 by the World Economic Forum, a full garbage truck’s worth of plastic flows into our oceans almost every minute. While efforts to remove the so-called “ocean plastic” from the water or collect it from coastlines are urgent and important, they don’t solve the underlying problem of what to do with the material once it’s procured.

To that end, several leading architects and designers have introduced furniture that incorporates ocean plastic. (This is to say nothing of the nonprofit 

, which was founded in 2012 and has since worked on similar packaging and product initiatives with companies such as Adidas, Corona, and American Express, or Milan galerist Rossana Orlandi’s 

 project, started in 2019.) While many of these instances may amount to greenwashing, a closer look at some of them suggests that certain designers and companies are reconsidering the role of the material entirely—and view plastic as a durable resource that can be put to use by rethinking its supply chains and transforming it into well-crafted objects that are made to last.

This month, Herman Miller announced that its ergonomic 

, the popular office seats designed by Bill Stumpf and Don Chadwick in 1994, from here on will contain up to two-and-a-half pounds of ocean-bound plastic—plastic that’s discarded near a beach, often in the form of plastic bottles, jugs, caps, and fishing gear. To mark the occasion, it introduced a new color, Onyx Ultra Matte, the latest addition to a growing number of office accessories and internal shipping materials the company has re-engineered using the substance. Herman Miller sources the plastic from India and Indonesia, and as a member of 

—a global coalition of brands developing supply systems and uses for ocean-bound plastic—the company is creating demand and establishing a process for gathering the material, as well as employing people from local communities to participate in its collection.

The Oslo- and New York–based architecture firm Snøhetta used a similar strategy when designing its 

. The project emerged from Plast, a lab Snøhetta ran in Norway from 2017 to 2019 to experiment with recycled plastic and reposition it as an asset, and a partnership with the Norwegian furniture manufacturer Nordic Comfort Products (NCP). Stian Alessandro Ekkernes Rossi, an architect on the project, realized that plastic components from the local salmon industry could be melted down and molded to form the chair. The resulting seat is made from worn-out fishing nets, ropes, and pipes—all sourced within a 12-mile radius of NCP’s factory.

 also incorporates used fishing nets that are gathered via a collection and recycling program. Other design companies, including 

 (whose CEO, Gregg Buchbinder, spoke with us last fall about the Emeco “carbon calculator” on 

) continue to refine their own systems for upcycling consumer waste into enduring objects.

Of course, no single industry or company is large enough to solve the problem of the world’s growing piles of plastic. But these designs reframe the material in ways that are relevant for practitioners in all industries. “Plastic is good if it’s used smartly, and bad if it’s used poorly,” Rossi, the Snøhetta architect, 

. “It’s interesting how something that’s perceived as so low-end and cheap is really functional and long-lasting, and has amazing advantages.”

How Design Can Reframe Ocean Plastic as a Resource, Not Waste

Japan is home to only a handful of soy sauce sommeliers—certified inspectors who regularly visit breweries and report on their products—and Keiko Kuroshima is the first and only woman, so far, to earn the title. She was born and raised in Shodoshima, an island in Japan’s Seto Inland Sea that has been a major soy sauce production hub for centuries, thanks in part to its flourishing salt and shipping industries and close proximity to trading ports, where manufacturers could easily obtain soybeans and wheat to make the condiment, and export it to surrounding areas. (During the Meiji era, in the second half of the 19th century, Kuroshima says the area was home to as many as 400 breweries; around 20 remain today.)

A desire to learn more about her roots drew Kuroshima back to her hometown after moving away for college. By interviewing local residents and researching the region’s heritage, she discovered a rich soy sauce tradition and, in 2009, decided to dedicate her career to raising awareness about the diverse savors, brewing methods, and artisans behind the kitchen staple. Here, Kuroshima explains why Shodoshima’s full-bodied soy sauce—typically made with a multi-year fermentation process that takes place inside wood barrels as opposed to stainless-steel vats, which produce a thin, salty liquid in a fraction of the time—has a distinct tang, and how to select a variety that’s right for you.

“When I left Shodoshima to go to university, I thought I’d never come back. I found life in the countryside boring and stifling. But that was because I was unaware of the island’s beautiful intricacies: its culture, nature, and food.

I was surprised to learn about the nuances of the industry when I visited soy sauce breweries for the first time. Soy sauce from Shodoshima tastes different from other versions because it’s produced in wood barrels, which [have millions of microbes in the wood grain that deepen and enhance the umami flavor] as it ferments. Each brewery has its own individual savor. In addition, most of the soy sauce that’s made this way uses Japanese soybeans and wheat, a minimum amount of ingredients, and no chemical seasonings, producing a [complex, nuanced flavor]. This kind of soy sauce accounts for about one percent of the total production in Japan, of which about a third is from Shodoshima.

My job is akin to searching for local treasures. People won’t buy soy sauces they don’t know about. When choosing at the store, most select their soy sauce based on price, not taste or any other characteristic. So part of my work involves leading workshops, where I talk about the best soy sauces and how to use them. I ask participants to examine each type’s color, take in the aroma, and relish the flavor, noticing the differences in fresh soy sauce and oxidized soy sauce, in which prolonged exposure to oxygen [diminishes its taste and character].

I’m convinced that there’s no such thing as the ‘best brewer’ or the ‘worst brewer,’ as each soy sauce is its own kind. It’s not uncommon for the thoughts and values of the brewer to show up in the flavor, so as a customer, it’s easy to create a connection with breweries whose philosophies align with yours.”

Meet Keiko Kuroshima, Japan’s First Female Soy Sauce Sommelier

Olfactive expert Dawn Goldworm believes that just as children begin to learn colors, they should also be educated on scents—and make meaningful, emotional connections between the two. Goldworm has synesthesia, a condition in which normally separate senses mingle together involuntarily; sounds may conjure vivid colors, or touch may trigger a distinct taste. Spending her career putting her rare abilities to use, developing fragrances for such international brands and celebrities as Valentino, Harrods, and Lady Gaga, she has now brought her interest in sensory education to life in the form of 

a scented board book, out this summer, that teaches children how to talk about smell using color. Connecting all her research to date and providing tools for kids to better understand and articulate their emotions, the book features seven evocative fragrances that relate to the stripes of the rainbow.

Trained in perfumery school for eight years, Goldworm spent a decade working in-house at the beauty brands Avon and Coty in New York and Paris before setting up her own olfactive branding agency with her twin sister and business partner, Melissa. Called 

, the firm helps companies tell their stories through scent. Here, she speaks with us about her path in perfumery and her latest playful exercise in multisensory storytelling.

“While working at Coty in Paris, I’d undertaken several large research studies linked to creating global perfumes for brands. At this time in the industry—almost twenty years ago now—it was thought that you couldn’t develop a global perfume; you had to tailor fragrances for each country.

I investigated whether or not this was really true through two types of research. The first examined olfactive preferences based on culture, generation, and living environment. I found that olfactive preferences come from childhood, and that they are based on all of the products, foods, and environments that we are subjected to in the first ten years of our life. For instance, I found that breast milk has a natural chemical in it called vanillin, which is very close to vanilla, so it’s not surprising that most of the world likes vanilla. The second area of research explored whether there’s anything in our limbic system—the part of the brain involved in our behavioral and emotional responses—that will help us to better understand why people smell the way they do, and why they like what they like.]


I found that, aside from scent, color is the only other thing that is processed through the part of our brain that deals with memory and emotion. I started to think about how “what if we could see smell through color?” could be interesting. So I carried out a global study and found that, with about ninety-seven to ninety-eight percent accuracy, everyone smells the same colors. However, although everyone smells through colors, we can’t articulate the process. This is because the part of the brain that processes smell, emotion, and memory is not connected to the part that processes language; people can tell you 

 they like or don’t like a smell, and how it makes them feel, but not necessarily 

.

I thought, What if we could start educating children, just as they start to form their olfactive preferences, to be able to do this in a fun way? At this age, they are so open to understanding the world and communicating. That’s how the concept for 

 was born. The book connects smell with color, and with emotion. It’s teaching kids the language of perfumery, but it’s also teaching them the language of the heart. Every smell is connected to an emotion. That’s how you learn about smell and feeling—it’s all connected.”

A New Children’s Book Combines Colors and Smells to Profound Effect

For many diners, using “biodegradable” or “compostable” takeout containers is one way of doing their part in protecting the planet. But such serviceware, made from plants including bamboo, corn, and sugarcane pulp, often 

don’t break down in a backyard composting bin

 and require special conditions to degrade. The Canadian company 

 has a better solution: a circular system for food receptacles.

Catherine Marot founded Case last spring, after realizing that she and a colleague avoided dozens of throw-away parcels by packing lunches in their own boxes for a month. “It got me thinking: What if I was doing a real service, helping restaurants replace single-use containers as easily as they’d purchase them from a supplier?” says Marot, who spent the next year collecting feedback and developing the Case app. This week, the brand launched its first public-facing pilot, partnering with restaurants throughout Toronto to bring her idea to life. Now, when placing a delivery order at a participating business, customers can select Case’s reusable polypropylene containers from the menu. Once the food arrives, they scan a QR code on the bag to confirm the amount of containers; empty boxes are dropped off at designated return bins or returned to Case via its at-home pickup service, and are then washed, sanitized, and sent back to restaurants to be used again. The supply chain achieves a two-pronged goal: to eliminate waste from landfills, and to slow down the carbon-intensive production of takeout containers.

With plans to expand its service to other locations in the near future, Case is positioned to transform the way food is transported. “Takeout is more convenient than it’s ever been, and delivery platforms are going to continue to do what it takes to grow in market share,” Marot says, noting the scant evolution of the takeout container. “There has been zero [change] on the purchasing, distribution, and supply-chain side. This is where we see huge potential for the environment. Circular services have the ability to scale within a geography and positively impact an extremely traditional, linear industry.” May Case arrive in every city soon.

Introducing Case, the Canadian Brand Creating a Circular System for Takeout Containers

After catching a virus on an airplane nine years ago, Chrissi Kelly lost her sense of smell. To cope, she began smell training, a therapy that involves repeatedly sniffing potent odors as a means to stimulate the olfactory cortex, the part of our brains responsible for processing and perceiving scents. The little-known technique, first described in a research paper by a team of German experts in 2009, paired with the lack of resources available to help people with olfactory deprivation, intrigued Kelly. She dove into more scientific research about smell loss, and soon developed her own smell training kits and the companion Snif app, both available via 

, a British nonprofit she founded in 2018 that’s overseen by an advisory board of leading doctors and scholars.

AbScent also provides instructions for how to build a D.I.Y. smell-training kit using glass jars, watercolor paper, and four essential oils. The directions are simple enough: place an oil-covered disk of the paper at the bottom of a jar, hold it close to your nose, and gently sniff for 20 seconds while focusing on the scent. Afterward, think about the smell, take a few breaths, move onto the next fragrance, and repeat twice daily for a minimum of four months.

The kits form a central part of AbScent’s services, which focus on providing support, education, and practical advice for those afflicted by scent loss. When olfactory impairment emerged as a common symptom of Covid-19, AbScent’s community surged. (People can access its network by signing up for a free membership.) Today, AbScent regularly hosts webinars, publishes peer-reviewed studies about the relationship between the virus and loss of smell, and creates forums for people to discuss their symptoms and share resources. Its ongoing research initiative, the 

, aims to pinpoint clusters of scent-loss experiences that will inform future areas of inquiry. “AbScent aims to bring our fast-growing community together with clinicians and researchers in a two-way relationship that benefits both sides,” Kelly says. “Where our members have contributed to research studies, we consider it vital to share the results. This creates a virtuous circle where patients feel empowered, their voices are heard, and research objectives are achieved. It benefits all.”

This British Nonprofit Provides a Lifeline to People Who’ve Lost Their Sense of Smell

 attest to what the crafters among us have known for a long time: that the rhythmic, repetitive nature of knitting, crocheting, and needlework makes people feel happier and more relaxed. For London-based textile artist 

, working with her hands is more than a stress-relieving pastime—it’s instinctive. She grew up in a family where repairing damaged textiles was a practical part of everyday life; since 2007, darning has been her primary focus.

Pym is interested in everyday holes—on clothings’ heels, knees, elbows, or pockets—and the stories they tell about their owners or the garments themselves, which have often been compromised by water, fire, or hungry moths. Using items she collects from individuals and museum archives, she draws attention to areas where fabric has run thin by employing threads of bright, contrasting colors to sew up cavities, resulting in striking splotches that speak to loss, grief, and time. “The more dramatic the damage, the more compelling I find it,” she says.

Since the world went into lockdown, Pym has observed a sharp spike in interest around textile repair as people spend more time at home, refamiliarizing themselves with their possessions. Her 

, now hosted on Zoom, have grown in popularity, and she receives weekly requests for help with mending rediscovered garments. “People want to slow down, and [darning] is therapeutic for them,” she says. To start your own darning project, Pym has a few suggestions: “Don’t bother mending something you don’t really love,” she says. “And second, just begin—if it’s already damaged, you can’t go wrong.”

With Darning, Celia Pym Brings the Stories of Clothes to Life

As the world adapts to pandemic life, we’ve seen creativity heroically emerge, in nearly every sector, amid limitations. One big idea to sprout from restrictions, started in 2016, that’s perfectly suited for this moment: Japan’s annual 

 in Osaka, which brings nature closer to city-dwellers in the form of compact, foliage-filled creations. (The date for this year’s event has yet to be announced.)

This competition challenges members in various branches of the Japan Federation of Landscape Contractors to build a green space on the back of a “kei,” or 

, a small flat-bed truck that’s often used to ferry lawn and garden gear to local work sites. To create a sense of drama, participants construct their patches of plants at a designated site mere hours before a jury arrives to assess each environment’s planning, design, and execution. Over the years, gardeners have managed to squeeze an increasingly sophisticated array of features into their tiny plots, including bamboo pergolas, shoji screens, mossy rock formations, and cascading streams. The final works, lined up along streets for public viewing, are a poetic demonstration of how to flourish in the face of constraint.

In Japan, a Competition Transforms Truck Beds Into Garden Beds

Those visiting Japan’s beloved gardens during the winter might be struck by the sight of trees confined within mysterious cone-shaped structures. Existing somewhere between art and scaffolding, 

—the term for these intriguing rope webs—is a traditional Japanese gardening technique intended to protect trees’ long branches from bending and breaking under the weight of snow. Workers construct the dramatic enclosures in teams, tying a bamboo or wood pole to each tree’s trunk, then suspending straw ropes from the top and tying them to ends of individual branches.

Although present in Tokyo, the umbrella-like canopies are most commonly found in prefectures such as Toyama and Fukui in the Hokuriku region, where snow falls heavily and often. Kanazawa, the capital city of the Ishikawa Prefecture, on Japan’s western coast, offers one of the most impressive displays of the practice in its sprawling Kenrokuen Garden, where hundreds of master ropers bind hundreds of trees beginning every November. At once functional and fantastic, the constructions double as a seasonal showcase of one the country’s time-honored crafts, transforming its green spaces into sculpture parks until the supports are dismantled in the spring.

Yukitsuri, a Sculptural Japanese Gardening Tradition, Is a Wonder to Behold

Design can be a powerful tool in times of crisis, when creativity is a crucial element for survival. At the start of the Covid-19 outbreak last year, the team at the Milanese design studio Carosello Lab found themselves confined to their homes, pondering what they could do to help. In an effort to encourage people to express themselves and inspire others, they asked artists on Instagram to send their personal interpretations of the public health emergency—and in less than two weeks, received more than 2,000 submissions from around the world. The studio published a selection of them in a digital archive titled 

, and in the fall, took the project a step further by documenting 272 of the works in 

. Nearly all the resources to publish it, from the paper to securing the copyright for each image, were donated, and the entire proceeds will benefit the Italian Red Cross, the book’s exclusive retailer.

Divided into four chapters—“Let’s be careful,” “Let’s stay safe,” “Let’s keep thinking,” and “Let’s remain joyful”—the book features buoyant work by emerging and established contributors, including Dutch artist Sophia Twigt, whose pared-down figures carry out everyday activities while cramped inside tiny homes; Swedish illustrator Alva Skog, whose drawings of outsize palms play up the importance of hand-washing; and the Parisian graphic design duo M/M (Paris), who were among the 17 artists interviewed for its pages. While flipping through the book elicits a range of emotions, its contents express a sense of solidarity that provides much-needed optimism to weather the storm.

The New Book “Designers Against Coronavirus” Is a Powerhouse of Positivity 

Ali is a London-based writer, editor, and consultant who specializes in design and architecture. Previously the interiors editor at WGSN, where she helped to build and launch its lifestyle and interiors service, Ali has regularly contributed to titles such as 

Ali Morris

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