Give Midjourney a few lines of prompt, such as “an object combining the silhouette of a Porsche with the cool precision of Leica’s metal craftsmanship,” and within seconds, it generates a stream of highly polished images. As of 2026, everything from the sense of volume and the finely calibrated markings on the dial to the substantial material quality of a vintage lens can be rendered with remarkable precision. Even though it is a virtual rendering that has just appeared on a computer screen, it somehow looks like an archival object refined over decades in a historic Swiss workshop. Judging by appearance alone, it is difficult to distinguish it from the heritage of a century-old brand. Today’s generative tools can instantly replicate even the subtle CMF details that designers once spent days and nights perfecting. Yet no matter how convincing these virtual objects may look, we still hesitate to spend a significant amount of money on them.

Leica M3. We pay not for the technical specifications, but for the human history accumulated behind them.

< Image source: Leica >

When we pick up a Leica M, what we are paying for is not its technical specifications. In terms of lens and sensor performance alone, the latest Japanese mirrorless cameras are more than capable of outperforming it technologically. They can focus in near darkness as if it were daylight, use AI to track a subject’s eyes in real time, and shoot dozens of frames per second. By contrast, with a Leica, you have to turn the focus ring with your fingers and manually align the split image in the viewfinder before you can finally press the shutter. There is no image stabilization, and continuous shooting is slow. By today’s standards, it is thoroughly inefficient and inconvenient. To someone who values practicality above all else, it may seem like nothing more than an incomprehensibly expensive toy.

And yet, people still respond to Leica’s red logo. This is because the product carries the weight of time: the memory of the prototype Oskar Barnack crafted in 1914 in search of a compact format that could fit comfortably in the hand, and the way Henri Cartier-Bresson quietly framed moments in the streets of Paris. The distinctive tension felt when looking through the viewfinder allows us to experience the very way photographers have observed the world over the past century. It creates a human connection that can never be felt in the latest electronic devices, where everything can be corrected at the press of a button.

The fixed ducktail spoiler of the 911 Sport Classic, a modern reinterpretation of the legacy of the 1973 Carrera RS 2.7

< Image source: Porsche >

The Porsche 911 is no different. By conventional automotive engineering standards, its RR layout, with a heavy engine positioned behind the rear axle, is a configuration that seems to defy the laws of physics from the outset. The rear end is prone to stepping out when cornering, making the car difficult and potentially dangerous to control. If the entire design had been handed over to modern algorithms optimized for data, aerodynamics, and driving stability, the engine would have been moved to the center or the body shape completely redesigned decades ago. In a computer’s calculations, the 911’s architecture would have been little more than a flaw that needed to be corrected.

Porsche did not eliminate that flaw. It persisted with the cramped rear seats, the rounded roofline reminiscent of a frog, and the rear-engine layout that could easily become unstable. To suppress and control those imperfections, Porsche spent decades adjusting the suspension, refining the chassis, widening the tires, and fighting against physics. The obsession with refusing to compromise through countless races ultimately shaped the 911 we know today. The solidity we feel when gripping the steering wheel of a 911 is more than the sensation of a well-made means of transportation. It embodies the attitude of the people who spent more than 60 years confronting its flaws and refusing to give up.

The same is true of Hermès leather goods and the Rolex Submariner. They are not products created by conducting market research and arriving at an average designed to appeal to the largest possible audience. They are the result of someone’s relentless conviction, countless trials and errors, and a philosophy preserved through crises that could have brought everything to an end, all refined over time. Ultimately, what people recognize as true premium value is not the polished shell of a beautifully resolved form. It is the “mass of time” and the “human choices” behind it, the failures endured and the persistence required to preserve that form.

This leaves one question. Can AI ever fill this territory as well?

The engine behind the algorithm is clear. It gathers countless references accumulated across the web and calculates an average designed to minimize the probability of failure. AI can learn the narratives of Leica, Porsche, and Rolex and generate fictional brand stories or scenarios of craftsmanship in a matter of seconds. It can even convincingly synthesize videos of imaginary artisans hand-stitching leather. But however plausible these stories may seem, they are ultimately fabrications assembled from past data.

A brand’s real history is created when people commit themselves to a choice even when they know it may come at a cost. The determination to resist trends, risk rejection by the market, and still insist, “We will never change this design or this way of doing things,” is what eventually becomes a story capable of persuading people. AI, by contrast, can filter out failure and combine only what has proven successful. Its results carry none of the real scars that come from breaking, failing, and colliding with reality.

The touch of a craftsman that no optimized machine can imitate. Heritage is born not from a calculated average, but from the persistence to endure inefficiency.

< Image source: Roberto Giovannini >

No matter how sophisticated graphics and text become, no one will place genuine trust in a fabricated history. Like the grain formed by the passage of time in nature, brand heritage is only complete when the traces of enduring countless challenges harden into solid growth rings. This is why “timeless design,” which remains relevant even as the times change, still belongs to the human realm. Timeless design is not the most efficient answer according to the numbers. Rather, it is the result of standards and principles that someone was determined to preserve to the very end, even when the world demanded quick compromises in the name of optimization and that persistence appeared stubborn or inefficient. A machine can find the fastest shortcut and the most statistically favorable combination, but it cannot decide for itself why it should deliberately accept an inefficient choice that comes at a cost. Decisions such as “This feature may be popular this season, but we will not include it,” or “Even if it doubles the cost, we will maintain this finishing method,” do not come from data. Only the person who holds ownership can take on that risk and endure the time required.

We now live in an age when machines can perfectly replicate the atmosphere of a century-old brand in a matter of seconds. The ability to create aesthetically refined forms alone is no longer enough to move people. As the criteria for design shift from the surface to the attitude and time that stand behind it, can a fabricated story assembled by an algorithm ever inspire genuine enthusiasm? Or will we still open our wallets only for those rough growth rings carved by people who have personally endured failure, struggle, and the passage of time?