Here’s What You Get When You Combine A Beanbag With An Inflatable Chair

As a millennial with lower back issues, my biggest complaint with a beanbag is that it doesn’t provide enough stability. And my complaint with inflatable furniture is that it’s never looked classy. Carlo Livaja managed to hit two birds with one stone with his Sonnet Chair.

With the aura of a beanbag and the inner workings of an inflatable chair, the Sonnet is just a clever bit of furniture design, relying on an inflatable fabric ball that’s restrained/shaped by a bent stainless steel pipe. The result is something eye-catching and intriguing enough to make you want to sit down, while the Sonnet supports you perfectly in all the right places.

Designer: Carlo Livaja

You get the lower support from the fact that the Sonnet’s base is a defined tongue-shaped seating element, while the backrest inflates into you, giving you enough “lean-back resistance” (I coined that term) just like an inflatable would. All this, while looking like a beanbag went and did a Masters in Design from Milan. It has the spiritual appeal of a beanbag without any of the collapsibility.

One’s immediate question is whether the metal pipe actually obstructs your seating, and my gut reaction is that it probably won’t. As long as you don’t jump into the chair, the Sonnet respects you back. Don’t lean back like you would in a recliner and your neck won’t hit the pipe at the back. It’s a chair built on clever compromise… clever being the more operative term there.

The beauty of the Sonnet (especially if you see its video on Instagram) lies entirely in its transformation. The fabric cover sits like a heap, gaining shape as air is blown into it. Immediately as it hits the frame restraining it, the chair begins taking its true shape, and stops once it can’t accept any more air. In essence, it’s a lot like IKEA’s inflatable chair showcased at Milan this year – rely on a rigid element to restrict the inflatability of your design and you’ve got something that’s constrained yet comfortable.

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This 34-Foot Tiny Home by Teacup Has a Dishwasher, a Bathtub, and a King-Sized Bed

Tiny homes have a reputation for asking a lot of you. Give up the tub. Forget the dishwasher. Learn to love a twin mattress. The Ellice, a custom build by Alberta-based Teacup Tiny Homes, quietly ignores all of that.

Built on a triple-axle trailer and stretching 34 feet in length, the Ellice is based on Teacup’s Bernice floor plan — a range that starts at roughly US $123,000. What makes this particular build compelling isn’t its footprint or its price point. It’s the refusal to compromise where most tiny homes surrender without a fight.

Designer: Teacup Tiny Homes

The exterior sets a confident tone. Dark vertical board-and-batten siding paired with black windows gives it a look that feels deliberate — somewhere between a Pacific Northwest cabin and a Scandinavian prefab. Step inside, and the contrast is immediate. The interior is almost entirely white, which keeps the space feeling open rather than boxed in.

The kitchen anchors one end of the home in a galley layout and earns its place as the most impressive room in the build. It includes a fridge, a three-burner propane stove with a range hood, an oven, a dual-basin sink with a built-in water filtration tap, a pull-out pantry, and — the detail that stops most people — a dishwasher. That’s not something you find in tiny homes at this size, and its presence signals what kind of build this is. A washing machine and propane dryer are installed nearby, because the owners had no interest in trading daily convenience for the novelty of small living.

The dining area sits adjacent to the kitchen with a bench seat that integrates storage beneath it, an adjustable table, and an electric fireplace mounted against the wall. Underfloor heating runs throughout the ground floor. The living room, currently photographed with a sofa, is being repurposed by its owners as a home office — the flexibility is built into the plan from the start.

The bathroom is generously proportioned for the format, featuring a full bathtub and shower, a flushing toilet, and a vanity with additional storage. The master bedroom sits in the loft above the living room, accessed via a storage-integrated staircase, and fits a king-sized bed. A secondary loft above the bathroom is reached by a removable ladder and functions as either a guest room or additional storage depending on the day. The Ellice doesn’t reinvent what a tiny home can be. It simply builds one with enough intention and craft that you stop thinking about what’s missing.

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The Dutch Just Built a Ferry You Power Yourself With a Crank

The Netherlands has long held the reputation for being the gold standard of cycling culture, and yet somehow, they keep finding new ways to surprise you. The latest? A self-powered, chain-driven floating platform that lets cyclists cross the Piushaven river in Tilburg without a bridge, without a motor, and without waiting for anyone else to make it happen. It’s exactly the kind of design that should make the rest of us feel both inspired and slightly embarrassed that we hadn’t thought of it sooner.

The setup is deceptively simple. A flat floating platform sits on the water, connected to a submerged chain that stretches from one bank to the other. When you arrive at the edge of the Piushaven, you roll your bike onto the platform and turn a crank. That’s it. The crank mechanism pulls the platform along the chain, and you slowly drift to the other side. No waiting for a scheduled ferry. No detour to the nearest bridge. No fuel, no emissions, no infrastructure beyond what’s already in the water. Cranks are installed on both sides of the canal, so if the platform is docked on the opposite bank, you simply crank it over to your side first.

Designer: Tilburg City

The Dutch have been managing waterways for centuries, which is probably why they’ve refined the logic of crossing them down to something this clean. The Netherlands is famously threaded with canals, many of which predate modern transit planning by hundreds of years. The challenge has never been the water itself but the question of how you move people across it without making the whole thing a logistical nightmare. A massive bridge requires significant investment. A permanent ferry service requires staff, a schedule, operating costs, and inevitably, maintenance headaches. What Tilburg built is neither. It’s closer to a tool than a transit system, a piece of infrastructure that behaves more like a piece of outdoor furniture than a public works project.

The restraint in that decision is the most clever part of the whole thing. The municipality didn’t try to solve the problem with more technology. They solved it with less. And the result is a crossing that works around the clock, requires minimal upkeep, and asks the user to contribute exactly as much energy as the task needs, no more. That runs counter to almost everything we tend to celebrate in modern design, where the default move is to add features, add connectivity, add intelligence. We rarely stop to ask whether less would simply work better.

Vijay Malhotra, an Indian bicycle vlogger who travels the world on two wheels, documented his encounter with the Tilburg ferry and the video has been making the rounds online. Watching it, you understand almost immediately why people are sharing it. Malhotra stumbles upon the crossing while following a bike route, and the whole encounter has this wonderfully mundane quality, like discovering a secret that the locals have simply accepted as ordinary life. That gap between “this is remarkable” and “this is just how we do things here” is where the best design tends to live.

It also puts a useful frame around what cycling infrastructure can actually look like when a city commits to it seriously. We talk a lot about bike lanes and protected paths, and those conversations matter enormously. But the Tilburg river crossing is a reminder that cycling infrastructure isn’t just about the roads. It’s about removing every friction point between a person and where they’re trying to go, whether that’s a missing sidewalk, a poorly timed signal, or a river with no crossing in sight. A hand-cranked floating platform is a solution that costs far less than a bridge and works far better than nothing.

The design won’t go viral the way a sleek concept car or a flashy product launch does, and that seems perfectly fine. The things that actually improve daily life rarely make headlines. They just show up quietly, sit on the water, and wait for someone to turn the crank.

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The Power Bank You’ll Actually Have When Your Phone Hits 1 Percent

Most people who carry a power bank don’t have it when they need it. It’s in the other bag, on the counter, or still plugged into the wall. The problem isn’t that people don’t want backup power; it’s that a power bank asks too much of them. It’s a separate object with its own place in a routine that’s already too crowded, and the more something demands to be remembered, the more reliably it gets forgotten.

That behavioral friction is the design problem the Twelve South PowerClip is built to solve. Rather than starting with capacity or charging speed, the design starts with a simpler question: what would it take for a person to actually have this on them every day? The answer, apparently, is making it small enough and clipable enough that it attaches to what’s already in your pocket.

Designer: Twelve South

At 45g and roughly the footprint of a dental floss container, the PowerClip is designed to live on a keychain, a bag strap, or a belt loop via a zinc-alloy carabiner. It disappears into daily carry so completely that Twelve South’s own marketing describes the intended experience as: you stop thinking about it entirely, until the moment it saves you. That’s an unusually honest design brief for a consumer product.

The integration extends to the cables. There’s no cord to pack or lose, because the USB-C cable is built directly into the unit. One side handles both input and output; a second port allows pass-through charging, so you can top up the PowerClip and a device simultaneously without interrupting either. The four LED indicators tell you the battery level at a glance. None of this requires setup, configuration, or carrying a separate adapter.

The 2,000mAh capacity is modest by the spec sheets of larger power banks, and deliberately so. The PowerClip isn’t trying to be a replacement for the bigger unit sitting in your desk drawer; it’s an emergency charge that gets your phone from 1% to enough to get home, make a call, or pull up a boarding pass. That scope defines the form rather than limiting it. Giving it more capacity would make it heavier, bulkier, and harder to justify clipping onto a set of keys.

Five matte finishes, including Dune, Slate, Mint, Fuchsia, and Teal, let it function as an accessory rather than a utility. A limited-edition collaboration with Alpaka even produced a coordinated Micro Tote for carrying the PowerClip alongside small everyday essentials, treating the power bank as something worth designing around rather than stashing.

The PowerClip costs $39.99, which sits above the baseline for cheap power banks but below the premium tier of larger, feature-loaded alternatives. That positioning reflects the product’s design logic: it occupies a category that most manufacturers haven’t prioritized, not highest capacity or fastest charging, but highest likelihood of actually being with you when the battery dies. The specific insight here is that a power bank nobody carries isn’t worth much, and that solving the carry problem is a more interesting design challenge than chasing another thousand milliamp-hours.

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