Minipod as an open work

We explored the journey of Minipod, which made design history by winning the Compasso d’Oro 2025, in a profound conversation with Koray Malhan and Defne Koz that spans from the open work philosophy to the ethics of production and the future of the workspace

Interview: Merve Akar Akgün

Minipod. Courtesy of Koz Susani Design and Koleksiyon

Today, we can no longer view any object merely as a utilitarian tool. The stance of a chair, the texture of a table, or the configuration of the office in which we work serves as a political and philosophical response to the world, to time, and to our modes of living together. Perhaps the most distinct awareness of our age is that design cannot be divorced from philosophy and sociology; it is a "production of meaning" beyond the object itself. It is on this very axis that we witness a moment that is as precious as it is proud for the history of design from Turkey.

Considered one of the most deep-rooted and respected authorities in the design world, (Nobel of the field, in a sense) the Compasso d’Oro (Golden Compass) has symbolized the excellence of Italian design since 1954. In 2025, with results announced at Expo Osaka, the compass’s route turned toward a familiar story: the collaboration between Koleksiyon and Koz Susani Design. The Minipod, brought to life by Defne Koz and Marco Susani through Koleksiyon’s visionary approach, was awarded for its proposal of a "new generation nest" for our changing work culture and has taken its place in the permanent collection of the ADI Design Museum.

However, it would be unjust to read this award merely as a plaque of success or a line added to a résumé. It is the manifestation of Faruk Malhan’s foundational philosophy of "design as culture production" meeting a universal language under the intellectual leadership of Koray Malhan.

When I came together with Defne Koz and Koray Malhan for this interview, my aim was not simply to discuss an award-winning product. Knowing that both are figures who think and question in their respective fields, I anticipated that the conversation would inevitably deepen. When Defne Koz’s refined approach, which breathes soul into material and conceals technology with a poetic silence, encountered Koray Malhan’s multi-layered mind, blending architecture with music theories and sociology with jazz improvisation, one topic led to another. Our dialogue spanned from the Soft Work Habitat philosophy, inspired by David Sim’s Soft City concept, to Zygmunt Bauman’s Liquid Modernity, Umberto Eco’s The Open Work, and even to the ethical responsibility regarding the materials we extract from nature. I sought to perceive the Minipod as a sanctuary created by the human being amidst the endless noise and speed of modern times; a precious “es” (rest) moment within a chaotic musical score, and I shaped my questions accordingly.

Is a designer also responsible for the centuries-long extinction of the form they create? How should spaces accompany us in a new world order where authority is transferred from a central power to the individual? And most importantly; is it possible to leave a timeless trace in an age where everything is rapidly consumed?

In the lines that follow, we journey from material to meaning.

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Defne, you rooted yourself in Istanbul, honed your craft in Milan alongside a master like Ettore Sottsass, and now you produce in Chicago. These three geographies define emotion, aesthetics, and innovation in distinct ways. Can we say that the universal yet warm language in your designs was formed by the convergence of these three cultures?

Defne Koz

Defne Koz: We are talking about three very different cultures. The first two, Turkey and Italy, share many traditions due to their geographic proximity, from food culture and the way life is enjoyed to the understanding of friendship. However, there is a fundamental distinction between us: the reality of the Renaissance. This factor significantly diverges these two otherwise similar cultures. Turkey is the place that formed me, that forged my identity; Italy is the country where I was professionally cultivated. I began to feel just how great a richness this synthesis offered while I was living in Italy.

Then, America entered the equation, a world completely different from the first two. Although I initially struggled to adapt, it became a culture that taught me working methodologies and perspectives that did not exist in the others. It allowed me to gain experience across a wide spectrum, from the vision of global corporations to the birth of the start-up ecosystem.

So, do these cultures clash? Yes, sometimes they might; but at the end of the day, they all merge, layer upon one another, and make you far better equipped as a designer. I have lived abroad much longer than I lived in Turkey, yet at my core, I remain quintessentially Turkish. Still, when designing, one doesn't strategize by saying, "Let me emphasize my Turkishness now," or "Let me underline my Italian side." It is like the books you read settling in your mind; that cultural accumulation enriches you and manifests itself spontaneously and organically as you bring your projects to life.

This hybridity interests me greatly. As cultures overlap, the perspective on the local changes just as much. I was curious how you would articulate that. Thank you; the Renaissance detail was particularly noteworthy... I want to congratulate you both. The Minipod, the "new generation work nest" you developed with Marco Susani for Koleksiyon, has been deemed worthy of the Compasso d’Oro. Congratulations! Given since 1954, the Compasso d’Oro is the world’s most prestigious and difficult-to-obtain design award. The fact that this award was received with Koleksiyon marks a "first" in the history of Turkish design. Beyond the countless successes in your personal career, what kind of turning point does this award represent for Turkey's design ecosystem and industry?

Defne Koz: For us, this is far more than an award; it is a distinction (paye). This accolade was awarded to a product we designed for the collection of a Turkish firm. There are a few factors here that stroke our pride and give us goosebumps: First of all, this is not an award given frequently or distributed to everyone; it is rarely deemed worthy for foreigners.

Therefore, I see this as a significant threshold crossed on behalf of Turkish design. This situation places a great responsibility on me, on the firm I work with, and on the field of design in Turkey in general. As Koray and I underscored while talking, we view this as a turning point. After passing this stage, our vision needs to expand as well. We have received many awards of German, American, or Swiss origin before; however, the place of this award is different. We must now assert our presence in the international arena in a much stronger and distinct way.

Koray Malhan

Koray Malhan: Our friendship and colleagueship with Defne take us to a place far beyond the classical "designer-industrialist" relationship. You see parallels to this in the history of Italy, in fashion houses where the founder is the designer themselves; the "patron" is not just the person managing the finances but the one who initiated the business with a design mindset. The fact that our brand was also founded by an architect, and that "architectural genes" live and develop within the institution, is critical. Thanks to this shared genetic code, our encounter with Defne sits on a very strong foundation where we mutually nourish one another.

Although there are prejudices regarding Turkey's place in the design world, there are very successful examples breaking this perception. From our directors sitting in the jury seats at international festivals to our pianists playing to sold-out halls on world stages, many figures are breaking this chain. Examples like our Women's Volleyball Team prove that this is not a stroke of luck. Unlike the situation sometimes seen in football (becoming champions once and then disappearing for twenty years) here there is an athlete's discipline, a tremendous culture of continuity and stability.

These successes, extending from our Michelin-starred chefs to our designers, set a standard beyond merely being a label. I view these awards and achievements as a document of responsibility that says, "This is the benchmark (müktesebat); this is the minimum quality standard." Just as when an excellent architectural work is built in a city, the surrounding structures try to resemble it and beautify themselves, our aim is to leave a trace behind. To produce in a universal language that can speak with different cultures and geographies, and to entrust that bar to those who come after us; this is the greatest responsibility we feel on our shoulders.

Defne Koz: You expressed that beautifully; it is indeed a significant trace. However, this trace must not remain as a solitary, isolated point. Even if it is a beautiful touch, it shouldn't stay as an accidental spot (leke) or a singular event; we must spread and expand this.

We expect this perception to change across Turkish design in general, don't we? It is vital that success does not appear as a stroke of luck or a random coincidence, but rather continues as a succession, becoming part of a recurring consistency. Only then can we speak of a true design culture and identity.

The Compasso d’Oro jury rewards not just aesthetics but also the research, technology, and social impact behind a product; it is renowned for selecting the enduring over the ephemeral trends. When designing the Minipod, did you sense that while it addressed a contemporary need (privacy in open offices), it would also become a classic capable of remaining in use for years without becoming obsolete?

Defne Koz: Just as you can recognize a painter by their brushstroke or a writer by their lines, a designer also possesses a unique, authentic language of expression. In my design language, permanence is always a constant. I have never followed fleeting trends or chased after popular currents. I interpret a form exactly as I believe it should be, and I feel that the resulting work is timeless.

This is not merely my own feeling; the fact that products I designed in 1994 are still on the market and in demand today is the most concrete proof of this. We designers are in an interesting race against time: We step ahead of time by foreseeing new typologies and usage habits that people are not yet accustomed to and introducing them into their lives before anyone else. However, the real mastery lies in ensuring through the correct design language that once this innovation is introduced, the product remains enduring and does not age for years to come.

Minipod. Courtesy of Koz Susani Design and Koleksiyon

Koray, when approaching Defne Koz and Marco Susani, what problem or dream did you present to them? When the idea of the Minipod came to the table, what gap were you aiming to fill within Koleksiyon's Self-Organized Workplace philosophy?

Koray Malhan: I usually pen a thematic text every three or four years that analyzes the spirit of the times and changing parameters. When I sit down with my designer friends, instead of saying "We need a new chair," we conduct a philosophical discussion based on this text, trying to gain a slightly different foresight regarding what has changed. The Minipod process began this way.

The essence of this idea relies on the Self-Organized City concept discussed by urban theorists like Edward Soja and our professor İlhan Tekeli. Historically, there was a "god-architect" figure (now a thing of the past) who dictated everything top-down, like Haussmann’s Paris or America’s grid-planned cities. However, today we see that the city is an organism that organizes itself according to the needs of its inhabitants, like that symbiotic network stretching from Taksim to Galata. You close Taksim, and Arnavutköy explodes...

There is a similar problem of top-down imposition in office designs. A few executives sit down and make rigid plans determining the lives of thousands of employees. But no matter how correct those decisions are for that day, when reality changes five years later, that pile of fixed furniture for a thousand people becomes dysfunctional and turns into trash. The philosophy we call Self-Organized Workplace comes into play right here: Let’s set up the plan so that the people inside can transform the space as active participants.

Designs like Minipod refer to the flexibility found in Jonathan Raban’s Soft City concept. The "soft" here isn't about the material softness, of course; it refers to the city being woven by human relationships and communities instead of rigid grids. Therefore, our goal was to create a flexible system by breaking the structure into more atomic and smaller parts that can freely establish relationships with one another. The Minipod is a product that meets this theoretical infrastructure one-to-one in practice.

When you look at it, you don't see a conventional table; Minipod is a hybrid structure with every surface upholstered, texturally resembling a sofa rather than a table, yet functioning as a table. I don't think there is another example of such a table typology that has a tabletop but is completely covered in textile.

Defne Koz: Our thoughts coincide exactly with Koray's on this point. While he looks at the issue from a more theoretical and broader spectrum, when we presented this design, he said, "There couldn't be a product that correlates better with my theory." In fact, Minipod is the embodied translation of that philosophy. We briefly call this the deskless desk. We no longer imagine offices as those endless piles of identical tables; because no one wants to work at a hard table when there is a comfortable divan nearby.

Our aim was to construct a warm system where the user could identify with the table and feel like a part of it. That’s why we chose fabric and polyurethane filling as materials; in this way, the product also provides serious sound absorption.

There are sit-stand tables on the market, but they all look very mechanical and technological. We moved completely away from this coldness and hid that serious engineering and technology in the background. There is intense technology inside that small structure, but the user shouldn't see it when they look. Our only wish was for the table to embrace you, wrap around you; to create that personal focus area for you with its integrated light and soft texture.

In my recent readings, I often encounter a depiction of the world associated with the future and technology that is cold, mechanical, and detached from human values. Perhaps it has to do with age, or maybe the speed of the era, but humans are now seeking a bit more of a nostalgic warmth. The Minipod stands more like a "micro-architectural" structure with its own volume within the office, rather than just a piece of office furniture. Against the noise and focus issues created by open offices, what was the fundamental emotion you wanted the user to feel inside the Minipod? Could it be to provide a sense of a safe sanctuary against the chaos of the outside world? Or was the goal to create a purely functional isolation tool focused on production and concentration?

Defne Koz: Let me give an example from my personal life: I adore traveling because, ironically, the only times I can truly focus and disconnect from my surroundings are when I am on the road. The speed of daily life has brought us to such a state that we have forgotten how to think; being able to sit calmly and think has become a great luxury for us now. Therefore, if a design or an environment encourages me to think and focus, I become happy.

When you look at Renaissance paintings, the sage figure is always depicted under a dim candlelight, at his own desk. Even if he isn't writing, he is there, thinking. We wanted to capture exactly this atmosphere in the Minipod. Of course, we are obliged to provide all of today's ergonomic requirements and working comfort, but our aim was to transport the warmth of that candlelight, even if not a real candle, and the deep concentration space it creates, into the modern office.

Today's performance society has brought us to such a point that even drug use has shapeshifted. People no longer use drugs to seek pleasure or reach heightened emotions; instead, they use them merely to remain active and productive, to get work done, essentially as a form of fuel. In other words, the system constantly expects a superhuman performance from us.

Defne Koz: Resorting to chemicals solely to be more productive makes me feel that we, as humanity, have drifted to a rather pathetic, even tragic point. That is exactly why where we stand is so critical. Because to design means to shape the future and our behaviors. The fact that what you do is so decisive and influential on our lives increases your responsibility even more.

Minipod. Courtesy of Koz Susani Design and Koleksiyon

Koray, we know of your deep connection with music and how decisive rhythm and improvisation are in your approach to design. In music, silence is also part of the notes. In this context, can we define the Minipod as a moment of “rest” (pause) within the chaotic, never-ending noise of the open office? Where exactly does the note of this product stand within that intense office score?

Koray Malhan: Music is far beyond a mere area of interest for me; it is the place where we come closest to decoding the workings, mathematics, and soul of the cosmos. I believe in the truth of Sergei Rachmaninoff’s famous quote: “Music is enough for a lifetime, but a lifetime is not enough for music.” In my world, music sits layers above literature, visual arts, and all other disciplines. Because it contains semantics, it contains mathematics, and it possesses a physical and psychological state of “being.”

I established the real link between my design practice and music through Umberto Eco’s seminal work, The Open Work (Opera Aperta). Eco describes a critical rupture in art history: Classical works up to the 20th century—for example, a Beethoven symphony—are “closed works.” The composer (that is, the authority) has determined every note, every “rest,” every nuance. The performer’s duty is to repeat this perfect fiction with fidelity. However, with the modern era—with the John Cages, the Stockhausens, and the revolutionary spirit of Jazz—this structure was demolished. The work is no longer a dogma finished and closed by the composer but has transformed into an “open” process that is re-created moment by moment with the participation of the performer.

Think of a Miles Davis... He is not an “interpreter” in the face of Beethoven; he is a co-creator who reconstructs the work every time he steps on stage. His improvisation in that moment changes the destiny of the work.

But when I turn back to our own sector, the world of office furniture, I see that the 19th-century “closed work” mentality still reigns. Architects, planners, and experts come together and decide, just like an authoritarian composer: “You will sit here, you will work at this hour, this will be your table.” Then we stand in front of that person and say, “Now, go be creative.” There can be no greater contradiction, no worse translation of needs, than nailing a human being to a fixed coordinate from 9 AM to 6 PM and expecting a mental flight from them.

The philosophy we call the Self-Organized Workplace relies on Zygmunt Bauman’s concept of Liquid Modernity. Bauman states that for the first time in human history, the single absolute authority (King, God, Boss) has collapsed and left its place to multiple authorities. In other words, authority today is the power to make a choice.

This is where we hand over the authority in the office with Minipod and our other designs. We say to the employee: “I am not imposing a table, a chair, or a sofa on you. I am giving you an instrument. You will choose where, when, with whom, and how you will work.”

This is not like the pseudo-freedom concept we see in Google offices, which has turned into a playground with slides, effectively caricaturizing the work. It is an approach solved with Defne Koz’s Italian refinement; one that does not shout, is extremely simple, yet is equally revolutionary. It is neither fully a table nor fully a sofa; it is a hybrid state of the two. It is a truly “open work” that says to the user, “You decide what to do here,” one that is unfinished and only completed by the user’s presence.

Koleksiyon is a pioneering brand in establishing a design culture in Turkey. Your and Marco Susani's global vision combined with Koleksiyon's production quality and heritage in the Minipod. While overcoming technical challenges to reach that lean form, what was the back-and-forth like between the designer and the manufacturer? What was the most critical turn in the journey from a sketch to the Compasso d’Oro?

Defne Koz: I must admit, I do not have an easy nature. From the very moment I pick up the pen, I feel and envision exactly how the result should be. If the process does not align with that vision or if I cannot reach that result, I experience great unrest. And frankly, I do not hesitate to reflect this unease onto the client.

Perfectionism might not always be a trait to boast about; it can be tiring at times. However, this is the defining and authentic aspect of my character. I channel this meticulousness into the works I create rather than my personal life. I cannot approach any project with the casualness of, "Let's just do something for Koleksiyon too, let it be added to the portfolio, let this be my 187th product." For me, every project is unique.

I spare no effort to reach the point I aim for when designing a product. That is why our processes sometimes drag on. The teams can justifiably complain, asking, "The first prototype was perfectly fine, why are we making a second, a third?" But when the work is done and the result is revealed, we all come to a consensus. Those painful processes, those repeated trials, are actually a necessity. Just as a baby waits nine months in the mother's womb, products also need that time to mature and find their identity.

Minipod. Courtesy of Koz Susani Design and Koleksiyon

In the past, luxury was defined by rarity and ostentation. Today, however, ethical production and respect for the planet have become the new luxury. Concepts change so fast that even the word "sustainability" sometimes feels insufficient. These days, I am teaching my daughter "clothing literacy"—that is, how to read a label, question where that material came from, and what it will do to nature. At this exact point, I sincerely want to touch upon the polyurethane issue. The comfort provided by this material you use in the Minipod is indisputable, but how does its synthetic nature relate to the planetary boundaries? In your opinion, is good design merely about form and function, or is the designer also responsible for the product's "extinction" and the trace it leaves in nature?

Defne Koz: At an exhibition I visited recently, I encountered the thousand faces of plastic: those produced from mushrooms, semi-composites, bio-degradables... I even know through a firm I collaborate with in the US that there are new-generation plastics capable of completely destroying themselves in oxygen-free environments. Therefore, a tremendous evolution is taking place in the world of materials, and the future is actually not that dark. You are doing a wonderful thing by teaching this to your daughter. Personally, I still try to separate the components of my lens case before discarding them. And when you mention 'planetary boundaries,' as a designer, I understand exactly what that implies: ethical production, mindfulness, and the impact of the entire process.

However, if we look at it conceptually; I first heard the term sustainability in 1990, when I read Ezio Manzini's book La materia dell’invenzione (The Material of Invention, 1986). Back then, I said, "These theories are great, but who can arrive where, and how? There isn't even a recycling infrastructure." I say this with regret, but 30-odd years later, we are still exactly where we started. Because even though we, as individuals, try to separate and dispose of the plastic of our lens cases, the "system" that needs to take the actual giant steps has not changed. That is why my most concrete contribution as a designer regarding planetary boundaries is to ensure that the product is not an object of consumption. If I am designing a product that resists time, does not age for years, and has the quality to be used "continuously," then I have served sustainability as long as that product does not end up in the trash. I leave the technical details and developments regarding production and materials to Koray.

Koray Malhan: There is a multi-layered and problematic situation here. Evolution operates both biologically and socially; the good evolve into something better, while the bad evolve into something worse. However, the real danger is this: The speed at which evil organizes and consolidates power is much higher.

We are inside a grand illusion. For years, America sold the world fairy tales of a liberal economy, anti-trust laws, and competition. But at the end of the day, the place they have brought us to is a world of monopolies where competition does not exist. Look at it; Tesla, Microsoft, Apple, Google, or Amazon have no real rivals. The system that praised competition to us has, after 30 years, delivered the world into the hands of six oligarchs who rule everything, from communication to money, from military power to information flow. This is a highly dystopian picture because they possess the power to modify and filter reality.

Within this injustice, the responsibility of design and brands is critical. I agree with what Defne said, but there is a terrible hypocrisy in the market. Brands sell us "sustainability" and "environment" day and night; yet those same brands change their shop windows every week, pushing people into a rhythm of consumption with the panic of "If you don't buy this now, you won't find it next week." I used to be able to wear a t-shirt I bought for 40 years; now such clothing does not exist because everything is designed "to become trash." The technology side is even graver; they have established a regime of psychological pressure where you feel stupid if you don't buy the new iPhone every year, and children are ashamed to walk around with an old model.

When I look from a designer's perspective, there is an ethical question hanging over our heads like the Sword of Damocles: We say we are "creating," but actually, we are "destroying" first. We have to accept this. We are stealing wood, stone, and metal from nature. Let's not say stealing; let's say "subtracting." Is the thing we subtract from nature, process, and transform worth it? Does the product we create justify the destruction we cause?

The only criterion here is timelessness. It is not enough for a product to be physically durable; a product that is solid as a rock but becomes "out-of-fashion" next year is a greater waste than a rotten product. I wish it were rotten so it would disappear immediately... A solid but démodé object continues to occupy the world as a meaningless heap.

Therefore, design must belong to no fashion, must not even pass near trends, and must be timeless, like in Heraclitus's infinite flow. We cannot say whether a design is timeless; only time itself can decide that. We can only dream of it, envision it, and strive for it. The debate of minds coming together for this purpose is, I think, worth everything.