How I stopped a successful business to design a wool lounge chair that didn’t exist yet

At the HKU University of the Arts Utrecht, I already knew one thing for sure: I didn’t want to work for someone else. I wanted to build something of my own.

So I started a vintage design business while I was still studying.
By the time I graduated, the business was already doing well. Better than expected. There was momentum.

From the outside, it made sense. From the inside, it started to shift. In the final years of that business, I built my house together with RHAW Architecture. That process changed the way I think about design. Material first. Then form.

At the same time, my business continued.
I was selling objects with history. Objects I respected. But they were not mine.

The gap between what I was doing and what I wanted to make became too big. So I stopped.
I sold the business, bought a camper, and left. Not knowing I would eventually design a wool lounge chair.

A year of searching without finding direction

I thought freedom would naturally lead to clarity.

It didn’t.

I travelled through Europe with one goal: to design a new type of lounge chair and a modular sofa. Something that could stand next to the pieces I had been selling for years. Not a copy. Not a reference. Something with its own position.

I worked. Sketched. Built models. Nothing was strong enough.
Every idea felt like a variation on something that already existed. After a year, I wasn’t closer. I was further away.

And something else changed. I lost confidence.
Not all at once, but gradually.
I need to build. I need to work towards something. Without that, everything slows down. Even how you feel.

The problem that changed everything

The idea didn’t start with form. It started with a problem. Foam.

Most vintage furniture I worked with had the same issue. Foam that breaks down over time. It crumbles. It loses structure. It doesn’t age well. It disintegrates.

At the same time, I kept hearing about another problem: the surplus of Dutch wool. A natural, high-quality material with almost no use.
Too coarse for clothing. Too complex for industrial processing.

Two problems. One material.

That’s where the direction became clear.
The chair had to be made of wool.
Not as upholstery. Not as a layer.

As the structure itself.

Designing a frameless wool lounge chair in five months

I didn’t want to spend another year thinking.
So I set a strict deadline: five months. Ready for Milan Design Week.

I went directly to a farmer and bought raw, unwashed wool. I wanted to understand how the material behaves before processing.

I cleaned it myself. That was the fastest way to learn.
I already knew wool could work. Wool mattresses have existed for decades. The principle is proven.

But a chair is different. So I started building. Not endless variations. Speed and decisions.

Around thirty form studies. Folding, compressing, testing, adjusting.
Within two weeks, I selected one direction.

That became a full-scale prototype.

Everything happening at once

From that point on, everything moved at the same time.

I contacted suppliers for processed wool. Looked for a way into Milan Design Week. Started building the website. Created a render to communicate the concept. That render got accepted.

The confirmation came first. The pressure came after. Because now it had to be real.

Milan design week

There is a moment where preparation stops and execution begins. This was that moment.

The chairs had to be finished. There was no alternative. And Milan doesn’t wait.

Hotels were fully booked. So I drove there with the camper.
Not as a choice. As the only option.

What this became

That process resulted in the IDA collection.

A frameless wool lounge chair and modular sofa, designed without foam or internal structure. The form is created by folding a cover filled with wool, allowing the material itself to define comfort and support.

It is a direct response to what I saw for years in vintage furniture: materials that fail over time.
Wool behaves differently. It doesn’t crumble like foam. It can be maintained, refilled, and used for decades.

What started as a problem became a different way of thinking about furniture.
Not as something built around a hidden structure, but as something where the material is the structure.