perspective of architecture and design, the question of taste comes up a lot with architects as well as critics over many years and across different eras in architectural history. They define bad taste as the opposite of what they want to build or put forth in the world. For example, Adolf Loos’s famous lecture, (later published in essay form), ‘Ornament and Crime’ describes bad taste as objects that are overly decorative or overly ornamented.

That would be around the turn of the century into the 1920s. In the post-war period in England, you have a lot of taste and design manuals guiding people on decorating their houses and interiors in ‘good taste’. In that context, good taste often means less showy and with better-quality materials. It follows on from Mies van der Rohe’s dictum ‘less is more.’

Bad taste is often in opposition to the new ideas that architects or designers want to propagate. However, accusing someone of bad taste won’t bring them over to your cause. You have to approach it subtly. Architects are careful with their words—what they don’t say is as important as what they do say.”

Tom begins, adjusting his chair slightly.

TOM: “It’s not a phrase I use often. Personally, I’d only share my thoughts on ‘taste’ with people I know, probably just with my family.”

He pauses to think. “When I really consider it, I don’t believe anything is inherently in bad taste— at least not aesthetically. I do think behaviour can be in bad taste, but not aesthetics. That said, bad taste for me falls into two categories. The first is brash, garish, excessive, or over-designed. The second category would be things that are sentimental or cheesy. Those are probably the two areas where I would apply the term.”

I press further.

MARIE: “I’ve often thought of bad taste—and even good taste—not just as aesthetic judgments but as inherently tied to politics, power dynamics, or cultural struggles. Some people claim authority to define bad taste and assert what counts as good taste. Do you think bad taste and politics are always linked?”, I ask.

Tom slightly nods.

TOM: “I think there’s always a kind of morality attached to taste. When my students describe something as ‘excessive,’ I often caution them about imposing deeprooted, often Protestant prejudices onto artworks.

I don’t consider myself part of the traditional art world, particularly the one constituted by dealers or the art market. This makes me doubly suspicious of ideas of good taste, which are often tied to wealth.

Taste also changes constantly. For example, I think of Andrew Lloyd Webber, whose musicals in the 1980s were dismissed as bad taste. At the same time, he was collecting Pre-Raphaelite paintings that were undervalued and going cheaply. Now, those paintings are viewed very differently. I don’t know if Lloyd Webber’s critical fortunes have entirely shifted, but much of the artwork he collected, once seen as sentimental or poor taste, is now reassessed. Tastes evolve, so we need to be cautious about making definitive statements.”

Robin nods at my political suggestion.

ROBIN: “I think that’s really important to consider,” she says. “The question of bad taste—or taste, as shorthand for good taste—is about who is the arbiter of taste. The person who defines taste holds power, whether it’s political power, cultural power, or media power. For example, fashion dictates what’s in or out, like tall boots being in and short chunky boots being out.

In every period, even within fashion, there are those who operate outside the judgment of the arbiters of taste. In the art world, there are periods when bad taste becomes trendy or cool, sometimes even against good taste. For instance, postmodern architecture played with styles and materials—like shiny metallics—and was initially seen as bad taste. Charles Moore’s Piazza d’Italia (1978), an urban revitalization project, used aluminum, plastics, and bright colours that seemed brash, even in poor taste

when it was unveiled. Over time, postmodernism became the accepted style and gained cultural capital.

Cultural capital is key—something that was seen as bad taste initially may become so ubiquitous that it loses cultural currency altogether, paving the way for a new style.”

I am then interested in the tension between the object and its interpretation. “Do you think bad taste is more about the object itself or the person judging it?” I ask both. Tom begins.

TOM: “The only way to quantify taste is through market value. There’s no other definitive way to measure what’s considered good or bad taste.

As for who decides? I’d say no one really has that authority, except perhaps those determining the market value of objects. Even then, they’re just responding to what they think people will buy. The art market has shifted significantly in recent years, with purchasing power coming from the Gulf States, which reflects different tastes compared to old-world money from the East Coast of the US.

Tastes shift alongside market values, but I wouldn’t apply ideas of good or bad taste to most of what I work on. My focus is more on quality. Wealthy patrons often attract the best artists because they can pay the highest prices, but that’s a separate issue from taste.”

So both Tom and Robin agree on this idea of arbiters. Robin answers my question:

ROBIN: “Those who challenge power structures and taste often do so in layers. For example, there were brand disruptors, such as designer Dapper Dan in New York, who removed luxury items, mostly for rappers and hip-op artists and their own fashion community, manipulating genuine objects by hand, adding oversized logos and creating objects such as Louis Vuitton print-and-mink coats. After pursuing legal routes, eventually, some of these fashion houses even hired him to collaborate on collections, such as Gucci.

This shows how mass market and individual exemplars of taste depend on the eye of the beholder (or consumer).”

Speaking of mass production, I bring up one of my favourite topics.

MARIE: “I love the concept of kitsch,” I say. “Kitsch often represents bad taste, but there’s such a fine line between trash and treasure. For example, I love 1950s hyper- optimistic postwar American kitchens. I wouldn’t want to live in them, but they’re so bad they’re good. Does kitsch have artistic value, or is its charm that it doesn’t try to have any?”

Tom focuses on my idea of ‘value’.

TOM: “I’m not sure we can define artistic value clearly. Everything has value on some spectrum, even if it doesn’t align with the art market. Personally, I don’t dismiss anything outright.

In art history, there’s often a crossover with archaeology. For example, when does a spoon dug up from a ditch become worthy of artistic or historic interest? I’m wary of policing those boundaries because many objects once dismissed as trivial are now reappraised.

That’s not to say quality doesn’t matter. Things can be produced with more skill, care, and attention, but I wouldn’t exclude anything from consideration.”

Robin, however, brings up the kitsch pièce de resistance: the garden gnome.

ROBIN: “Kitsch is fascinating because it’s accessible. A lot of modern designers aimed to massproduce well-designed objects for the masses. The Bauhaus, for example, created prototypes for well- designed lamps, ashtrays, and clocks. But problems arose—factory owners didn’t want to produce these objects, and consumers didn’t always want to purchase them.

IKEA solved this problem with affordable, well-designed items. IKEA’s products are often just a step away from Bauhaus designs and appeal to a broad spectrum of people, from young couples to architects.

Pure kitsch, like the garden gnome, operates differently. Garden gnomes are kitsch symbols and inside jokes in design circles. You might not have kitschy 1950s wallpaper or curtains in your kitchen, but you’d have a garden gnome because it’s a shorthand for kitsch.”

Mention has been made of market value and artistic appeal. I now want to discuss polarising figures in contemporary art.

MARIE: “Artists like Jeff Koons or Tracey Emin often spark debate. Are they redefining genius, or are they just turning bad art into big business?”

ROBIN: “I’m not particularly sympathetic to Koons’s art, but I think it offers an interesting reflection on how the art market and gallery systems operate. I’m intrigued by the materiality of his works and how they resonate with a certain Wall Street era sensibility.

As for Tracey Emin, I think her work is very different. Even her early pieces, like the tent titled Everyone I Have Ever Slept With, are compelling. At first, you might assume the names refer to everyone she’s had sexual relationships with, but in fact, it includes everyone she’s physically slept alongside, like her twin brother. Once you move past the initial shock value, the work reveals itself to be quite beautiful and moving in how it conveys intimacy and connection.

Emin’s art is undoubtedly provocative, but it always seems to have a clear intention behind it— whether about her life, identity, or broader themes. I’m much more sympathetic to her work for this reason.” Robin continues, drawing a distinction:

“When it comes to taste, though, I’m not sure how easily the concept applies to artworks compared to architecture, design, or objects. Modernism aimed to create welldesigned, tasteful environments for everyone, even for the poor. The idea was that everyone deserved clean, light- filled spaces with proper ventilation and thoughtful design.

But in the art world, the notion of good taste feels more like a 19th-century construct. Contemporary art often challenges those traditional ideas, focusing more on its conceptual or social raison d’être. It’s harder to fit contemporary art into a conversation about good or bad taste in the same way we might with architecture or design.”

I pose another question: “Does the pursuit of bad taste ever become an aesthetic virtue?”

Robin reflects on this.

ROBIN: “I don’t want to make myself an arbiter of taste, judging other people’s preferences. But there’s certainly something to be said for the idea of ‘so bad, it’s good,’ whether in cinema, art, or design. That concept, though, often involves something that’s carefully considered. It’s not just a cheap, mass-produced item churned out by computers or factories—whether it’s something from Alibaba today or, in the 19th century, objects from the factories of the industrial revolution like overly ornate candlesticks with lions and other gaudy details.

That said, some of those original Victorian objects are remarkable for how kitschy and in bad taste they are, and now they’re fun to own again. The line between good and bad taste is flexible, and it shifts depending on whether there’s an added layer of context or understanding.

That’s really what this conversation has been about: seeing these things as part of the culture of a certain period and examining how they reflect or critique that culture.

For example, it’s interesting to consider whether today’s cozy Scandinavian aesthetic, Hygge, might eventually feel as trite as the 1950s American kitchen interior or that era’s tinsel Christmas tree. At one point, a plastic tree was seen as the height of bad taste. Now, a well- designed plastic tree that avoids cutting down natural resources might actually be considered in better taste than a real one. It’s a question I was grappling with earlier today.”

Tom considers my question of bad virtue carefully.

TOM: “It can go either way. I admire people who champion things others consider bad taste. The stubborn refusal to follow fashion—it shows consistency and independence from trends.

On the other hand, I’m wary of a sneering, ironic love of kitsch. There’s a place for it, and I certainly enjoy a bit of kitsch myself. But when it becomes excessive, it’s a problem.

I know someone who always had a kind of raised eyebrow at artworks, places, and things. They now live in a town where they seems to walk around with that raised eyebrow at everything. That feels a bit sad.

There’s a place for irony, but if your whole life is nothing more than that kind of sneering, ironic detachment, then there’s no foundation for anything else. Like most things, it’s good to have a balance. I think it’s good to admit or commit to certain objects, artworks, or ideas—without always maintaining that critical, ironic distance. Otherwise, you just distance yourself from everything.”

I ask Robin one last question that feels central to both discussions: Why are we so obsessed with categorising good and bad taste?

ROBIN: “It’s interesting because when I think about fashion, I think about what people call normcore— those really average, regular clothes. Many people don’t care much about what they wear; they just want something practical. Others care deeply, dressing in good taste to look polished and presentable. Some even dress deliberately in bad taste to make a provocative statement.

Then there’s a large group who simply put on whatever is convenient because they need to get to school, work, or university. What’s fascinating is how people are naturally drawn to others who share their aesthetic sensibilities. Those who care a lot about their interiors or personal style often have friends with similar tastes.

It’s rare to see a group of close friends where one person’s aesthetic completely clashes with the rest. For example, people with tattoos or piercings tend to gravitate toward others with similar styles. I think this reflects a deeper human tendency to seek out likeminded individuals. While these connections might appear superficial, they often reveal underlying political, social, or cultural commonalities.”

Indeed, bad taste is perhaps less about rebellion and more about recognition. To love or to loathe, to laugh or to lament—taste is the ultimate mirror of our own contradictions. Bad taste, like good, is a matter of context—and in the right light, even a garden gnome can become an utter triumph. Maybe the question isn’t whether taste matters, but why we care so much about the answer. For this, I am guilty as charged.

Figure. Slim Aarons, Seafood Smorgasbord, March 1971. (Photo: Getty Images courtesy of Town & Country Magazine) https://www.townandcountrymag.com/leisure/dining/a60386270/buffet-style-catering- guide/