Many years ago, my grandmother loved sitting in her wicker chair by the window, basking in the sunlight. One day, I noticed her hands trembling as she struggled to stand up, gripping the windowsill several times before finally straightening her back. In that moment, I realized—the chair that had accompanied her for two decades had never truly “supported” her.
I visited every furniture store, testing dozens of “senior-friendly chairs,” only to find most were either as clunky as medical equipment or too flimsy to hold a weary body. Some salespeople even remarked, “At their age, being able to sit is enough. Why bother with details?” I’ll never forget the dimmed light in my grandmother’s eyes when she heard those words.
That frustration ignited my years-long “quest for the perfect chair.” From Scandinavian minimalism to Japanese functional design, I carried measuring tapes and pressure sensors, personally testing, comparing, and documenting every detail. I even invited elderly neighbors to join the trials. Old Mr. Wang joked, “Girl, you’re pickier than someone choosing a spouse!” I’d smile and reply, “Because every chair should cradle a life with steadfast care.”
During my five years volunteering with isolated seniors, I witnessed countless heartaches: Grandma Li cushioning her hard plastic stool with worn sweaters, Grandpa Chen nearly trapped in a sofa too soft to push himself up… These moments taught me that a good chair isn’t just furniture—it’s a pillar of dignity.
When I vowed to dedicate my life to this mission, I could still feel the rough texture of my grandmother’s wicker chair beneath my fingertips. The tremors and struggles ignored by profit-driven businesses became meticulous data in my notebooks—a 13-degree backrest tilt for optimal lumbar support, 2cm-wider armrests to ease aching joints. Each measurement carries the weight of countless lives I’ve steadied.
Today, I still cling to that original “foolish” principle: every design undergoes 200 hours of real-world testing by seniors. From armrest curvature to cushion resilience, every detail honors the sanctity of life. What fills me with pride? For every ten chairs sold, the profit from one transforms into winter blankets and rehabilitation equipment, quietly appearing in local nursing homes.
Though my grandmother’s wicker chair has long retired, sunlight still spills through that window. I believe when compassion meets expertise, every act of rising from a chair should feel as secure as an embrace.
— We don’t sell chairs. We deliver unwavering comfort.