In the world of design, “firsts” matter. The first plastic chair. The first form-free sofa. The first piece of furniture that changed how we think about comfort, structure, or material.

The Panton Chair made waves by removing legs. The Sacco introduced shapeless seating. The Togo tossed out the frame. But what if there’s a new “first” to add to the list, a wool lounge chair that combines softness, resistance, and sustainability in one sculptural shape?

I didn’t start here. For over ten years, I ran a vintage design business, curating classics that stood the test of time. Those pieces taught me how furniture becomes timeless, not just through looks, but through material integrity, radical ideas, and emotional impact. That background shaped everything about my transition into design.

I didn’t want to recreate a vintage look. I wanted to create something that could become vintage.

My wool lounge chair began with a problem: 1.5 million kilos of Dutch wool are discarded each year.

Too coarse for fashion. Too labor-intensive to process. Too itchy for your average blanket. But I saw something else, a design challenge. What if I could shape the material itself into structure? What if comfort could grow from resistance?

So I created a frameless chair. No wood, no metal, no foam. Just Dutch wool, washed, carded, and folded into a soft yet supportive form. A cover of wool, leather or sheepskin. Every part is circular, repairable, and designed to last decades.

Is it a beanbag? No. That’s part of the confusion. And the point.

A beanbag is casual, slouchy, often filled with polystyrene or shredded foam. It’s the chair equivalent of a lazy Sunday: comfortable, but not exactly commanding.

A lounge chair, on the other hand, has presence. Structure. It invites you to sit, not sink. It holds its shape. It supports the body and the room around it. It can be placed in a hotel lobby, a reading corner, or a gallery, and still look composed.

My design may have wool softness, but it doesn’t collapse like a beanbag. It resists. It defines space. It responds to posture and retains its form, while remaining completely foam-free.

That’s what makes it, in my eyes, a real wool lounge chair.

I’m not the first to remove a frame. Or to design with softness. But the combination I’ve made wool as both filling and structure without internal support, timeless form from discarded material, feels like a new chapter.

Just like:

• the Panton Chair was the first all-plastic cantilever chair

• the Eames Lounge Chair redefined what comfort meant in midcentury modern design

• the Togo Sofa broke the rules of shape, posture, and proportion

• the Sacco bag blurred boundaries between play and design

This is not just a chair. It’s a statement about how we live. What we throw away. What we value.

And maybe it’s the first of its kind.

Years of working with vintage made one thing clear: the pieces that last are never just “pretty.” They challenge something. They carry stories. They’re built from materials that age with dignity.

I designed this chair to age. To live with you. To soften over time, like a good leather jacket or a wool sweater. And to resist the throwaway mindset that dominates the furniture industry.

The wool lounge chair is my answer to mass-produced, short-lived foam furniture. It’s not the easiest route. But then again, neither were the chairs we now call classics.