The Lamp Switch Nobody Bothered to Design Well, Until Now

The inline switch is one of those details that nobody seems to question. Most floor and table lamps carry a cheap plastic switch dangling somewhere down the cord, lightweight and hollow, built for low cost rather than durability or feel. These switches are touched constantly throughout a lamp’s life, yet they’re rarely given the same attention as the lamp they’re attached to. That’s a strange kind of oversight.

That disconnect is precisely what the Modal Inline Switch sets out to address. Instead of relegating the switch to an afterthought on the cord, it approaches the component with the same consideration typically reserved for the fixture it serves. The result is a CNC-machined, bead-blasted, anodized aluminum switch with a soft circular form, a more deliberate feel in the hand, and a presence that matches the fixtures it sits alongside.

Designer: Andrew King

Think about the last time you clicked off a bedside lamp or nudged a floor lamp switch with your foot in the dark. The switch barely registers as a design object, something you feel more than see, yet that click says a lot about the quality of the lamp. A cheap plastic click gives you exactly that impression. The Modal, by contrast, gives you something that actually feels worth touching.

Standard inline switches are injection-moulded plastic, hollow and lightweight, built purely for low cost. Modal swaps all of that for bead-blasted, anodized aluminum, giving it a controlled matte finish that stands apart from any typical lamp cord component. It’s cooler to the touch, heavier in the hand, and more substantial in feel. That added weight, which initially seemed like an inefficiency, turned out to be one of its defining qualities.

The circular form wasn’t arrived at immediately. Earlier prototypes explored angular geometries and segmented shapes before settling on a rounder, gentler profile, one that feels natural to nudge with a foot as well as press with a finger. The button mechanism went through its own refinement; early versions were unstable due to a mismatch between the larger cap and a smaller actuator, a problem the guided button cap system resolves.

The switch’s housing is assembled mechanically rather than with adhesive, meaning it can be taken apart and repaired if needed. That’s not something most people would think to look for in a lamp switch, but it speaks to the broader thinking behind Modal: that making something from better materials, with more intentional construction, can shift how long it’s valued and kept, rather than simply replaced when something gives out.

The Modal Inline Switch isn’t trying to reinvent how a lamp works. It sits on the same cord, does the same on/off job, and doesn’t ask for any more attention than it needs. But it’s designed to hold its place, literally and aesthetically, rather than disappear behind furniture or dangle somewhere on the floor. It’s the kind of quiet intervention that’s easy to overlook until you actually reach for it.

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adidas BB.01 is first 3D-printed basketball shoe built to improve stability and flexibility on court

While the world is fixated on who’s making it to the quarterfinals of the FIFA World Cup. adidas thinks it’s done enough for the love of the game with the Trionda, and now it’s time to shift focus to basketball. To do that, the sportswear giant is bringing 3D-printed footwear innovation to the hardwood with the launch of adidas BB.01. It is the first 3D-printed basketball shoe to hit the market, in an eye-catching combination of Solar Red and Orbit Grey.

The 3D printed basketball shoe from adidas is a definite head-turner. It’s called the adidas BB.01 “Solar Red/Orbit Grey,” and it’s nothing like the traditional canvas, textile, and foam silhouettes. While most shoe midsoles are molded in factories, the BB.01 is printed entirely from resin in layers instead.

Designer: adidas

The basketball shoe is part of adidas’ Project R.A.P (Radical Athlete Perception). The program ensures that adaptive manufacturing is not just an experimental category but an actual way to create functional, court-worthy footwear. Based on this ideology, adidas BB.01 has been a long time coming.

The much-anticipated footwear finally has a release date and a price. Fans should be able to get their feet into the 3D-printed marvel starting July 14, when it will be available through the adidas Confirmed app for $250. Meticulously combining “cutting-edge digital manufacturing with elite on-court performance,” the shoe features Orbit Grey in the base, which, in contrast, is highlighted by the Solar Red upper cage. The Three Stripes logo is present on the heel, from where it extends upward toward the collar.

Since the footwear is designed to complement the wearer’s performance on the court, its 3D printed midsole is designed to handle the impact and keep the player “stable through cuts and landings.” The footwear weighs only 15.13 oz (428 g) and comes with its most striking resin outer shell on top of the engineered midsole, which utilizes a lattice design across the sidewalls. This form factor allows the shoe to flex with the twisting nature of the foot. Higher-density printing is also carried out around the toes and heels for stability.

adidas BB.01 is not an attractive shoe on the outside alone. On the inside, it also features a soft textile bootie that locks the foot in place, ensuring support and comfort. A flagbearer of the future of 3D printing in the footwear industry, adidas BB.01 will release on July 14, but you can start registering for it as early as July 9 through the company website.

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This Vase Was Made From Aluminum Tubes That Would’ve Been Thrown Away

Vases occupy an awkward corner of product design. Most exist somewhere between functional and decorative without committing to either, and the result is a category that rarely surprises. Ceramic ones carry craft tradition, glass ones depend on color and transparency, and the novelty options try to be sculptural without much conviction behind them. It’s a crowded space that doesn’t often ask interesting questions.

The Offcut Aluminum Vase starts from a different premise. Its form didn’t come from sketching vessel shapes or looking for the next minimalist curve. It came from staring at the end of a rack of industrial aluminum profiles, tubes, and sections waiting to be put to use. That cross-sectional view of bundled profiles, the overhead pattern nobody usually notices, is where the whole design began.

Designer: Raphael Klug

The construction is direct: actual aluminum offcuts bundled together, each piece a different cross-section. Circular tubes of varying diameters sit alongside square and rectangular hollow channels, all cut to different lengths that create a staggered, stepped silhouette when assembled. The look is instantly readable to anyone who has spent time near a metalworking shop or materials supplier, and distinctly strange to everyone else.

What’s surprising is how naturally it functions as a vase. Each opening, whether a round tube or a square channel, holds a single stem at a height set by that profile’s cut length. A tall flower finds one tube, a shorter bloom another, a delicate, small-stemmed flower a third. The structure of the object quietly distributes stems at different levels without any deliberate arrangement on your part.

The visual tension between the material and its setting is part of the appeal. Aluminum profiles don’t belong on a shelf with fresh flowers, and that friction is doing real work. The matte silver surface reads as cold and precise until something organic is placed inside it, and the contrast becomes the whole point. The industrial origin doesn’t disappear; it becomes what makes the flowers harder to ignore.

The choice to use actual offcuts rather than new aluminum cut to look like offcuts also matters. Most of this material would otherwise end up as leftover stock or be discarded at the end of a production run. Using it this way doesn’t require additional processing; the profiles arrive already shaped, already finished, and carrying the full character of their industrial origin without modification.

The vase holds its own even without flowers in it. The stepped arrangement of sections at different heights reads as a small sculptural object that could sit on a shelf as comfortably empty as it does full. The form doesn’t need flowers to complete it, which means that when you do add them, the combination feels considered rather than accidental.

It’s a rare thing when a design object’s material, form, and function all trace back to exactly the same source. Here they do. The offcuts are the structure, the structure is the form, and nothing about their industrial origin has been hidden or softened along the way. The workshop and the shelf turn out to have considerably more in common than most vases would ever admit.

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Five Years, One Bowl, and a Woodturner Who Refused to Quit

Most of us abandon a project after a few weeks of frustration. Olivier Gomis sat on one for five years, then came back and finished it. The Bowl Curved Pursuit is Gomis’s latest release, a handcrafted woodturning that looks, at first glance, like it was generated by some algorithmic design software rather than made by two hands in a workshop. The curves twist and rotate in a way that feels almost mathematically precise, each wood segment following the one before it in a pattern that spirals elegantly around the bowl’s body. It’s the kind of object that makes you look twice, then a third time, trying to work out how it was actually made. That’s kind of the point.

Gomis, a French woodturner and furniture maker, has been building a reputation for designs that sit right at the edge of what woodworking is supposed to look like. His work doesn’t whisper “rustic” or “farmhouse.” It says something closer to “sculpture” and means it. His portfolio spans coloured pencil vases, massive segmented bowls, and geometric pieces that wouldn’t look out of place in a contemporary design gallery. But the Curved Pursuit feels like a moment of arrival, a design he clearly couldn’t let go of until he got it right.

Designer Name: Oliveri Gomis

The process is deceptively methodical. Gomis built the bowl by gradually stacking and rotating wood pieces before cutting them on a table saw, then mounted the entire structure on a lathe and carved it into its final form. That sequence, stacking, rotating, cutting, turning, sounds simple enough until you consider how much precision is required at every stage. A miscalculation in the rotation angle and the whole pattern collapses into something ordinary. The five-year gap between conception and completion makes a lot more sense once you understand those margins.

What gets me about this bowl is how visible the thinking is. You can trace the logic of the design just by looking at it. The segments aren’t decorative afterthoughts, they’re structural decisions, each one informing the curve that follows. For a piece of functional decor, that’s a rare quality. Most objects in this category are either beautiful or interesting. The Curved Pursuit manages to be both, and does it without trying to explain itself.

The price sits at $372 USD, available to order on commission. That number might give some people pause, but I’d argue it’s almost suspiciously reasonable for what you’re getting. This isn’t a production piece pulled from a conveyor belt. It’s a hand-built object that required five years of problem-solving to even exist. Commissioning one means you’re essentially getting a slice of a very specific creative obsession, which is not something that ends up on most people’s shelves by accident.

There’s also a broader conversation happening here about craft in the age of mass production. We live at a moment when almost anything can be printed, extruded, or manufactured at scale, and yet the appetite for handmade objects keeps growing. Not out of nostalgia exactly, but out of a genuine desire to own something that carries a human fingerprint. Gomis’s work taps directly into that. His YouTube channel documents every step of his process with no shortcuts hidden, which is both a smart move and a generous one. Watching him work makes the finished objects more meaningful, not less. You come away from his videos understanding not just how a piece was made, but why it matters.

The Bowl Curved Pursuit is the kind of design that rewards attention. It doesn’t immediately give everything away. The more you sit with it, the more the geometry reveals itself, the precision, the patience, the particular stubbornness it takes to return to something after five years and finally decide it’s ready. Somewhere between design and craft, between art object and kitchen counter, Gomis has made something genuinely hard to categorize. If that sounds like a compliment, it is.

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Laser Engravers Need a Workshop, This One Fits in a Backpack

Laser engravers have always come with a catch. Getting one typically means dedicating a chunk of workspace to it, running a cable to the nearest outlet, and putting on protective goggles before pressing start. For makers who don’t have a proper workshop, that’s a lot of overhead just to personalize a wooden keychain or stamp a logo onto a leather patch.

The Hanboost T1 is designed with exactly that frustration in mind. It’s a fully enclosed mini laser engraver measuring 115mm x 115mm x 115mm, weighing roughly 400g, and running off a standard USB-C connection, so a power bank is all you need to get it going. The idea is simple: a capable, portable engraver that fits into a backpack and doesn’t demand a dedicated room.

Designer: Hanboost

Click Here to Buy Now: $99 $149 ($50 off). Hurry, only a few left! Raised over $378,000.

The T1 has a clean cube silhouette that doesn’t look out of place next to a laptop or a set of studio monitors. Its dark body, vented side panels, and tinted front window give it the feel of a precision instrument rather than a hobbyist gadget. The viewing cover is swappable, available in red, orange, or green, with custom-pattern options for anyone who wants to personalize the unit itself.

Close to the weight of a full can of soda, the T1 is light enough that you’d barely notice it in a bag. Because it draws power from any USB-C source, including the power banks most people already carry, you can set it up on a kitchen table, a café counter, or a folding table at a craft fair without worrying about finding a wall outlet nearby.

The T1’s engraving area measures 60mm x 40mm, which keeps things focused on smaller objects: gift tags, leather patches, wood coasters, cork pieces, cardstock, and phone cases. The standard 500 mW version handles wood, leather, fabric, and kraft paper well, while the 1.6 W Pro module, available as an upgrade, opens things up to bamboo, painted metal, and dark acrylic without needing a special coating.

The T1 uses a blue diode laser rather than the red diode type found in many entry-level machines. The distinction matters because blue diode lasers absorb more deeply into organic materials, producing sharper contrast and cleaner lines. Pair that with a 0.05mm engraving accuracy, and the results are detailed enough to render fine botanical illustrations or small portrait engravings you’d normally expect from something considerably larger.

The fully enclosed body is one of the T1’s more thoughtful design choices. The observation window carries an OD4+ rating, so you can watch the engraving process without protective eyewear. A built-in tilt sensor cuts the laser automatically if the machine tips beyond 15 degrees, and an active cooling fan keeps temperatures stable during longer sessions, which matters outside of a ventilated workshop.

On the software side, the T1 works with LightBurn and LaserGRBL, which are already the go-to platforms for most experienced makers. It also connects wirelessly to the MKSLaser mobile app for those who prefer controlling things from their phone on Android. File format support covers PNG, SVG, DXF, PDF, and G-code, among others, and getting started through the app takes just three steps.

There’s also an optional height extension stand for working on taller objects like wooden boxes and small frames, which rounds out a product that’s been thought through beyond the basics. The T1 isn’t built for cutting thick timber or marking deep into metal, and it doesn’t pretend to be. For makers who’ve wanted laser engraving to fit into an everyday creative routine, that honesty is refreshing.

What’s perhaps most telling about the T1 is where it ends up living. Not tucked away in a storage bin between projects, but sitting on a desk next to a sketchbook, ready whenever an idea shows up. That kind of casual accessibility is harder to engineer than it sounds, and it tends to be the difference between a creative tool that actually gets used and one that doesn’t.

Click Here to Buy Now: $99 $149 ($50 off). Hurry, only a few left! Raised over $378,000.

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The 3D Printed Pencil Holder That Shames Everything Else on Your Desk

Most of us have a pencil holder we never actually chose. It’s the ceramic mug you retired from coffee duty, or the branded giveaway from a conference two years ago, or the squat plastic cup that came bundled with a stapler. It works. It holds pens. But you have never once looked at it and thought, “I genuinely love that thing.”

Nechiswa’s spiral vase pencil holder is the kind of object that changes that. It’s a free, downloadable 3D print model shared on Printables, and it’s been quietly making its way through design communities after being featured on Abduzeedo this week. It doesn’t look like a typical 3D print. It doesn’t look like a typical anything. It looks like someone took a mathematical idea, translated it into filament, and set it on a desk.

Designer: Nechiswa

The design is built around one print technique: spiral vase mode. For those unfamiliar with 3D printing, vase mode is a setting where the nozzle travels in one continuous, uninterrupted path from the base all the way to the top of the object. No seams, no layer starts, no breaks in the extrusion. The printer just keeps going, spiraling upward in a steady, unceasing motion. At 0.6mm line width and 0.2mm layer height, the result is a thin, faceted wall that carries a quality the original feature description calls “drawing-like in detail but rigid enough to hold pens upright.” That is a precise description. It looks delicate but it isn’t.

The tri-color filament element is where it gets especially compelling. Rather than outputting a pencil holder in a single solid color, Nechiswa uses multi-color filament that transitions as the print climbs. The spiral form and the color shift work together in a way that feels deliberate at every level. Color and geometry are cooperating, and neither one is showing off at the expense of the other. The result is an object that reads completely differently depending on where you’re standing and how the light hits it. It has the visual energy of something much more expensive and much harder to make.

What strikes me about this design is that it refuses to perform utility. A lot of desk accessories are burdened with looking useful. They come with dividers, rubberized bases, stackable tiers, and ergonomic profiles. They announce themselves as products solving a problem. Nechiswa’s pencil holder announces itself as an object. The kind you position near a window so the light catches the spiral walls. The kind you instinctively move to the front of your desk, even though, functionally, placement doesn’t matter at all.

The maker community has quietly validated it. The model has been added to over 130 collections on Printables, which is a reliable indicator that something is resonating beyond a casual like or a save. The file is free, the recommended settings are straightforward, and the designer has documented everything needed to print it successfully. Vase mode at 0.6mm line width. That’s really it. No complicated slicer configurations, no support structures to wrestle with. Just a solid printer, the right filament, and some patience.

This is also a good moment to acknowledge what 3D printing continues to do for independent design. There’s a persistent idea that consumer-level 3D printing exists mainly for functional fixes: replacement clips, custom mounts, cable organizers. And it does all of that. But Nechiswa’s pencil holder is the kind of project that gently dismantles that assumption without making any big declarations. It just exists as a beautiful object, designed by someone with a clear sense of form, available for free to anyone with a printer.

If you have a 3D printer, this is worth a spool of good filament and an afternoon. If you don’t, it’s still worth a look, because it illustrates something easy to forget: that good design doesn’t require a big budget, a studio, or a production run. Sometimes it’s just a thoughtful spiral, climbing upward, one continuous line. Your current pencil holder is probably fine. But it isn’t this.

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Studio Darius Ou Just Printed a Book That Reads Its Own Code

Books have always held secrets. Marginalia scrawled by long-dead readers, watermarks pressed into pulp centuries ago, the particular weight of a first edition in your hands. But Manual, a new project by Studio Darius Ou and Benson Chong, holds a different kind of secret entirely: the literal code of its own making, raised right there on its pages. Let me explain why that matters, because it sounds technical until it doesn’t.

Manual is a fully 3D-printed book, and that phrase alone gets thrown around often enough that it risks losing its punch. But what Darius Ou and Benson Chong have done goes several layers deeper than “printed object shaped like a book.” The raised text embossed across its pages is G-code, the machine language that directed the printer during fabrication. Every coordinate, every movement instruction, every signal the printer received to bring this object into existence lives inside the book itself. The book you’re reading, or rather running your fingers across, is partly a transcript of its own birth.

Designer: Studio Darius Ou with Benson Chong

The printing method is worth understanding too, because it’s not standard. Ou and Chong use an XY-for-Z technique, where the printhead moves horizontally and vertically rather than building straight upward layer by layer. This allows Manual to emerge from the machine already bound, pages and all, in one continuous sequence. No assembly afterwards. No binding stage. No applied graphics. The whole object, text and structure together, comes off the print bed as a finished thing.

For anyone who has spent time thinking about what makes a book a book, that should feel genuinely strange. We’ve separated the process of making from the process of reading for so long that we barely question it. A manuscript gets written, typeset, printed, bound, shipped, and only then read. Each stage is invisible to the next. Manual collapses all of that. The making and the reading occupy the same surface.

I keep thinking about the name. Manual is doing a lot of work in one word. It calls up instruction manuals, the kind of document you consult to understand how something operates. It also calls up “manual” as in by hand, by touch, physical. The raised G-code text can be read through touch as much as sight, which means the book is almost braille-adjacent in how it asks to be experienced. You don’t just look at it. You feel the instructions the printer followed. That’s a design decision I find quietly brilliant, the kind that seems obvious in retrospect but required a very specific way of thinking to arrive at.

The project also nods to a longer lineage of self-replicating and self-referential machines, including the RepRap project, the open-source 3D printer initiative from 2005 that was specifically designed to print its own components. Manual isn’t trying to replicate itself, but it shares that same philosophical preoccupation: what does it mean for a machine-made object to carry knowledge of its own machine within it?

For the design and tech communities, the answer is clearly exciting. But I think Manual has something to offer anyone who has ever picked up an object and wondered how it got to be that way. Most of the time, that story is hidden from us. It lives in factories, in files, in supply chains we’ll never see. Manual refuses that invisibility. It puts the receipt right in the product.

Whether this opens a new chapter for publishing, or remains a provocative one-off, is an open question. I lean toward thinking it plants a seed. As digital fabrication becomes more accessible and designers get more comfortable interrogating their own tools, the idea of objects that document their own making seems less like a conceptual stunt and more like a natural evolution. A book that knows how it was built, and tells you so, is a very different kind of object than one that hides it. Manual makes that difference feel worth caring about.

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This €265 Aluminum Table Was Designed Backward to Waste Just 4%

Furniture manufacturing has a quiet waste problem that rarely makes it into the marketing copy. Most pieces require significantly more raw material than what ends up in the finished product, with offcuts, excess, and scraps treated as an acceptable cost of doing business. Some studios have started designing around this inefficiency, treating material constraints not as a limitation but as a creative starting point.

Germany-based Momentum Studio took exactly that approach with its 06 Side Table. Rather than designing a form and then figuring out how to cut it from aluminum, the studio worked the problem in reverse, focusing on how to extract a meaningful shape from a flat sheet with as little waste as possible. The result is a table that looks like it came from a sketch, not a spreadsheet.

Designer: Momentum Studio

The laser-cut parts were nested with enough precision to use 96% of the raw aluminum area, leaving just 4% as offcuts. That figure wasn’t incidental; it was a major focus during development. By designing the two flat panels to fit together as efficiently as possible, the studio kept material costs low enough to offer the piece at €265 while keeping the entire production strictly made in Germany.

What emerged from that constraint is a silhouette that could easily pass for something from the Bauhaus era. The outer body is formed from two rectangular panels with softly rounded corners, each carrying a large circular cutout that creates an opening through the structure. A circular shelf sits midway inside, and a round tabletop closes the form at the top. The geometry is simple but hard to reduce further.

The material is Aluminium AlMg3, hand-brushed and waxed for what Momentum Studio calls a raw finish. That deliberate restraint means the aluminum will develop a natural patina over time, something the studio frames not as a defect but as part of the piece’s evolving character. The screws are stainless steel, and the assembled table weighs 6.75kg at 47cm x 47cm x 47.5cm.

The table ships flat-packed and goes together without any tools in about five minutes. That’s a practical bonus for a piece that doesn’t look like it should be easy to put together. The lower circular shelf is sized well enough for a book, a small object, or whatever habitually ends up beside a reading chair or bed. The tabletop above handles whatever you’d normally want within arm’s reach.

The design commitment extends to its broader material philosophy, which the studio describes as selecting materials for their permanence rather than their convenience, aiming to create objects designed to age with dignity and outlast generations. It’s the kind of table that stays in a room for a long time, which seems to be exactly the point. For a piece built from raw, waxed aluminum, that ambition doesn’t seem far-fetched.

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A 4D-Printed Cast You Can Actually Shower In

Most medical devices evolve quietly over decades. Surgical tools get sharper, imaging machines get faster, drug delivery systems get smarter. But the orthopedic cast has remained stubbornly unchanged for most of its existence. Plaster, fiberglass, a messy application process, and six to eight weeks of itching, sweating, and avoiding puddles. For something that millions of people wear every year, it has always felt like a design problem nobody wanted to solve.

Castomize, a startup out of Singapore, decided to solve it. Their cast, TessaCast, uses what the company calls 4D printing. The terminology is worth pausing on, because it’s easy to assume it’s just marketing language. It isn’t. The fourth dimension here is time. The cast is 3D printed in advance from smart thermoplastic materials, but the real transformation happens at the clinic, when heat is applied. Once warmed, the rigid lattice shell becomes pliable. A clinician wraps it around the patient’s wrist, forearm, elbow, or ankle, clips it into position, and lets it cool. As it hardens, it conforms to the exact shape of that particular limb.

Designer: Castomize

No 3D scan. No casting tape. No plaster dust. The removal process is just as elegant. A simple pin releases the buckles, and the cast slides off. No cast saw, which anyone who has had one used near their skin can tell you is not a small thing. The anxiety of that vibrating blade hovering millimeters from your arm is its own minor trauma, even when you know it won’t cut skin.

Castomize’s design brief reads almost deceptively simple: a cast should hold the body securely while allowing skin to breathe, water to pass through, and clinicians to make adjustments without destroying the device. That sounds obvious when you read it out loud. And yet, until now, no cast on the market had actually delivered on all three at once.

The open lattice structure of TessaCast allows air to circulate continuously against the skin, addressing the itching and sweating that make the traditional cast experience so miserable for patients. It is also fully waterproof. Not water-resistant, waterproof. The team at Castomize notes that it can even be worn while swimming, though they sensibly leave specific medical guidance to clinicians. For anyone who has wrapped a limb in a plastic bag before a shower for weeks on end, this is not a minor feature.

One detail I keep returning to is how this design manages to skip the expensive, time-consuming step of individual 3D scanning. Competitors in the printed cast space often require a custom scan per patient, which raises both cost and complexity. Castomize uses pre-made standard sizes for adults and children that become personalized through the heating and molding process. It’s a smarter workflow, one that clinics can adopt without rebuilding their entire process from scratch.

The startup originated as a student project at the Singapore University of Technology and Design in 2017, which makes its trajectory fairly remarkable. Eleora Teo, Abel Teo, and Johannes Sunarko launched it as a proper company in 2022, and TessaCast reached the market in 2025. It currently holds regulatory approval in Singapore, Australia, South Korea, and Taiwan, with FDA and CE mark applications in progress.

The cost picture is nuanced. TessaCast costs about 30 to 50 percent more to manufacture than a traditional fiberglass cast. But one hospital trial in Singapore recorded average savings of 25 percent overall, because the cast can be reheated and adjusted as the patient heals rather than replaced. Fewer return visits, less material waste, and fewer complications from casts applied too tightly or too loosely all contribute.

The traditional casting process involves ten separate steps and multiple materials, and errors during application can lead to pressure injuries. That’s a significant design failure dressed up as standard practice for a very long time. Castomize has looked at all of it and built something better. The orthopedic cast has been waiting for this moment for a very long time.

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Your Bench Vise Can’t Hold Round Parts, This One Grips Anything

Most workshop tools haven’t changed much in decades, and bench vises are a good example of that. They’re big and heavy, and they work well enough when you’re clamping flat stock between parallel jaws. But the moment you try to hold something round, irregular, or fragile, a standard vise quickly becomes more of a problem than a solution, and you’re left wishing for an extra hand.

The maker community has grown considerably over the past decade, pulling in everyone from miniature painters and watch tinkerers to 3D printing hobbyists and electronics enthusiasts. These people aren’t using industrial-grade machine tools; they’re working at a desk, dealing with small parts in odd shapes that standard vises simply weren’t designed for. MetMo’s Fractal Vise feels like it was built specifically with that reality in mind.

Designers: Sean Sykes & James Whitfield

Click Here to Buy Now: $297.

The idea behind the Fractal Vise isn’t entirely new. It traces its origins to a patent filed in 1913, though the original concept was built for heavy industrial machinery rather than desktop use. What MetMo has done is take that same engineering principle and scale it down into something compact enough to sit on a workbench or desk without taking over your entire workspace.

The magic is really in the jaws. Instead of two flat clamping surfaces moving in a straight line, the Fractal Vise uses jaws made up of independently articulating segments, six in total, that shift and pivot as they close around an object. That means it can grip round tubes, tapered forms, and irregular parts just as easily as flat ones.

What makes this even more compelling is how seriously MetMo has approached the construction. The body is machined from aerospace-grade anodized aluminum, the jaws from hardened martensitic stainless steel, and the whole assembly runs on precision-ground linear rails for a backlash-free feel. There’s also a fine-threaded adjuster and a hex drive point for when you need more torque than your fingers can deliver.

Person soldering a small circuit board secured in a vise on a wooden workbench, soldering iron touching a component.

The Fractal Vise comes in two sizes, 32mm and 82mm clamping zones, and two material configurations. The Black version uses a hard-anodized aluminum body for a lighter, more portable build that’s ideal for detail-oriented work like model painting, watch repairs, or delicate 3D printing tasks. The aluminum construction keeps it light enough to reposition freely around your desk without feeling like you’re dragging a miniature anchor from one spot to another.

Close-up of a metal hole-punch tool on a wooden workbench, beside a blue-grid cutting mat with a wooden ruler laid diagonally across it.

The Stainless Steel Fractal Vise takes a different approach. Made entirely from heavy-duty steel, it offers considerably more mass and stability for tasks that need a firmer base, whether that’s light metalwork, filing, or anything where cutting forces might otherwise shift a lighter tool out of position. It’s the version you’d reach for when the work itself gets a bit rougher.

Beyond straight clamping, the Fractal Vise has a few other tricks. Its jaws are reversible, letting you clamp the inside diameter of hollow objects like glassware or pottery for engraving and painting work. Each face of the body is also precision ground, so you can stand the vise on its end and access a held part from a different angle without disturbing what you’ve already set up.

There’s also a parallel design that lets you drop the Fractal Vise straight into any standard bench vise or machine tool, effectively adding fractal jaw capability to equipment you already own. It’s fully bolted together and serviceable, with removable and reconfigurable parts, all of which says a lot about how MetMo thinks about the long-term life of what it builds.

At its core, the Fractal Vise is what happens when someone decides to stop accepting that a category of tool hasn’t kept up. Not every maker needs one, but anyone who’s spent time trying to keep a round part from rolling away while working on it will understand immediately why this design exists, and why it took this long for something like it to land at desk scale.

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The post Your Bench Vise Can’t Hold Round Parts, This One Grips Anything first appeared on Yanko Design.