The Togo: The most iconic sofa of the 1970s? Inspired by... toothpaste.

A Brief History of The Togo

Let’s set the scene for the creation of The Togo: it’s the 1960s. A French designer named Michel Ducaroy is standing at his bathroom sink, contemplating his toothpaste tube. Some people think about their day. Ducaroy, apparently, thought, “What if this was a sofa?”

The result of that minty-fresh epiphany? The Togo sofa. A glorified blob of foam with no legs, no hard edges, and no interest in trying to impress anyone. It debuted in 1973 to confused murmurs and polite skepticism. Critics assumed that furniture company, Ligne Roset, had simply forgotten to finish building it when they launched Ducaroy’s design.

But somehow, this crumpled-soft, marshmallow-meets-sleeping-bag contraption became one of the most iconic pieces of modern furniture design. Why? Because it’s comfortable. Obscenely so. And because, despite everything, it actually works.

What Exactly Is the Togo Sofa?

If you’ve never seen a Togo sofa in person, imagine if a couch gave up on structure entirely and decided to become a beanbag’s more sophisticated cousin. No frame, no legs, no shame. Just folds of foam covered in quilted fabric or leather, daring you to sit down and stay there indefinitely.

Ducaroy described the inspiration as a toothpaste tube “folded back on itself like a stovepipe and closed at both ends.” Romantic, isn’t it?

Ligne Roset - known for slightly more respectable designs at the time - somehow agreed to manufacture it. And when it launched at the Salon des Arts Ménagers in Paris, people didn’t quite know what to do with it. Sit on it? Question it? Report it?

Then they sat on it. And they understood.

The Reluctant Rise to Design Fame

The Togo won the René-Gabriel prize for high-quality, affordable design, which probably helped soothe the nerves of anyone wondering if they’d just spent good money on a glorified beanbag.

But the real win came later, as the sofa quietly slouched its way into homes that didn’t care about convention. The 1970s were the perfect era for it: shag carpets, lava lamps, and furniture that didn’t stand up straight unless absolutely forced to.

Over time, it became a cult classic. Lenny Kravitz has multiple. Kelly Wearstler put one in her kid’s room, which feels like both a flex and a cushiony safety measure. Clara Cornet, ‘fashion’s cultural connector’, proudly owns a faux-leather version that’s both “stylish” and “kid-friendly.” A rare overlap.

And now, thanks to the internet’s obsession with anything soft, curvy, or vaguely ironic, the Togo has fully infiltrated Instagram interiors and design TikTok. If you’ve seen a cloud-like pile of upholstery in someone’s sunken lounge surrounded by plants and beige ceramics - congrats, you’ve seen a Togo.

Why Is the Togo Sofa Still a Thing?

Because it’s good. Really good.

It’s modular. It’s easy to move. And it’s genuinely comfortable, which is more than can be said for most design furniture.

Also, it has range. A new Togo from Ligne Roset will cost you upwards of $2,600, but vintage leather models? Prepare to remortgage. They’re still in high demand, mostly because everyone secretly wants to live inside a duvet with arms.

Final Thought: Design is Weird

So yes. One of the most influential sofas of the 20th century came from a moment of quiet dental reflection. Proof, if you needed it, that good design inspiration can come from absolutely anywhere, including the end of a toothpaste tube.

And now the Togo sits comfortably (literally and figuratively) in the canon of iconic French furniture, quietly judging all other sofas for trying too hard.