Why I Created Restup

Restup started with a very ordinary problem. I was commuting to work and sometimes standing for 40 minutes at a time, squeezed into a carriage doorway or parked against a partition, watching people who got on two stops earlier occupy every seat. One morning I thought: surely there has to be something small enough to carry with me that I could pull out wherever I needed a seat.

That sounds simple, but the more I looked, the clearer it became that nothing on the market actually solved it for me. Camp stools were bulky or flimsy. Foldable chairs were too big for a daily bag. Cheap convenience-store options felt like they'd collapse if I leaned the wrong way. And anything comfortable was designed for a camping trip, not a commute.

I wasn't trying to reinvent the chair. Chairs are great. I was trying to solve a gap: the moments where you need a chair but there isn't one, and the chairs you could bring are too big to bother with.

The commute that wouldn't end

My commute was a mix of train, bus and a ten-minute walk. The train was the worst part. Some days I'd get a seat; most days I wouldn't. I'd stand with my laptop bag digging into my shoulder, trying to balance while the carriage swayed, and think about how much energy I was spending just staying upright.

The platform waits were almost as bad. Signal delays, peak crowds and cancelled services turned a twenty-minute trip into forty. There were no benches at my home station, and the few seats at the city end were always taken. I'd see people sitting on the ground against the wall, on their phones, resigned to it.

It wasn't just about comfort. Standing for long stretches drains you before the workday even starts. By the time I got to the office, my back was tight, my knees were sore, and I'd already used up a noticeable amount of energy. That cost compounds over a week, a month, a year.

I didn't want to sit on the ground. I wanted a proper seat, at a proper height, that I could carry without thinking about. That was the whole problem. And it turned out to be harder to solve than it sounded.

Looking for something that already worked

The first thing I did was shop. I bought and borrowed every portable seat I could find: tripod stools, folding camp chairs, mini director's chairs, pocket-sized stools from overseas. I weighed them, folded them, sat on them, and carried them for a week each.

Some were light but wobbled. Some were stable but weighed three kilos. Some folded flat but were still too wide for a backpack. Some had no carry bag, which meant you were holding a loose chair on public transport — not ideal. None of them made me think, yes, I'll take this every day.

I also realised that most portable seats are designed for camping or fishing, where you drive to the spot and carry the chair ten metres. They aren't designed for someone who walks to a station, stands on a platform, sits on a train, walks to an office, and repeats it all twelve hours later.

The difference matters. A camping chair can afford to be heavier and bulkier because it lives in a car boot. A commute seat has to live in your bag, survive being knocked around, and be ready in seconds.

The brief I kept coming back to

After testing enough options, I wrote down four things I refused to compromise on. Light enough to forget it's in your bag. Small enough to fit next to a laptop. Quick enough to open that you'll actually bother. Strong enough that you sit down with confidence, not hope.

That's the whole brief. Everything that didn't serve those four points got cut. A cup holder? Cut. Extra padding that added bulk? Cut. A frame that looked good on paper but flexed under load? Cut. The result had to be boring in the best way: a seat you don't think about until you need it.

I also wrote down what Restup was not. Not a lounger. Not a medical device. Not a stool for small children. It is a seat for otherwise able adults who are standing in places where a chair should exist but doesn't.

Working with the manufacturer

I found a manufacturer that specialised in compact aluminium frames and explained what I was trying to build. We went back and forth on tube diameter, wall thickness, joint geometry and the locking mechanism. The goal wasn't to make the lightest seat in the world; it was to hit the right balance of weight, folded size and stability.

The seat fabric mattered more than I expected. It needed to be strong, but it also needed to hold its shape so you weren't sitting in a sagging pouch. We tested several woven materials before settling on one that felt supportive and was easy to wipe clean.

The carry bag and strap were non-negotiable. A seat you have to hold in your hand doesn't get carried daily. It needs to sling over a shoulder or tuck into a bag and disappear until you need it.

Prototyping and real-world testing

Once the first samples arrived, I used them everywhere. Train platforms, bus stops, park benches that were already taken, festival queues, sidelines at junior sport. I paid attention to the small things: whether the legs splayed evenly on concrete, whether the seat dug in after ten minutes, whether it folded without pinching a finger.

Some early versions were too narrow. Some clicked open nicely but were awkward to close. One sample had feet that slipped on smooth floors. Each round of feedback went back to the manufacturer, and each new sample got closer to what Restup is today.

The final frame geometry settled on a four-legged X-frame with wide feet. It opens in one motion, locks with an audible click, and folds back into the carry bag in seconds. At 1.4 kg it doesn't weigh your bag down, and it holds up to 150 kg so most adults can sit with confidence.

One person, run from Australia

Restup is a small operation run out of Australia — me, a supplier I trust, and a product I use myself. I'm not pretending there's a big team behind it. What I can promise is that if something isn't right, you're emailing the person who actually cares about fixing it.

Every order is packed here, every customer email is read here, and every piece of feedback feeds into the next run. The launch is deliberately small because that's the only way to maintain that level of care while the product is still finding its feet.

If you've ever looked around a crowded platform wishing you had somewhere to sit, that's exactly the moment Restup was made for. It's not a chair for every occasion. It's a seat for the occasions where there isn't one.

The decision to actually make it

For a long time this was just an idea I complained about. Then one day I asked myself whether I'd regret not trying. The answer was yes, so I started the slow process of turning a wish into a product. That meant saving money, finding a supplier, learning about freight and customs, and accepting that the first version wouldn't be perfect.

Running it from Australia adds complexity. The time zones are awkward, shipping takes longer, and everything costs more than it would from a central hub. But it also means I can keep the operation honest and small. I'm not trying to scale fast. I'm trying to make something good and stand behind it.

That choice shapes everything about Restup. The launch is limited, the marketing is straightforward, and the customer service is me. If that sounds small, it is. That's the point.

What I'd tell someone thinking about buying one

Be honest about where you'd use it. If you only ever drive to places with plenty of seating, you probably don't need it. But if you regularly find yourself standing on platforms, in queues, on sidelines or at festivals, you'll start reaching for it more often than you expect.

The best products are the ones that solve a real, recurring problem. For me, Restup solved one I faced almost every day. I built it because I wanted it to exist. I hope it helps you too.

Why the details matter

A lot of people ask why Restup isn't lighter, or smaller, or cheaper. The answer is that every change affects the others. Make it lighter and it flexes. Make it smaller and the seat becomes too narrow. Make it cheaper and something in the frame or fabric gives way.

The final design is the balance I was willing to live with. It is light enough to carry daily, small enough to fit in a bag, strong enough to trust, and simple enough that you don't think twice about opening it. That balance is the product.