It has been compared to a caterpillar, a pile of sleeping bags and a folded tube of toothpaste, and that last one came from the man who designed it. The Togo, a low, deeply pleated seat with no frame, no legs and no hard parts at all, launched in Paris in 1973. More than half a century later it is one of the most recognizable sofas in the world, a fixture of design-minded apartments, hotel lobbies and moodboards, and one of the most copied pieces of furniture you can buy.
Here is where the Togo came from, how it is made, what it costs to own the real thing and how to tell it apart from the many lookalikes.
A toothpaste tube folded on itself
The Togo was designed by Michel Ducaroy, a French designer born in Lyon in 1925 into a family of furniture makers. He trained in sculpture at the Ecole Nationale des Beaux-Arts in Lyon, went independent in 1952, and began working with the Roset company in the 1950s. According to Ligne Roset, he quickly became one of its most important designers and the person pushing its technology forward. In 1968 he designed Adria, one of the first modular all-foam seats that sat close to the floor, and he spent the next few years experimenting with large cushions, foams and molded plastics.
The Togo was the result. Ducaroy liked to describe it as "a toothpaste tube folded back on itself like a stovepipe and closed at both ends," a line Ligne Roset still quotes in its own press material. Instead of building a frame and padding it, he made the whole seat out of foam and let the quilted cover create the shape.
A difficult debut in 1973
Ligne Roset presented the Togo at the Salon des Arts Ménagers, the big home exhibition in Paris, in early 1973, the same year the Ligne Roset brand itself was launched. Not everyone got it. The company's own history of the launch admits that its crumpled, newborn look and folds drew skeptical looks from professionals and the public. The jury disagreed: Ducaroy won the René-Gabriel prize, an award for innovative and affordable furniture that had gone to Pierre Paulin two years earlier.
The timing was perfect. In the years after the protests of May 1968, French interiors were loosening up, and a seat that put you almost on the floor and invited you to sprawl suited the moment. Hippie households adopted it, and the Togo never really went out of fashion. For 40th-anniversary celebrations in 2013, Ligne Roset said it had sold more than 1.28 million of them in 72 countries.
How it's made
What makes the Togo special is that there is nothing inside it but foam. Ligne Roset's specifications describe a structure made entirely from three different densities of foam, two polyether foams and one high-resilience polyurethane foam, under a cover generously quilted with polyester wadding. There is no wood, no metal and no sharp corner anywhere, which is why the company also makes a Mini Togo for children.
Every Togo has been made at Ligne Roset's workshops in Briord, a village in the Bugey region of eastern France, since 1973. The upholstery is still done by hand, because the famous folds have to be formed by an upholsterer rather than a machine, and the company has said a large leather sofa takes around six hours to make. A Togo also weighs far less than a conventional sofa, so you can drag pieces around a room and rearrange them as you like.
The pieces
The Togo is a family rather than a single sofa. The core range includes:
- Fireside chair. The original single seat and the most recognizable piece.
- Loveseat and sofa. Two and three-seat versions without arms.
- Corner seat. A wedge-shaped piece that lets you build an L or U-shaped composition.
- Ottoman. A low footstool that doubles as extra seating.
- Lounge and larger sofas. Extended pieces for long, sprawling setups.
- Mini Togo. A smaller fireside chair for children.
Ligne Roset has also added versions with arms, and it offers the range in dozens of fabrics, microfibers and leathers in hundreds of colors. The Togo composition page on its site lets you see how the pieces combine.
Why everyone wants one now
The Togo has had several lives. It was a symbol of 1970s modernity, a fixture of design shops in the 1980s and a vintage find for decades after that. In recent years it has become something more: the default sofa of a certain kind of interior, the one that shows up in every apartment tour and moodboard alongside travertine tables and paper lamps. Part of the appeal is that it looks like nothing else, soft and sculptural at once. Part of it is that it photographs beautifully from almost any angle.
It also fits a wider return to 1970s and 1980s design, the same mood that has revived interest in Memphis design. Like the Eames Lounge Chair, it has become a piece people buy as much for what it says as for how it sits.
How to spot a real one
Popularity has brought a flood of copies, usually sold as "Togo style" or "inspired" sofas at a fraction of the price. Some are honest about what they are. Many are not. A few checks help:
- Look for the label and paperwork. Genuine pieces come from Ligne Roset or its authorized dealers, and the company publishes a store locator on its site. If a seller cannot tell you where a piece was bought, be careful.
- Feel the structure. A real Togo is all foam with no frame. If you feel wood, a metal rail or a hard base, it is not a Togo.
- Study the folds. The pleats on a genuine Togo are formed by hand and look full and even. Copies often have flatter, stitched-down folds or a shape that sags in the wrong places.
- Check the proportions. The fireside chair is famously low and deep. Copies often sit higher, run narrower or have a back that rises too steeply.
- Be realistic about price. A new Togo fireside chair costs several thousand dollars, and larger compositions run well past that. A brand-new "Togo" for a few hundred dollars is a replica, whatever the listing says.
Buying vintage
Because the Togo has been in continuous production since 1973, the vintage market is large, and older pieces in leather or 1970s fabrics can be beautiful. The cover is the part that ages, and foam can compress over decades. Ask about the age of the foam and whether the cover has been replaced, and expect to pay more for a well-kept original in a good leather. A vintage Togo that needs work can still be a smart buy, since a worn cover is far easier to fix than a broken frame, and the Togo never had one.
The Togo has outlasted every trend it has been part of, which is the best argument for owning a real one. For more of the thinking behind designs that last, read our guide to Dieter Rams's 10 principles of good design, or browse the design books every designer should own.
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