What would a Monocle furniture collection look like?
Fifteen years ago, when I joined Jardan, around 80% of our sofa sales were a single design: the Nook. It wasn't the most fashionable sofa. It wasn't the newest. It wasn't trying to reinvent anything. It was a simple, timeless piece that borrowed from the Danish classics that came before it.
Around that time, Tyler Brûlé, founder and editor-in-chief of Monocle, visited our Richmond showroom. Here's what always stuck with me. Tyler could have purchased almost any sofa in the world. His work had exposed him to some of the best hotels, retailers, designers and furniture brands on the planet. Yet he chose a Nook. Not one of my designs, but a design I'd come to know very well. For years I've found myself returning to the same question:
Why?
Why that sofa?
Why not something newer, more expensive or more expressive?
What was he seeing that made it resonate?
Looking back, I often wonder whether Tyler saw in the Nook the same values he had spent years distilling into Monocle. Was it the fact that it was locally made? The story behind the brand? The quality of the craftsmanship? The comfort? The restraint? Or perhaps it was something harder to define — that quiet confidence that comes from knowing exactly what you are and having no desire to be anything else.
Many of those qualities are the same qualities Monocle has celebrated for nearly two decades. I was once told that if you want to understand a brand, imagine it as a person. How do they dress? What do they read? Where do they spend their weekends? So who would Monocle be?
To me, Monocle is that well-travelled friend who disappears to Paris for a long weekend and comes home with a carefully chosen book, a bottle of wine and a hamper from a neighbourhood delicatessen. They're impeccably dressed, but never showy. A simple trench. Tailored trousers. A crisp white T-shirt. Buttery-soft leather brogues. Pieces chosen not because they're fashionable, but because they'll still feel relevant ten years from now.
Everything has a sense of purpose.
Everything has a story.
Everything feels considered.
That's what Monocle has always represented to me.
A Monocle furniture collection wouldn't consist of hundreds of SKUs produced in a single factory. It would be carefully curated. Perhaps just ten or twelve pieces. Pieces made by craftspeople who have spent decades mastering their trade. Pieces that prioritise longevity over novelty. Their design would be inspired by gathering, conversation and a connection to place. Materials would be timeless: Japanese cedar, Italian aniline leather and natural materials selected for their ability to age gracefully. Nothing excessive. Nothing disposable. Just a collection of objects designed to become better with time.
Fifteen years later, I'm still not entirely sure why Tyler chose the Nook. But I suspect it wasn't because it was fashionable. I suspect it was because it embodied a set of values. Simplicity. Longevity. Utility. Restraint. The more I think about it, the more I realise those values might be a better starting point for a furniture collection than any trend forecast or market analysis. Which leaves me with another question: What would a furniture collection built entirely around those values look like?
