Swiss Army knife: Red, Sharp and Slightly Ridiculous

There are objects so iconic, so weirdly versatile, they basically become metaphors. The Swiss Army knife is one of those oddball inventions that ended up in the same league as duct tape, WD-40, and Queen Elizabeth II’s handbag: nobody knows exactly what’s inside, but you just assume it can fix everything.

Picture it. A tiny red rectangle barely the size of your index finger, and yet somehow it contains a knife, a screwdriver, a corkscrew, scissors, a saw, a file, tweezers, and a thing that might be a hook, might be a hoof cleaner, nobody’s entirely sure. The Swiss Army knife is less a tool and more a life philosophy.

It started modestly enough in the 1880s. Switzerland had a problem. Its soldiers needed to eat, and for that they needed to open canned rations. They also had to disassemble their new-fangled rifles, which involved screws and, therefore, a screwdriver. The military, clearly done with juggling separate bits of metal on the battlefield, asked for a multipurpose tool. And so the first knife was born, featuring a blade, a reamer, a can opener, and a screwdriver. It looked like it was built by a blacksmith on a deadline.

It wasn’t even made in Switzerland at first. No, the first batch came from Germany. Cue the national scandal. A Swiss man named Karl Elsener decided that was an unacceptable state of affairs. In 1891, he founded a company that would go on to become Victorinox – a mashup of his mother’s name, Victoria, and the stainless steel ‘inoxydable.’ The Swiss Army knife was about to get its passport stamped.

The classic red handle with the little white cross didn’t come until later. That instantly recognisable look was marketing genius disguised as national pride. Because nothing says ‘functional neutrality’ like a blood-red casing filled with tools.

Some knives have over 80 functions. One of them – the Wenger 16999 – is more brick than blade. It has 87 implements that deliver 141 different functions. It also weighs nearly 1.3 kilograms, which means you can either repair your tent or bludgeon a bear with it.

NASA took them to space. Because when you’re floating around in a multi-billion-dollar tin can held together by maths and Velcro, it turns out the best tool for the job might be a pocket knife designed to open a bottle of Pinot Noir on the Alps. Astronauts used them for anything from cutting cable ties to improvising solutions when other gear failed. The Swiss Army knife: one small snip for man, one giant slash for mankind.

MacGyver swore by it. The fictional hero who could disarm bombs with a shoelace and fix helicopters with a sandwich bag helped turn the Swiss Army knife into a cultural icon. Somewhere in Season 3, he probably used it to escape a locked freezer and solve climate change in the same episode.

There is a model with a USB stick. Because why not? This little piece of tech-anachronism is perfect for the modern age. You can file your nails, uncork a bottle, cut string, and plug in a PowerPoint presentation, all from the same gadget. Somewhere, Steve Jobs is applauding quietly.

It has been issued to the actual Swiss Army. Although, weirdly, they don’t carry the red civilian version. Instead, their version comes with a green handle and without the corkscrew, because war zones and wine don’t mix. Priorities, you see.

The knife has a passport longer than most humans. It’s been part of Antarctic expeditions, Arctic treks, desert crossings, and jungle survival tales. If the knife had a frequent flyer account, it could probably claim a free seat on the International Space Station by now.

Queen Elizabeth II allegedly carried one. You know, just in case a corgi got tangled in a parachute cord or Prince Philip needed a bottle opened. It’s never been officially confirmed, but if anyone could turn a Swiss Army knife into a royal accessory, it’d be her.

Victorinox once produced a fragrance. That’s right. Someone in marketing took one look at a multitool and thought, “You know what this needs? A signature scent.” It was called “Swiss Army For Her” and probably smelled like mountain air, stainless steel, and punctuality.

The knife is a banned item in many places. Airports, naturally. But also some schools, court buildings, and certain public events. Nothing screams low-key menace like the threat of a rogue toothpick deployment in an auditorium.

The toothpick and tweezers are replaceable. You can actually buy tiny spare parts. Because nothing says commitment like losing a 2cm-long plastic stick and immediately ordering a replacement from a Swiss factory.

There’s a Guinness World Record for the largest Swiss Army knife. It belongs to the aforementioned Wenger 16999. It’s less a pocket knife, more a physical embodiment of “just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.” It includes a laser pointer, a cigar cutter, and a fish scaler. One suspects the inventor was either brilliant or very, very bored.

During the Cold War, CIA agents reportedly carried custom Swiss Army knives. Special editions included extra tools like mini compasses or hidden compartments. Because nothing says espionage like a knife that can remove a wine cork and decode secrets.

The Swiss Army knife has made its way into modern art. Artists have deconstructed it, reimagined it, and blown it up into sculptures, metaphors, and commentary about consumerism, war, and human potential. Which is just posh art speak for “this thing is cool, let’s make it massive.”

They’ve made special editions for everything from boy scouts to Mount Everest expeditions. In case you find yourself halfway up a Himalayan ridge and suddenly realise you need to open a can of beans while trimming your moustache.

One model included a digital altimeter. Because there is apparently a market of people who enjoy knowing the altitude at which they are uncorking a Merlot. It’s a vibe.

The Swiss Army knife has inspired countless imitators. Some good, some tragic. There are budget knockoffs that snap the first time you look at them wrong. And then there are deluxe versions from other manufacturers that include Bluetooth speakers, tiny LED torches, and a spirit level. Because balance, obviously.

It once appeared on a postage stamp. Switzerland honoured it in 2004 with a commemorative issue. Imagine the joy of sticking a miniature knife onto an envelope, knowing it couldn’t open the envelope it was stuck to. Irony, meet bureaucracy.

The design is a marvel of engineering. Each piece is machined with Swiss precision so that when the tools snap into place, they do so with a confidence that suggests you could absolutely survive in the wilderness, even if your idea of roughing it is a hotel without Wi-Fi.

The knife’s popularity exploded post-WWII when American soldiers stationed in Europe brought them home. Soldiers loved them. Civilians were intrigued. And suddenly, the Swiss Army knife was in glove compartments, tackle boxes, desk drawers, and birthday gift bags everywhere.

James Bond used something similar. Not officially a Swiss Army knife, but close enough. In a few of the early films, Q hands him gadgets disguised as innocuous tools, often with corkscrews that also emit poison darts. One can only imagine the real Swiss Army knife team taking notes.

And perhaps most telling of all: there’s one in the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Not as a survival tool. As design. Because this unassuming object, part weapon, part whimsy, part bottle opener, somehow managed to become a symbol of human ingenuity.

So there it is: the Swiss Army knife. A tiny miracle of metal and minimalism. It won’t fix your taxes, can’t help you in therapy, and definitely won’t solve the global climate crisis. But if you need to slice an apple, pull out a splinter, uncork a bottle, tighten a screw, or file your nails while contemplating the futility of modern life, well, it’s ready when you are.