A LESSON FROM A BILLIONAIRE PERSON WHO CREATED AN INNOVATION IN EUROPE
One in 10 Europeans now living was supposedly conceived on an Ikea bed. The resulting babies are likely to sleep in an Ikea cot while their parents sit on Ikea sofas and eat off Ikea crockery which they store in Ikea cupboards. A third of all kitchens sold in France and Sweden are from Ikea. In Norway it’s half. Here in Britain we lag behind a bit but not much.
Last year with much of the world stuck in recession the Swedish furniture and homewares retailer delivered record annual net profits of £3.2billion. Sales in the 44 countries with Ikea stores grew by almost 10 per cent to a staggering £27.6billion.
All of which should add a satisfying element to the 87th birthday tomorrow of Ikea founder Ingvar Kamprad. But Mr Kamprad, a widower, does not go in for extravagances such as birthday parties. For despite featuring regularly in lists of the world’s richest billionaires, the man who persuaded the British to “chuck out the chintz” is notoriously careful with money.
He could easily afford a private jet but would rather fly economy class and preferably on a budget airline. Arriving at a gala to receive a Businessman Of The Year Award he was at first refused entry because he had come on the bus. At home he drove an ancient Volvo for years until he was persuaded that it was too dangerous.
Rather than dining in Michelin starred restaurants he likes to drop in to one of his stores for a cheap meal of his favourite Swedish meatballs. In cafeterias he swipes the little packets of salt and pepper to take home.
Admittedly he has lived in Switzerland as a tax exile since 1976. But his home is a modest bungalow and he assembled every stick of Ikea flatpack furniture in it himself.
He regards luxury not merely as an indulgence but almost as a sin. In his memoir Testament Of A Furniture Dealer he wrote: “We don’t need flashy cars, impressive titles, uniforms or other status symbols. We rely on our strength and our will!”
Employees – although he prefers to call them “co-workers” – at Ikea HQ are told to use both sides of a sheet of paper and get a telling-off if they leave the lights on when leaving a room. Certainly anyone encountering him doing his shopping in the local market (always near closing time when vendors are more likely to drop their prices) dressed in his scruffy coat would assume he was just another elderly gent living on a tight budget rather than the fifth wealthiest entrepreneur in the world.
And that is just how Ingvar Kamprad likes it. Ever since he started his business in 1943 when he was just 17, he has controlled his own and his company’s public image with consummate skill.
He tells people he has many shortcomings, that he is slightly stupid. Yet he remains incredibly sharp and knowledgeable down to the smallest detail
This is not to say that he does not genuinely believe in frugal living. But it does mean that there is another side to the Ikea empire and its emperor.
In the Sixties he used to drive a Porsche and wore bespoke suits. The shabby jackets and snus – a Swedish chewing tobacco – came a decade later. In his book The Truth About Ikea published in 2010, Kamprad’s former executive assistant Johan Stenebo wrote: “He wanted to appear a man of the people, one of us.”
Thus we know about the modest Swiss bungalow but hear less about the large country estate in Sweden or the Provence vineyard which Kamprad also owns.
He has endeared himself with a self-deprecating, confessional style in the few interviews he has given, admitting his battle with alcohol which he says is unresolved but which he keeps “under control” by drying out three times a year. But Stenebo says that is only half the picture.
“Ingvar casts himself as the underdog, presenting himself to the world as a somewhat dim, alcoholic dyslexic. He tells people he has many shortcomings, that he is slightly stupid. Yet he remains incredibly sharp and knowledgeable down to the smallest detail. He will tell you in seconds how much Russian pine sawn on the spot, glued and then refined in Poland would cost in a Swedish store.”
Kamprad claims he became an alcoholic when he worked in Poland. But in 20 years of working with him Stenebo saw him drunk only once, at a party in 1995, and only later heard him mention alcoholism to journalists. “This soul-baring is disarming and ensures easy interviews.”
But Kamprad’s finest piece of image handling came in 1994 when it emerged he had joined the profascist New Sweden Movement in 1942 and remained a friend of its leader Per Engdahl into the Fifties.
In a letter to every Ikea employee Kamprad – whose grandparents were Germans from the Sudetenland – asked them to forgive what he termed “the greatest mistake of my life”. Hundreds of employees signed a letter which read: “We are here whenever you need us. The Ikea Family.” Though he was moved to tears Kamprad knew he had killed the damning story stone dead. Since then the company he named after his own initials plus those of the family farm (Elmtaryd) and his native village (Almhut) has grown into a giant with more than 80,000 co-workers. From modest beginnings with local mail order Ikea now serves 350 million customers a year. As with all good ideas the Ikea concept is simple: pass the job of putting furniture together on to the customer. It came to Kamprad when he took the legs off a table to make it fi t into a car.
It has made him rich beyond the dreams of avarice but as he himself might say: “Nobody ever got rich by wasting money.”
One in 10 Europeans now living was supposedly conceived on an Ikea bed. The resulting babies are likely to sleep in an Ikea cot while their parents sit on Ikea sofas and eat off Ikea crockery which they store in Ikea cupboards. A third of all kitchens sold in France and Sweden are from Ikea. In Norway it’s half. Here in Britain we lag behind a bit but not much.
Last year with much of the world stuck in recession the Swedish furniture and homewares retailer delivered record annual net profits of £3.2billion. Sales in the 44 countries with Ikea stores grew by almost 10 per cent to a staggering £27.6billion.
All of which should add a satisfying element to the 87th birthday tomorrow of Ikea founder Ingvar Kamprad. But Mr Kamprad, a widower, does not go in for extravagances such as birthday parties. For despite featuring regularly in lists of the world’s richest billionaires, the man who persuaded the British to “chuck out the chintz” is notoriously careful with money.
He could easily afford a private jet but would rather fly economy class and preferably on a budget airline. Arriving at a gala to receive a Businessman Of The Year Award he was at first refused entry because he had come on the bus. At home he drove an ancient Volvo for years until he was persuaded that it was too dangerous.
Rather than dining in Michelin starred restaurants he likes to drop in to one of his stores for a cheap meal of his favourite Swedish meatballs. In cafeterias he swipes the little packets of salt and pepper to take home.
Admittedly he has lived in Switzerland as a tax exile since 1976. But his home is a modest bungalow and he assembled every stick of Ikea flatpack furniture in it himself.
He regards luxury not merely as an indulgence but almost as a sin. In his memoir Testament Of A Furniture Dealer he wrote: “We don’t need flashy cars, impressive titles, uniforms or other status symbols. We rely on our strength and our will!”
Employees – although he prefers to call them “co-workers” – at Ikea HQ are told to use both sides of a sheet of paper and get a telling-off if they leave the lights on when leaving a room. Certainly anyone encountering him doing his shopping in the local market (always near closing time when vendors are more likely to drop their prices) dressed in his scruffy coat would assume he was just another elderly gent living on a tight budget rather than the fifth wealthiest entrepreneur in the world.
And that is just how Ingvar Kamprad likes it. Ever since he started his business in 1943 when he was just 17, he has controlled his own and his company’s public image with consummate skill.
He tells people he has many shortcomings, that he is slightly stupid. Yet he remains incredibly sharp and knowledgeable down to the smallest detail
This is not to say that he does not genuinely believe in frugal living. But it does mean that there is another side to the Ikea empire and its emperor.
In the Sixties he used to drive a Porsche and wore bespoke suits. The shabby jackets and snus – a Swedish chewing tobacco – came a decade later. In his book The Truth About Ikea published in 2010, Kamprad’s former executive assistant Johan Stenebo wrote: “He wanted to appear a man of the people, one of us.”
Thus we know about the modest Swiss bungalow but hear less about the large country estate in Sweden or the Provence vineyard which Kamprad also owns.
He has endeared himself with a self-deprecating, confessional style in the few interviews he has given, admitting his battle with alcohol which he says is unresolved but which he keeps “under control” by drying out three times a year. But Stenebo says that is only half the picture.
“Ingvar casts himself as the underdog, presenting himself to the world as a somewhat dim, alcoholic dyslexic. He tells people he has many shortcomings, that he is slightly stupid. Yet he remains incredibly sharp and knowledgeable down to the smallest detail. He will tell you in seconds how much Russian pine sawn on the spot, glued and then refined in Poland would cost in a Swedish store.”
Kamprad claims he became an alcoholic when he worked in Poland. But in 20 years of working with him Stenebo saw him drunk only once, at a party in 1995, and only later heard him mention alcoholism to journalists. “This soul-baring is disarming and ensures easy interviews.”
But Kamprad’s finest piece of image handling came in 1994 when it emerged he had joined the profascist New Sweden Movement in 1942 and remained a friend of its leader Per Engdahl into the Fifties.
In a letter to every Ikea employee Kamprad – whose grandparents were Germans from the Sudetenland – asked them to forgive what he termed “the greatest mistake of my life”. Hundreds of employees signed a letter which read: “We are here whenever you need us. The Ikea Family.” Though he was moved to tears Kamprad knew he had killed the damning story stone dead. Since then the company he named after his own initials plus those of the family farm (Elmtaryd) and his native village (Almhut) has grown into a giant with more than 80,000 co-workers. From modest beginnings with local mail order Ikea now serves 350 million customers a year. As with all good ideas the Ikea concept is simple: pass the job of putting furniture together on to the customer. It came to Kamprad when he took the legs off a table to make it fi t into a car.
It has made him rich beyond the dreams of avarice but as he himself might say: “Nobody ever got rich by wasting money.”
No comments:
Post a Comment