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Vancouver’s First Supertall Was Inspired by the Ocean Floor

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Vancouver has always had good bones. The mountains, the water, the way the city sits between them like it was planned by someone with an eye for drama. But for all its natural beauty, its skyline has played it relatively safe. That’s about to change, and the agent of disruption is, of all things, a sea sponge.

Henriquez Partners Architects, a local Vancouver studio, has unveiled designs for 595 West Georgia Street, a 1,033-foot tower that will become the city’s first-ever supertall skyscraper. To earn that designation, a building has to exceed 984 feet, which puts 595 West Georgia just barely in that club and makes it a landmark before a single floor has been built. It’s the centerpiece of a larger trio called Georgia & Abbott, developed by Holborn Group, but this one is clearly the main event.

Designer: Henriquez Partners Architects

The design draws from the glass sea sponge reefs, specifically hexactinellids, found off the coast of British Columbia. These aren’t the bath sponges you’re picturing. They’re ancient, rare, deep-sea organisms with a crystalline skeletal structure that is simultaneously porous and structurally formidable. Henriquez Partners didn’t just borrow the idea aesthetically; they borrowed it structurally. The building is wrapped in a steel exoskeleton clad in white Glass Fibre Reinforced Polymer panelling, with highly translucent spans of glass filling the rest. That external framework carries the structural loads, which means fewer internal columns, more open floor plates, and a surface that looks woven and textured rather than sealed and flat.

That last distinction matters more than it sounds. Glass-box towers have dominated skylines for decades, and while some are genuinely beautiful, most are just reflective. They bounce light around and blend into each other. 595 West Georgia is going for something different: depth. The lattice of the exoskeleton creates shadows and layers depending on where you’re standing and what time of day it is. It moves, visually, in a way that most modern towers simply don’t, which makes looking at it feel more like watching a living surface than a fixed object.

Henriquez Partners described the design as telling “a story that is unique to British Columbia.” That kind of regional specificity is increasingly rare in architecture, where global firms often produce work that could exist in Dubai just as easily as Dallas. The fact that this building could only make sense in Vancouver, because the glass sponge is native to BC’s coastal waters, gives it a conceptual integrity that goes beyond branding. It’s a building that knows where it lives.

The program is equally considered. 595 West Georgia will function as a hotel tower, with conference facilities, a rooftop restaurant, and a publicly accessible observation deck at the top that will be free for Vancouverites to visit. That detail alone shifts the building’s relationship to the city. A supertall designed to be shared with the public rather than sealed off for guests feels like a genuine gesture, and it suggests that the architects and developer thought about this tower as part of the city’s fabric, not just its skyline profile.

The whole project sits at a compelling intersection of ideas. It’s biomimicry applied at an urban scale, which is a growing conversation in both design and engineering. It’s also a statement about what cities are willing to reach for, literally and figuratively. Vancouver has been measured about its height limits for years, and for good reason. The city’s low-rise character has long been part of its identity. Greenlighting a supertall signals that the city is ready to stretch those boundaries, and having one that can argue its design philosophy this clearly makes that shift feel earned.

Whether 595 West Georgia turns out to be as striking in person as the renderings suggest is something only construction can answer. But the foundational idea, that the most interesting path forward might look like something pulled from the ocean floor, is exactly the kind of thinking that makes architecture worth paying attention to right now. Not every city gets to say its most ambitious tower was modeled after an organism that’s been living quietly underwater for centuries. Vancouver gets to say that.

The post Vancouver’s First Supertall Was Inspired by the Ocean Floor first appeared on Yanko Design.

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4th Circuit Upholds West Virginia's Compulsory Vaccination Law That Excludes Religious Exemptions

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In Perry v. Marteney, (4th Cir., April 8, 2026), the U.S. 4th Circuit Court of Appeals, in a 2-1 decision, held that West Virginia's law that requires children attending school in the state to be vaccinated against a number of infectious diseases may be constitutionally applied to a student attending the state's online public school over the religious objections of the student's parents. West Virginia allows medical exemptions from the vaccination requirement but does not permit religious exemptions. The court rejected the parents' claim that the compulsory vaccination law is not "generally applicable", and thus must satisfy the strict scrutiny test, and also suggested that it does satisfy strict scrutiny. The majority said in part:

... [A] state’s interest in vaccinating its citizens and protecting its school children has long been recognized as of the utmost importance.... This is not just some ho-hum, every day “compelling interest.” Even under the strictest scrutiny, courts should not annul and eviscerate this fundamental state concern merely because a challenged law in some respect falls short of some perceived perfection. And much less is required of neutral and generally applicable laws....

West Virginia’s compulsory vaccination law does not provide a mechanism for granting individualized exemptions. State officials do not have any discretion “to decide which reasons” for refusing vaccination “are worthy of solicitude.”... The law recognizes only one kind of exemption—medical exemptions—and clearly articulates the circumstances in which state officials can grant them....

The Perrys first argue that West Virginia’s compulsory vaccination law is not generally applicable for another reason: it does not apply to other groups that pose a similar hazard to public health....  [T]he vaccine mandate does not apply to: (1) children educated outside of the school system (i.e., educated at home, in learning pods, or in microschools); (2) adults working in schools; or (3) children attending school who have been granted a medical exemption. 

It is certainly true that West Virginia’s vaccine mandate could sweep more broadly than it does. But a law does not lack general applicability merely because it makes classifications.... Classifications only pose a constitutional concern if they treat “comparable secular activity more favorably than religious exercise.” 

... [T]he Perrys do not allege that K.P.’s desire to attend the Virtual Academy is religiously motivated, so this is merely an instance of West Virginia treating some secular activity more favorably than other secular activity....

The burden imposed by West Virginia’s compulsory vaccination law is not remotely “of the same character” as those imposed in Yoder and Mahmoud. ... The law is a public health measure, not an instrument of ideological indoctrination. It does not expose children to values or beliefs that might be hostile to their parents’ religious beliefs. It does not require that school instruction extoll the virtues of vaccines. All the law requires is that, in the interest of protecting others, children get themselves vaccinated before attending school. The need for some to protect the health and well-being of all was not present in Yoder or Mahmoud.

Judge Neimeyer dissented, saying in part:

The injunction entered here [by the district court] hardly affects West Virginia’s compelling interest in preventing the spread of infectious disease, as the injunction treats virtual students the same as other West Virginia students not physically attending a school while, at the same time, preserving the Perrys’ free exercise rights....

To be sure, West Virginia absolutely has a compelling state interest to prevent the spread of infectious disease in order to protect the health and safety of the public, as the district court acknowledged and the majority emphasizes.  But the School Officials have failed to show that the law’s failure to make an exception for virtual students with a sincere religious objection to complying with the mandatory vaccination law is consistent with narrow tailoring when students similarly situated with regard to the risk addressed need not comply at all....

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satadru
22 hours ago
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There's a reason that WV & MS used to have the highest vaccination rates in the US...
New York, NY
fxer
11 hours ago
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Bend, Oregon
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This Day in Labor History: April 9, 1917

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On April 9, 1917, the Supreme Court upheld Oregon’s new 10 hour day law for both men and women that also provided for overtime pay. The Court went away from its usual position as hard-core defenders of contract doctrine, deciding the limited nature of the law meant that the state did not expand its police powers too much and workers could still be exploited if they wanted. This was an important precedent, although it did not mean the Court was moving toward a more liberal position on workers’ rights.

Oregon had led the way on workers’ rights for some time by the 1910s. The Supreme Court was generally hostile to these laws. This was very much the Lochner era. In 1905, the Court had ruled in Lochner v. New York that a law regulating the hours for bakeries was unconstitutional. But it made an exception to this state in 1908. In Muller v. Oregon, the Court ruled that a law specifically in favor of women’s hours was constitutional because women played a special role in the body politic as mothers. This was seen by a certain class of feminist as discriminatory, but labor feminists lauded the decision, understanding that this was not only protecting women from exploitation but opening the door for further advancement in laws limiting working hours.

In 1913, Oregon passed a new law that created a 10-hour day for both men and women. It applied broadly to mills, factories, and manufacturing facilities. But it also included a pioneering time and a half law for overtime, up to 3 hours a day. This was critical, as it turns out, because it kept open the option of workers laboring more, which was a good way to get around the general atmosphere of the era that regulating the workplace was a constitutional violation.

Franklin Bunting ran a flour mill in Lake County, presumably Lakeview since the rest of that county is mountains and scrubland. He hated every part of this new law. So he just refused to comply and sued the state when it fined him $50 for violating it. The state supreme court upheld the law in 1915. Bunting appealed to the Supreme Court. There were a lot of folks invested in Oregon being able to pass such a law. Among them was Felix Frankfurter, the future Supreme Court justice who would lead the state’s appeal. But Bunting had his major supporters too, including former senator Charles Fulton, a classic Gilded Age Republican who had served a term from the state from 1903-09.

This case was all about contract doctrine. This is the critical labor issue of the era for the courts. In short, going back to the 1830s and then especially after the Civil War, employment was seen as a contract between two willing individuals. So what right did the courts or the state have in adjudicating decisions made by two equal parties? Of course the idea of two equal parties when it came to employment was completely ridiculous and even more so after the Civil War. To say that the millionaire and the starving immigrant were equal parties in a contract of choice is not just to ignore the reality of power dynamics, but to laugh in the face of common sense. And yet, the more unequal the nation became, the more the courts and other hacks for the millionaire elites clung to this idea like it came down on high from God. This all got in the way of all sorts of ways to make work slightly less equal? Workplace safety law? Violation of a worker’s right to labor for higher wages in an unsafe working environment if they wanted. Minimum wage law? Violation of a workers’ right to choose to sell their labor for less money. Child labor laws? Violation of a parent’s right to sell their children’s labor. Etc.

Added to this was the perversion of the Fourteenth Amendment. The same courts who decided cases such as Plessy v. Ferguson or throwing out the Civil Rights Act of 1875 as unconstitutional–i.e., deciding that the 14th Amendment did not actually protect black Americans–decided that in fact that 14th Amendment did protect corporations. They basically wrote this contract ideology into the 14th Amendment. It’s true enough that Reconstruction Era Republicans did have contracts in mind with the 14th Amendment. These people loved contracts and believed the best way to solve the southern labor issue was for ex-slaves to sign contracts with planters that would regulate wages and conditions. And let’s not pretend that most of these guys were pro-labor either, they weren’t. But at the time of writing the 14th Amendment, their vision was very much not providing cover for corporations to ensure that they could exploit their workers and that any laws to protect workers would be ruled unconstitutional on these grounds. But then we should know by now that the courts are filled with hacks who just rewrite the language of the law to support their personal political preferences, with a few exceptions around ideas of principle, sometimes.

The specific argument Bunting and his lawyers made was that the law intervened in the labor market to compel employers to pay more for labor than market value and thus was a wage law rather than an hours law. Oregon countered that it was strictly an hours law and that the very mild penalties on the employer also demonstrated its limited police power. What both sides understood is that an actual law regulating wages would be tossed by the courts in this era.

To some surprise, the Court ruled 5-3 in favor of the state. Louis Brandeis sat out, which is interesting since he was the lawyer whose pioneering use of sociological evidence is what swayed the Court in Muller. Perhaps this is why he sat it out. In any case, Joseph McKenna wrote the majority opinion, with Holmes, Day, Pitney and Clarke joining. White, Van Devanter, and McReynolds each wrote separate dissents. McKenna argued that the state had engaged in appropriate police powers. The key here is that the law did nothing to set wages, outside of the overtime. McKenna noted this specifically. Because this law was just about hours and not wages, it did not discriminate against employers and the contract law could be upheld. Bunting’s lawyers also argued that the law did not even protect the workers from unsafe conditions, which McKenna rejected outright.

This was a positive step for labor reformers. Alas, the Court would continue to rule for employers on most cases for another twenty years and the throwing out of the Washington D.C. minimum wage law for women in Adkins v. Children’s Hospital in 1923 demonstrated that only a revolution on the Court would lead to a scenario in which the law could protect American workers. That happened under Franklin Delano Roosevelt, leading to the Fair Labor Standards Act in 1938 and it being upheld in U.S. v. Darby in 1941.

This is the 597th post in this series. Previous posts are archived here.

The post This Day in Labor History: April 9, 1917 appeared first on Lawyers, Guns & Money.

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fxer
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The AI Great Leap Forward

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In 1958, Mao ordered every village in China to produce steel. Farmers melted down their cooking pots in backyard furnaces and reported spectacular numbers. The steel was useless. The crops rotted. Thirty million people starved.

In 2026, every other company is having top down mandate on AI transformation.

Same energy.

The AI Great Leap Forward

Backyard Furnaces

The rallying cry of the Great Leap Forward was 超英趕美 — surpass England, catch up to America. Every province, every village, every household was expected to close the gap with industrialized Western nations by sheer force of will. Peasants who had never seen a factory were handed quotas for steel production. If enough people smelt enough iron, China becomes an industrial power overnight. Expertise was irrelevant. Conviction was sufficient.

The mandate today is identical, just swap the nouns. Every company, every function, every individual contributor is expected to close the AI gap. Ship AI features. Build agents. Automate workflows. That nobody on the team has ever trained a model, designed an evaluation system, or debugged a retrieval system is beside the point. Conviction is sufficient.

So everyone builds. PMs build AI dashboards. Marketing builds AI content generators. Sales ops builds AI lead scorers. Software engineers are building AI and data solutions that look pixel-perfect and function terribly. The UI is clean. The API is RESTful. The architecture diagram is beautiful. The outputs are wrong. Nobody checks because nobody on the team knows what correct outputs look like. They’ve never looked at the data. They’ve never computed a baseline.

Backyard Furnaces

Entire departments are stitching together n8n workflows and calling it AI — dozens of automated chains firing prompts into models, zero evaluation on any of them. These tools are merchants of complexity: they sell visual simplicity while generating spaghetti underneath. A drag-and-drop canvas makes it trivially easy to chain ten LLM calls together and impossibly hard to debug why the eighth one hallucinates on Tuesdays. The people building these workflows have never designed an evaluation pipeline, never measured model drift, never A/B tested a prompt. They don’t need to — the canvas looks clean, the arrows point forward, the green checkmarks fire. The complexity isn’t avoided. It’s hidden behind a GUI where nobody with ML expertise will ever look.

The backyard steel of 1958 looked like steel. It was not steel. Today’s backyard AI looks like AI. It is not AI. A TypeScript workflow with hardcoded if-else branches is not an agent. A prompt template behind a REST endpoint is not a model. Calling these things AI is like calling pig iron from a backyard furnace high-grade steel. It satisfies the reporting requirement. It fails every real-world test.

But the most dangerous furnace is the one that produces something functional. Teams are building demoware — pretty interfaces, working endpoints, impressive walkthroughs — with zero validation underneath. Some are in-housing SaaS products by vibe coding some frontend with coding agents: it runs, it has a dashboard, it cost a fraction of the vendor. Klarna announced in 2024 that it would replace Salesforce and other SaaS providers with internal AI-built solutions. What these replacements don’t have is data infrastructure, error handling, monitoring, on-call support, security patching, or anyone who will maintain them after the builder gets promoted and moves on.

These apps will win awards at the next all-hands. In two years they’ll be unmaintainable tech debt some poor soul inherits and rewrites from scratch. The furnace produced pig iron. Someone stamped “steel” on it. Now it’s load-bearing.

Meanwhile, the actual product that customers pay for rots in the field. But hey, 超英趕美. The AI adoption dashboard is green.

Reporting Grain Production to the Central Committee

During the Great Leap Forward, provinces competed to report the most spectacular grain yields. Hubei reported 10,000 jin per mu. Guangdong said 50,000. Some counties claimed over 100,000 — physically impossible numbers, rice plants supposedly so dense that children could stand on top of them. Officials staged photographs. Everyone knew the numbers were fake. Everyone reported them anyway, because the alternative was being labeled a saboteur. The central government, delighted by the bounty, increased grain requisitions based on the reported yields. Farmers starved eating the difference between the real number and the fantasy.

You’ve seen this meeting.

One team reports their AI copilot “reduced development time by 40%.” The next team, not to be outdone, reports 60%. A third claims their AI agent “automated 80% of analyst workflows.” Nobody asks how these were measured. Nobody checks the methodology. Nobody points out that the team claiming 80% automation still has the same headcount doing the same work. The numbers go into a slide deck. The slide deck goes to the board. The board is delighted. The board increases investment.

Reporting Grain Production to the Central Committee

Then someone — there’s always someone — builds a leaderboard tracking how many prompts you wrote this week, how much of your code is AI-generated, your ranking versus your team, versus your org, versus the entire company. One day your company announces: stop everything, it’s AI Week. Build something with AI. Show what you’ve got. You think you’re done after the hackathon? No no no. Now you have to promote it. Daily posts: look what I built, here’s how many agents I used, here’s how many skills I shipped. Pull in teammates. Pull in strangers. Ask for feedback. “Humbly.”

Your AI usage is now a KPI. You are being evaluated on how much grain you reported, not how much grain you grew. This is Goodhart’s Law at organizational scale: when a measure becomes a target, it ceases to be a good measure. The metric was supposed to track whether AI is making the company better. Instead, the entire company is now optimizing to make the metric look better. The beatings will continue until adoption improves.

Killing the Sparrows

The Great Leap Forward’s most tragicomic chapter was the 除四害运动 (Eliminate Four Pests Campaign). Mao declared sparrows an enemy of the state — they ate grain seeds, so killing them would increase harvests. The entire country mobilized. Citizens banged pots and pans to keep sparrows airborne until they dropped dead from exhaustion. Children climbed trees to smash nests. Villages competed for the highest kill count. It worked. They nearly eradicated sparrows.

Then the locusts came.

Sparrows ate locusts. Without sparrows, locust populations exploded. The swarms devoured far more grain than the sparrows ever did. The campaign to save the harvest destroyed it. Mao quietly replaced sparrows with bedbugs on the official pest list and never spoke of it again.

Every AI Great Leap Forward has its sparrow campaign.

Middle managers are the sparrows. They’re declared pests — too many layers, too slow, too expensive. Flatten the org! Move faster! Let AI handle coordination! So companies eliminate M1s, turn managers into tech leads running pods, and let the teams self-organize with AI tools.

Killing the Sparrows

Then the locusts come. Those middle managers held institutional knowledge — which customer had the weird integration, why the data model had that inexplicable column, the undocumented business rule that kept compliance from flagging every third transaction. That context lived in their heads. Now they’re gone, and the AI system they were replaced with needs exactly that context to function.

QA is a sparrow too. “AI writes the tests now.” So you cut QA. The AI writes tests that validate its own assumptions — a machine checking its own homework. Senior engineers who mentored juniors? Sparrows. Documentation writers? Sparrows. The ops team that knew how to restart the weird legacy service at 2 AM? Definitely sparrows.

Each elimination looks rational in isolation. The second-order effects arrive six months later, and by then nobody connects the locust swarm to the dead sparrows.

Let a Hundred Skills Bloom

In 1956, Mao launched the 百花运动 (Hundred Flowers Campaign): “Let a hundred flowers bloom, let a hundred schools of thought contend.” Speak freely. Share your honest criticisms. The Party wants to hear your real thoughts.

Intellectuals took the bait. They spoke openly.

Then came the 反右运动 (Anti-Rightist Campaign). Everyone who had spoken honestly was identified, labeled, and purged. The Hundred Flowers was a trap — an efficient mechanism for surfacing exactly who knew what, then eliminating them. The lesson every survivor internalized: never honestly reveal what you know, because it will be used against you.

Now Meta and a growing list of companies have launched their own Hundred Flowers. The mandate: every employee must build “agent skills” — distill your subject matter expertise into structured prompts and workflows that AI agents can execute. Or even worse, build “agents” using some drag and drop legacy tech that never worked and had already been given up by the leading edge labs back in 2024. Encode your judgment. Document your decision-making. Make yourself legible to the machine.

Let a Hundred Skills Bloom

The stated goal is distilling your subject matter expertise. Turn the expert’s craft into the organization’s asset. What leadership actually wants is to convert individual human capital into organizational capital that survives any single employee’s departure.

Employees see the game immediately. If I distill my ten years of domain expertise into a skill that any junior can invoke with a prompt, I have just automated my own replacement. The knowledge that makes me the critical node — the person they call at 2 AM, the one who knows why the model does that weird thing for Brazilian entities — is my moat. You’re asking me to drain it.

So they adapt to build anti-distillation agent skills, just as the intellectuals adapted after the Anti-Rightist trap.

We are already seeing agent skills built specifically for job security. The performative skill looks comprehensive and demos well but omits the 20% of edge-case knowledge that makes it work in production — you are now more indispensable, not less. The poison pill encodes expertise faithfully but with subtle dependencies on context only you hold — internal wikis you maintain, terminology you coined, data pipelines you own — so removing you causes outputs to drift quietly until someone says “we need to bring them back on this.” The complexity moat makes the skill so architecturally entangled with your other work that extracting your knowledge is harder than keeping you around. You are now a load-bearing wall disguised as a decoration.

The campaign designed to reduce organizational dependence on individual experts has now created experts who are strategically indispensable — not because of what they know, but because of how they’ve booby-trapped the system to need them. The flowers bloomed. They’re full of thorns.

Meanwhile, the “everyone builds with AI” mandate has turned into a hunger game of scope creep. Engineers use AI to generate designs and ship prototypes without waiting for the design team. PMs use AI to write code and spin up dashboards without filing engineering tickets. Designers use AI to build product specs and run user research without looping in product. Everyone is expanding into everyone else’s territory — not because they’re better at it, but because AI makes it possible and the mandate makes it rewarded. The org chart says collaboration; the incentive structure says land grab. What looks like productivity gains is actually a war of all against all, where every function is simultaneously trying to prove it can absorb the others before the others absorb it.

Engineering, PM, and Design scope creep

The Famine Comes Later

The Great Leap Forward’s famine didn’t arrive immediately. For a while, the numbers looked spectacular. Every province reported record harvests. Leadership was pleased. The requisitions increased.

The famine came when the real grain ran out but the reported grain kept flowing upward.

We’re still in the reporting phase. The dashboards are green. Adoption is up and to the right. Every team reports productivity gains that, if summed across the company, would imply engineers are shipping at 300% efficiency while somehow still missing the same deadlines.

Underneath the metrics, it’s a race to the bottom. One person builds a skill, so someone else builds a better one. One person demos a prototype, so someone else benchmarks it. Everyone competing to prove, more thoroughly than the next person, that their own role is replaceable. All accelerating. All sinking.

The sparrows are dead. The locusts haven’t arrived yet. The flowers bloomed full of poison pills. The furnaces produced pig iron stamped as steel that’s now load-bearing. The grain numbers look fantastic.

But it’s fine. We’re surpassing and catching up.

Oh, and Klarna? The company that loudly announced it would replace Salesforce with internal AI solutions? They quietly replaced Salesforce with another SaaS vendor instead. The backyard furnace couldn’t produce real steel. They bought it from a different mill.

The question nobody’s asking: what did any of this actually produce?

The answer, when it arrives, will be awkward.

References

@article{
    leehanchung,
    author = {Lee, Hanchung},
    title = {The AI Great Leap Forward},
    year = {2026},
    month = {04},
    day = {05},
    howpublished = {\url{https://leehanchung.github.io}},
    url = {https://leehanchung.github.io/blogs/2026/04/05/the-ai-great-leap-forward/}
}
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Bleak
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dreadhead
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Vancouver Island, Canada
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Tecmo Super Bowl returns in trading card form for upcoming Topps set

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Bo Jackson and present-day stars get the Tecmo treatment for what is likely to be a highly coveted set of cards.
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These Old Bike Frames Upcycled Into Armchairs Are The Coolest Thing You’ll See Today

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Most upcycling projects ask you to forget what something used to be. Omri Piko Kahan’s bike frame chairs ask the opposite. The geometry is still unmistakably a bicycle frame, the head tube, the top tube, the triangulated rear triangle, all of it present and accounted for, just oriented sideways and asked to hold a person instead of propel one. Kahan, an industrial designer based in Israel, builds lounge chairs from pairs of retired frames, and the whole point is that the donor material remains fully readable, repurposed without being disguised.

Structurally, the approach is clean and considered. Each frame pair is positioned symmetrically, fork and chainstay ends touching the floor as legs, the top tube running horizontally as an armrest. A slung seat and backrest in leather or canvas complete the form. The result has the relaxed posture of a Barcelona chair and the material honesty of something that was clearly built, not styled.

Designer: Omri Piko Kahan

Bicycle frames are absurdly overbuilt for what Kahan is asking them to do. A modern aluminum road frame is engineered to survive repeated impact loads from a rider pushing 300 watts through rough tarmac, and it does that while weighing somewhere between 1,000 and 1,400 grams. The structural surplus in that kind of engineering is enormous, which is why two of them positioned as a chair frame and asked to support a seated adult is, from a load-bearing standpoint, almost comically within spec. The geometry does the rest. Bicycle frames already resolve forces through triangulated sections, and a lounge chair asks for exactly that kind of lateral and compressive stability.

What Kahan has figured out is the orientation problem. Flip a frame on its side and the existing tube angles don’t automatically produce a useful chair geometry. The fork legs and chainstay ends need to hit the floor at the right height relative to each other, the top tube needs to land at armrest height, and the whole thing needs to produce a seat rake that doesn’t pitch you forward or swallow you whole. The matched top tube angles across both frames in the Cube and Trek build suggest this took real iteration, because they align with a precision that reads as deliberate rather than lucky. Filed fillets at the junctions and a custom setback upper support holding the sling confirm someone was paying close attention to finish quality.

The two builds photographed so far, one pairing a blue Cube road frame with a Trek, another combining a GT Transeo 3.0 with what appears to be a Supreme-branded MTB frame, show how much the donor bikes drive the final character of each piece. The GT build in particular has a longer wheelbase geometry that gives the chair a wider, more reclined stance than the Cube version. Kahan is taking custom orders, with pricing worked out per commission, which makes sense given that no two donor frame combinations will produce the same structural or ergonomic outcome.

The post These Old Bike Frames Upcycled Into Armchairs Are The Coolest Thing You’ll See Today first appeared on Yanko Design.

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fxer
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