I simply don’t trust any place that has an uncomfortable chair.
I will go into a cafe, a classroom, a waiting room and before I’ve considered the atmosphere or the scent or the actual people sitting there, I have most likely already assessed and judged their chair.
Is it trying too hard?
Is it one of those horrible screechy chairs?
Is it one of those lovely wooden aesthetic chairs that’s more of a showpiece, or actually a chair, made for a human being to sit in?
These are the real defining characteristics of a place.
Chairs have intent: a good chair says, “stay a while.” A bad chair says, “finish your drink and leave.” There’s no inbetween.
But chairs don’t work alone. Cushions are an accomplice too.
Chairs are fine without cushions; a chair without a cushion has no lies and can be a bit sharp, but at least it is honest about itself. A chair with a cushion, however. That’s when things get complicated; now it is also making promises and setting expectations.
Some cushions are reliable. Quietly supportive. You don’t think about them, but you would notice its absence. Others are deceptive. They look soft, inviting, like someone cared enough to fluff them, but then you sit down and realize they’ve been lying to you the whole time. Flat. Unsupportive. And cold.
And then there are the chairs with the overachieving cushions. Those chairs feel like one should not get up at all: like the chair just expects a slow and complete dissolution of self. Like productivity was never an option.
I once sat in a chair-cushion combination so perfect I forgot what I was supposed to be doing. I think I just fell asleep. Just existing. Fully supported.
But I have also experienced betrayal. When the cushion slides. It looks secure but slowly shifts until you’re fighting for balance. Or worse, the ones that deflate over time, like they lose interest in you halfway through.
What I mean, I think, is that I don’t remember most places.
But I remember their chairs. Their cushions. Their intentions.
In my dorm, I have the ultimate benchmark: a large Pikachu Squishmallow.
If a place can’t compete with the structural integrity of a giant yellow Pokemon, it’s just not for me.
Lise Kubota
Layout Intern
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