Tag Archives: Concept Designs

A Mouse You Can Squeeze Like a Stress Ball While You Work

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The computer mouse hasn’t changed much in decades. Still mostly hard plastic, still shaped like a bar of soap, still asking your hand to grip something that gives absolutely nothing back. The rest of the desk setup has evolved, ergonomic chairs, standing desks, wrist rests, but the one device your hand touches for eight hours straight has remained stubbornly rigid and deeply uninteresting.

The PILLIGA mouse concept makes a fairly obvious argument for why that should change. Instead of hard plastic, the entire upper chassis is a squishy, flexible membrane packed with a viscous, translucent gel. It’s the same basic impulse that makes people reach for a stress ball mid-meeting, except it’s also the thing you need to get any work done.

Designer: Guillermo Gonzalez

The thinking behind it is straightforward enough. Deadline pressure builds, calls run long, and the urge to fidget becomes almost impossible to ignore. Rather than keeping a stress ball in the desk drawer as a separate ritual, the mouse folds that habit directly into the tool that’s already in your hand. You can squeeze, press, or knead the gel without ever lifting your hand off your workflow.

The dome shape isn’t just for show, either. It follows the natural arch of your palm rather than forcing your hand flat against a hard surface, and the gel underneath absorbs the kind of low-level muscular strain that builds up quietly over hours of clicking and scrolling. It’s the sort of ergonomic consideration that usually requires its own dedicated accessory, not just a different material.

The controls themselves are sensibly laid out. A flat circular interface sits embedded in the front of the mouse, cleanly split for left and right clicks, with a textured, rubberized scroll wheel running between them. A USB-C port at the front handles charging, keeping the wireless design intact without the inconvenience of a separate charging dock. The bottom carries the optical sensor and power switch.

What makes the PILLIGA mouse concept genuinely interesting is how far it extends color as a design element. The gel comes in several variants, from vivid green with gold flecks and a blue version scattered with purple glitter, to darker, more subdued options that look considerably more at home on a professional desk. Each colorway pairs with a matching base and click interface, making the whole thing feel deliberate.

That range matters. The more reserved colorways hint that this isn’t a novelty item for a niche corner of the internet; it works just as comfortably on a professional desk as it does on a creative’s workstation. The gel doesn’t make it look cheap. It makes it look like something designed by someone who gave serious thought to what a mouse should feel like.

Concepts like the PILLIGA are more useful as provocations than promises. Computer mouse design has been coasting on the same assumptions for decades, and the idea that your primary input device could also be physically satisfying to hold hasn’t come up often enough. The gel-filled body raises the question, and that’s honestly more than most peripheral design manages to do.

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Forget Smarter AI, This Robot Thinks Presence Is the Point

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We keep building AI to do more. More answers, more speed, more certainty. Designer Mehrnaz Amouei looked at that trajectory and asked a fundamentally different question: what if we built AI to be more present instead? The result is POCO, a soft robotic companion that might be one of the most quietly radical design concepts to emerge in recent years. It doesn’t talk over you, doesn’t flood you with information, and it doesn’t pretend to know things it doesn’t know. POCO sits with you. Literally.

At its core, POCO is a soft, tactile object that pairs with a smartphone, which serves as its computational brain and face. A soft textile body wraps around the device, transforming rigid, glass-and-metal technology into something that moves, breathes, and gestures in response to your presence. Together, they create something that sits somewhere between object, creature, and companion, and that deliberate ambiguity is very much intentional. You’re not quite sure what to call it, and that’s entirely the point.

Designer: Mehrnaz Amouei

Amouei developed POCO through research at the University of Illinois at Chicago, grounding the project in studies on loneliness and trust. Her findings indicated that people don’t actually want AI that projects certainty or control. They want availability and responsiveness. They want something that shows up without taking over. From those findings came the concept of “constructive interdependence,” a design philosophy where POCO’s limitations aren’t bugs to be patched but features embedded directly into the interaction model itself. The robot communicates what it can and cannot do through its behavior and physical states, which is a level of honesty you don’t often get from technology that typically overpromises and underdelivers.

I think that matters more than it might initially seem. The dominant conversation around AI right now is almost entirely about expansion: more capability, more integration, more autonomy. POCO pushes back on that without being preachy about it. It reframes the question of what good AI design actually looks like, and the answer it offers isn’t “smarter,” it’s “more trustworthy.” That is a genuinely different value system, and it feels overdue.

The sustainability dimension is also worth paying attention to. Rather than introducing new hardware and generating more electronic waste, POCO repurposes a device most people already own. That decision isn’t just a nice bonus; it’s built into the concept from the start, aligning with the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals around mental well-being and responsible consumption. In product design terms, that means the project was developed with a broader cultural and environmental context in mind, not just a user persona sitting in a lab.

Physically, POCO responds to touch, movement, and environmental cues. It adapts to a user’s preferences while maintaining a consistent identity, which is a surprisingly nuanced balance to strike in any product, let alone one sitting at the intersection of soft robotics and emotional design. Because interaction happens through touch rather than voice commands or screen taps, there’s an intentional slowing down embedded in the experience. You can’t rush a tactile exchange the same way you can type faster or speak louder. That shift from speed to presence feels like a meaningful counter-proposal to how most tech is currently designed. We’ve grown so accustomed to interfaces that demand our attention that a device asking only for our company reads almost as radical.

POCO has already earned an Honorable Mention from the International Design Awards and drawn coverage from major design publications. Whether it ever moves into consumer production remains an open question. But as a design statement, it’s doing exactly what the best concept work should: prompting us to reconsider what we actually want from the technology we live with, and whether expanding capability was ever really the right goal. Maybe the most interesting AI isn’t the one that knows the most. Maybe it’s the one that knows when to just stay close.

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This MagSafe iPhone Grip Is Actually a Self-Defense Spray in Disguise

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Personal safety products have a design problem few people talk about. Pepper sprays and personal alarms are either too bulky to carry consistently or so visually aggressive that most people feel uncomfortable with them in plain sight. The result is that these tools end up buried at the bottom of a bag or forgotten on a shelf, making them nearly useless when they’re needed most.

Safix is a concept that tries to close that gap by attaching a self-defense spray directly to the back of your iPhone. Built around Apple’s MagSafe ecosystem, it snaps onto the phone magnetically and functions as a finger grip during normal use. The idea is that the safest place to keep your protection is on the one thing you almost never put down.

Designer: Sunghwan Cho, Sooyeol Lee, Yeongeun Park, Geontak Oh, Daero Lee, Jinho Choi, Jungwoon Im (UNICHEST)

What makes this particularly clever is how little it looks the part. Safix borrows its silhouette from the rounded, organic contours of smooth river pebbles and comes finished in warm, muted tones. Its stone-like texture positions it firmly in lifestyle territory, the kind of object you’d expect sitting next to a room spray or a small succulent on a bedside table, not clipped to a keychain.

The team calls this approach the “Gentle Arc,” a form language that puts emotional comfort on equal footing with physical function. The thinking goes that self-defense tools carry a kind of psychological weight, and that weight itself is what keeps most of them in bags and drawers rather than in people’s hands. Designing something pleasant to hold and look at is meant to change that.

On most days, Safix earns its place on the back of your phone the same way a PopSocket does: by making it more comfortable to hold. The built-in rubber band loops around your fingers, giving you a stable grip for texting, photographing, or navigating. The MagSafe connection keeps it firmly in place yet detaches easily, so it never feels like it’s fighting you.

When you actually need it, pulling Safix off the phone takes a fraction of a second. The casing opens to reveal the spray mechanism inside, and a clearly marked button handles the deployment. A safety indicator on the front helps prevent accidental discharge. The whole interaction is built for speed, the kind you’d need in a moment that doesn’t give you time to think.

Consider someone walking home at night with their phone already in hand. They don’t have to dig for anything; the Safix is right there between their fingers, always within reach. That shift from “somewhere in the bag” to “in your hand as you use it” might sound trivial, but it’s the difference between a safety tool that works and one that only works when you remember you have it.

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A Hay Rake Inspired This Surprisingly Beautiful Entryway Piece

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Most of the furniture we buy tells no story. It comes flat-packed, gets assembled on a Saturday afternoon, and does its job quietly in the corner. We don’t think much about where it came from, what it references, or what it means. And then a piece like Restel comes along and completely reframes what furniture is even supposed to do.

Italian industrial designer Monica Graffeo created Restel after encountering traditional Alpine hay rakes. Not a digital reference, not a museum exhibit, but the actual tools. The kind that have been leaning against barn walls in the mountains for generations. She saw them and started sketching, asking herself whether the rake’s form could be translated into furniture in a way that was actually useful. The answer, clearly, was yes.

Designer: Monica Graffeo

The result is an entryway piece that functions as both a bench and a hanging structure. It’s made from Trentino Larch, a wood native to the Alpine region that gives the piece a warmth and texture you can almost feel through a photograph. Graffeo worked with Falegnameria Bosetti, a traditional carpentry firm based in Trentino, to bring it to life, which means the craftsmanship is as rooted in the region as the inspiration itself.

The design logic behind it is clean and honest, and that’s what makes it so compelling beyond the visual appeal. A hay rake’s tines are spread wide and built to hold and gather. In Restel, those same proportions become hooks and structure, organizing coats, bags, and the general chaos of a front entryway. The form isn’t borrowed for aesthetics alone. It actually earns its place by being functional in a way that mirrors the original tool.

This is becoming a more intentional conversation in design circles, and for good reason. For years, the dominant trend in home interiors leaned toward minimal and abstract, stripping objects of any cultural or regional identity in favor of clean lines that could sell anywhere on the planet. That has its appeal, but it also produces spaces that feel like they could belong to no one in particular. Restel pushes in the opposite direction. It carries a specific geography, a specific history, and a specific set of hands that made it. You can feel the Alpine landscape in it even if you’ve never been.

The versatility of the piece is worth noting too. Positioned against a wall, Restel organizes the entryway and creates a clear threshold between the outside and the inside of a home. Move it to the center of a room and it becomes a divider, something that defines space without closing it off. That kind of flexibility in a single piece of furniture is genuinely hard to pull off without the design feeling compromised. Graffeo managed it without losing any of the visual coherence.

The question I keep returning to is how much courage it takes to look at a farming tool and say, I want to put this in someone’s home. Not as a decorative nod to rural life, not as a rustic accent piece, but as a fully considered object that stands on its own as good design. The risk of that kind of referencing is that it tips into costume, into the sort of design that performs a cultural identity rather than embodying one. Restel doesn’t have that problem. It feels earned.

Graffeo’s broader practice as an industrial designer has included work for major Italian furniture brands, so she’s no stranger to furniture. But Restel reads like something more personal, more tied to a specific place and a specific curiosity. That combination of intellectual rigor and genuine affection for material culture is what separates a good design from one that stays with you. If you’ve been on the lookout for a piece that will actually start a conversation, this is it. Not because it’s strange or provocative, but because it’s honest in a way that most furniture simply isn’t.

The post A Hay Rake Inspired This Surprisingly Beautiful Entryway Piece first appeared on Yanko Design.

The Smartest Heater Has No App, No Screen, Just Bricks

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Most of the time, when we talk about innovation in home appliances, we mean sleeker apps, voice control, or some kind of sensor that automatically adjusts to your preferences. Eliot Andrault went in the complete opposite direction, and I think he was right to do it.

STEA is a personal heater designed by Andrault as his Masters project at École nationale supérieure des arts visuels de La Cambre in France. At its core, literally, are refractory bricks. Not smart chips, not Wi-Fi connectivity, not an OLED display. Bricks. The kind of material you’d find in a kiln or a fireplace, chosen specifically because it stores heat and releases it slowly. That’s the whole point.

Designer: Eliot Andrault

The idea Andrault started with is deceptively simple: how do we heat ourselves differently without giving up comfort? That question sounds obvious, but it almost never gets asked. We default to thermostats and central heating systems that warm up entire rooms, burning energy to heat the air that surrounds you and then some. STEA does something much more targeted. It creates a microclimate around the person using it, right where the body needs warmth most.

The mechanism is equally understated. STEA heats up for ten minutes, then spends the next twenty releasing that warmth. That 1/3–2/3 rhythm means the device is drawing power for only a fraction of the time it’s actually keeping you warm. It’s not a constant draw on electricity. It’s a brief charge followed by a long, quiet exhale of heat.

The material choice matters more than it might seem at first glance. Refractory bricks have what designers call thermal inertia. They don’t just get hot and then cool down the moment power cuts off. They hold that warmth and let it go gradually, which is what gives STEA its particular feeling of comfort. Andrault describes it as enveloping, and that word is accurate. It’s not the sharp, dry blast of a conventional space heater. It’s something steadier.

Formally, STEA is gorgeous in a way that feels earned. Andrault drew inspiration from traditional cast-iron radiators, and you can see it in the vertical stacking of the bricks, the monolithic silhouette, the sense of weight and solidity. What cuts through that industrial seriousness is the tubular steel handle, which introduces a human gesture to the whole thing. It makes the object feel carryable, usable, personal rather than architectural. That balance between raw and refined is harder to pull off than it looks.

I’m also genuinely impressed by how Andrault approached the end of STEA’s life before it even began. The entire device can be disassembled with a single Allen key. Materials are locally sourced and fully recyclable. It’s designed to be repaired, not replaced. In a market where most products are engineered toward obsolescence, this feels like a quiet act of defiance, and an honest one.

The context behind STEA is worth pausing on. Andrault designed this while studying in Belgium, where heating accounts for nearly two tons of CO2 emissions per person per year. That’s not a small number. And STEA doesn’t pretend to be the total solution to that problem. Andrault says explicitly that it isn’t meant to replace existing heating systems. It’s meant to propose a different relationship with warmth, one that’s more local, more bodily, more intentional.

That philosophy puts STEA in a category of objects that are harder to evaluate by spec sheet alone. It’s not competing with your boiler or your smart thermostat. It’s asking whether you could lower your overall energy use by staying warmer at the scale of your body rather than the scale of your apartment. It’s a design that assumes you’re sitting still, reading, working, resting, and gives you exactly what you need for that moment.

The post The Smartest Heater Has No App, No Screen, Just Bricks first appeared on Yanko Design.

Designed Like a Lamborghini, This Laptop Stand Replaces 3 Accessories

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Laptop stands have come a long way from the simple plastic risers that used to pass for ergonomic solutions. More students and young professionals are rethinking their workspaces, and the demand for accessories that do more with less is steadily growing. Add a lamp, a phone charger, and a stand for the screen, and before long, the desk meant for focus starts looking more like a cable management problem.

The Exolevate concept tackles that problem from an unexpected angle, wrapping the solution in a finish inspired by Lamborghini. It’s a laptop stand that aims to replace three separate accessories with one and, in doing so, cut the clutter while improving posture. The boldness of its design language makes it clear this wasn’t built for someone who just wants something functional and forgettable.

Designer: Arnav Ashwin

The concept’s starting point is a familiar complaint. Young adults who spend 35 to 40 percent of their time at a workstation gradually accumulate neck pain, back strain, and a screen position that was never quite right. Raising the laptop to eye level with adjustable height and angle addresses the most direct version of that problem, bringing the screen where it actually belongs.

That’s a good start, but Exolevate doesn’t stop there. The stand integrates an adjustable table lamp that swings out to light a writing area beside the laptop, which is useful for anyone splitting attention between a screen and physical notes. The lamp is built into the stand’s structure rather than added alongside it, which means one fewer cord to trace across the desk during a late-night study session.

The base takes the consolidation further. A wireless charging pad is embedded directly into the platform, so a phone can sit there and charge without an extra cable sneaking into the picture. It’s a thoughtful addition for anyone who already has too many things plugged in, and it frees up the desk surface for the notepad, the keyboard, and everything else that actually needs to be there.

None of that would look quite as interesting without the design language tying it together. Exolevate draws from Lamborghini’s aerodynamic forms, borrowing sharp angles and aggressive lines and translating them into the stand’s aluminum profile. The “electric kumquat” finish, a vivid orange sourced from trend forecaster WGSN, gives the concept the kind of confident, eye-catching presence that most workspace accessories aren’t bold enough to attempt.

The hinges use a two-way friction mechanism to hold the stand at any chosen angle without slipping, while the aluminum frame keeps the structure light. For a student who already has too much on the desk and not enough on the budget for a complete workspace overhaul, the Exolevate proposes a more consolidated answer. It’s a stand that also illuminates and charges, finished in a color that refuses to be ignored.

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What If Your Drink Could Fly Itself Across the Room to You

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Smart home technology has reshaped how we think about convenience, but most of it still assumes you’re the one who has to reach for things. Appliances respond to voice commands, lights adjust to your mood, and thermostats learn your schedule. Yet the objects we grab dozens of times a day, from a glass of water to the TV remote, still sit wherever you last left them.

Designer Ivana Nedeljkovska’s ORBIA concept takes a different angle on this problem. Rather than adding another smart feature to a home setup, it asks a more fundamental question about object design itself: why do objects have to stay still? ORBIA is envisioned as an autonomous flying serving tray that moves through space, navigates around obstacles, and delivers objects directly to wherever the user happens to be.

Designer: Ivana Nedeljkovska

It’s a concept that doesn’t fit neatly into any existing product category. The design is built around an intelligent navigation system that enables ORBIA to understand its surroundings, read the space it moves through, and adjust its path in real time. That capability is what separates it from the static, fixed-in-place gadgets that populate most homes today, no matter how sophisticated those gadgets might be.

Think about a quiet evening at home. You’re in the middle of something, and your drink is across the room. With ORBIA, you wouldn’t need to interrupt what you’re doing. The concept is designed to respond to a call without requiring any physical contact, operating quietly and precisely, functioning as a kind of unobtrusive assistant that simply appears when needed and retreats when it’s done.

The same thinking applies in a hospitality setting, where service efficiency has always been a balancing act. In a restaurant or lounge, ORBIA could handle the routine deliveries that currently require constant back-and-forth from staff, moving between spaces with the same quiet precision it brings to a living room. The system reads its surroundings continuously, adjusting course around obstacles and adapting to different spatial conditions in real time.

Where the concept gets particularly compelling is accessibility. For someone with limited mobility, having to rely on others to bring everyday objects can quietly erode a sense of independence. ORBIA is designed with that in mind, offering support that lets people access things around them on their own terms, without having to wait or ask someone else for help each time.

Visually, ORBIA doesn’t try to announce itself. The form is clean and minimal, built around a large oval tray surface with a brushed matte finish, carried by a quad-rotor body whose contours flow outward in smooth, organic curves. Blue LED lighting runs along the underside and rotor housings, giving the whole thing a quiet, purposeful glow that integrates naturally into a contemporary interior.

There’s still a long way between this concept and something you could buy, and the engineering involved is genuinely complex. But ORBIA isn’t trying to be a product announcement. It’s a design argument, one that makes the case for a future where objects go beyond being smarter to becoming fundamentally more active, bringing things to you rather than waiting to be carried.

The post What If Your Drink Could Fly Itself Across the Room to You first appeared on Yanko Design.

Giant Sculptures Look Like Machines but, Nobody Knows What They Do

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Most public sculptures ask you to stand in front of them and feel something, usually reverence, awe, or a vague sense of civic pride. They represent people, events, or abstract ideals, but they rarely suggest function. A figure cast in bronze doesn’t appear to be doing anything, and that’s largely the point. The statue commemorates; it doesn’t operate. The relationship between viewer and object is, by design, entirely passive.

Michael Jantzen had a different idea. The Santa Fe-based designer set out to create public sculptures that look like they’re built to do something, even if no one, including Jantzen himself, can say what that something is. The result is the Monumental Engines of Creation, a concept series drawing from the visual language of high-technology hardware, assembled into objects that feel purposeful, alien, and oddly believable all at once.

Designer: Michael Jantzen

The design process is telling. Jantzen didn’t start with a function and work backward to a form, as industrial designers typically do. He built the pieces intuitively, combining various components into composites that simply suggest some kind of high-level intelligence at work. The question of what they might actually be for was deliberately left unanswered, and that open-endedness is precisely what gives the series its strange pull.

Standing near one of these sculptures, you’d spend a while trying to decode it. Jantzen’s hope is that viewers engage with the objects and find themselves genuinely wondering about their origin, their creators, and their purpose. That kind of sustained curiosity is harder to provoke than it sounds. Most public sculptures deliver their meaning almost immediately; these deliberately withhold it, rewarding prolonged attention with more questions rather than answers.

Part of why that works is scale. Each piece in the series is intentionally gigantic, dwarfing any person nearby to the point of near insignificance. That proportion isn’t accidental; Jantzen designed the scale to convey the symbolic weight of each object relative to its imagined function. A machine built to scatter the seeds of creativity throughout the universe, the thinking goes, should probably look the part.

There’s something worth sitting with in the idea that creativity itself deserves monuments. Most of what we commemorate in public space is history, politics, or governance. Jantzen’s machines point somewhere else, toward imagination, invention, and the strange optimism embedded in building. They don’t ask to be understood. They ask to be wondered at, which turns out to be a different, and arguably more honest, kind of public art.

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This Side Table Tricks You Into Thinking Books Are Holding It Up

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Side tables have always been one of the harder pieces of furniture to make genuinely interesting. They’re functional by nature, meant to hold a drink, a remote, or that ever-growing stack of books. Most designs take the easy route: a flat surface, four legs, and nothing more. A few try to add storage or visual flair, but the table and whatever sits on it rarely share anything deeper than proximity.

Deniz Aktay’s Delusion Table turns that relationship on its head. The Stuttgart-based designer has crafted a side table concept where books aren’t just accessories resting on the surface; they become part of the table itself, or at least appear to. The idea is simple but arresting: a purpose-built metal framework connects the tabletop to the base, and once books are loaded onto it, the metal structure all but disappears.

Designer: Deniz Aktay (dezinobjects)

The trick borrows from a principle already used in certain bookmarks and floating wall shelves, where a thin metal channel slides between a book’s pages and disappears behind the covers. Aktay applies the same logic vertically: the table’s central stem has integrated clips that hold books upright against the structure. Slot a few thick art or design volumes in, and the metal seems to dissolve quietly into the spines.

What results is a table that looks as if a small stack of books has somehow defied physics to hold an entire surface aloft. It’s a visual gag, but an elegant one. The books aren’t floating or leaning on something concealed behind them. They’re gripping the structure, pages pressed against the clips, covers facing outward, spines reading clearly, creating something that looks accidental but is actually very deliberate.

That deliberateness extends to the books themselves. The volumes you choose to insert don’t just support the illusion; they become part of the design statement. A stack of oversized architecture monographs communicates something entirely different from a row of photography books or a handful of paperbacks. The table changes with whoever assembles it, which is a quiet but genuinely meaningful layer of personalization built right into the concept.

It’s also worth considering where a table like this fits most naturally. A reading nook, a home office corner, or a bedside setup for someone who always has a few books in rotation: in any of these settings, the Delusion Table doesn’t need anything extra to feel complete. The books it needs to function are probably already nearby, waiting to serve a purpose they weren’t originally designed for.

Aktay has made a habit of designing furniture that asks questions as much as it answers them, and the Delusion Table is no exception. It’s a concept that works on two levels: as a functional object that holds books and a tabletop, and as something that quietly unsettles your perception. You look at it, pause a moment, and find yourself genuinely unsure of what’s doing what. That’s exactly the point.

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The Side Table That Holds One Book Right in Its Legs

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Most furniture design is an exercise in addition. More drawers. More shelves. More compartments to fill with things we forget we own. It is refreshing, then, to come across a piece that does the exact opposite and still lands somewhere quietly brilliant.

Meet the Notch Side Table, designed by Liam de la Bedoyere of Bored Eye Design. It is a flat-pack side table made of wood, clean-lined and minimal in the way that good, thoughtful furniture tends to be. From certain angles, it looks almost unremarkable. Two sets of paired legs, a flat top, honest grain. Then you look between the legs and notice the cutout, a precisely carved notch sized to hold a single book suspended between the panels, spine facing out, held steady by the tension of the slot. That is it. That is the entire idea. And somehow, it is one of the more satisfying design moves I have seen in a while.

Designer Name: Liam de la Bedoyere (Bored Eye Design)

The designer’s own framing says it best: material is removed to add use. Rather than building up, de la Bedoyere carved away. By taking wood out, he created a dedicated slot that functions as a book holder without adding any extra hardware, brackets, or fussy mechanisms. The notch is load-bearing in the most elegant sense of the word. It is structural and functional all at once, and it costs the table almost nothing to include. That kind of efficiency is harder to achieve than it looks.

Bored Eye Design is a one-person independent studio, and the Notch feels like the kind of piece that could only come from someone working without a committee. There is a specificity to it, an opinion embedded in the design, that bigger furniture brands tend to sand down in favour of mass appeal. De la Bedoyere has been quietly putting out thoughtful concepts through his Instagram, and the Notch is the one that feels most resolved. It has a clear point of view.

That point of view, as far as I can read it, is about intentionality. The notch holds exactly one book. Not a stack, not an assortment of odds and ends, just one. That constraint is a feature, not a limitation. It asks you to choose. It reminds you, every time you walk past it, that you had a book you were reading, that you actually meant to pick it back up. The book is not tucked away out of sight. It is displayed between the legs of the table like a small personal exhibit.

That is a subtle but genuinely interesting cultural statement about how we relate to the things we claim to care about. Books are increasingly used as decor, stacked artfully on coffee tables in colours that match throw pillows. The Notch does not stack them. It slots one in at midpoint, visible and accessible, in a way that feels more honest than a colour-coordinated pile ever could.

Practically speaking, the flat-pack construction means the table ships flat and assembles without tools that would make your Sunday miserable. The joinery is clean, and the interlocking parts are visible in the design in a way that feels deliberate rather than accidentally exposed. Looking at the disassembled photos, there is a puzzle-like quality to the whole thing that makes it more interesting, not less.

The material is ash wood with a warm, pale grain, and the photos styled with what appears to be a Dieter Rams monograph slotted in the notch feel entirely on brand. That orange spine against the pale timber is doing real editorial work, and it is hard not to appreciate the faintly meta quality of a design book being cradled by a well-designed table.

Whether the Notch moves into full production beyond its current personal project status, I genuinely hope it does. Furniture that nudges you toward more thoughtful habits without being preachy about it is rare. The Notch does not lecture you about slowing down. It just makes it a little easier to do exactly that, by doing less with considerably more conviction.

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