On a trip to Japan earlier this year, I met a few robots. I’m not sure if that is even the right way to phrase it. Regardless, it challenged some of the judgments I’ve traditionally held about integrating robots into our daily lives. As you may know, Japan’s birth rate is dropping dramatically, shifting the country into a “super-aged” society. In speaking with friends there, they expressed a mix of fear about their parents aging at home and sadness over not giving them grandchildren. It seems one of the ways people are managing these feelings is by integrating robots into their broader families.

Japan is no stranger to cute pieces of technology. It was, of course, home to the toymakers behind Tamagotchi, which many of us spent hours trying to feed, care for, and generally keep alive. Sony also introduced the robotic pet AIBO back in 1999, which became incredibly popular both in Japan and abroad. (I did get a chance to see one and have to say, it was unbelievably adorable.) More recently, the introduction of the LOVOT robot in 2020 has been a game-changer for some of the challenges of an aging society.

Positioned as “emotional robotics,” it’s designed to emulate human qualities and help us connect with robots on a deeper level. In practice, some people in their mid-30s to mid-40s are buying these little robots for their parents to keep at home. The parents can play with them, dress them in custom clothing, and now even seat them in a custom Karimoku chair at the dinner table. LOVOT can also help assuage fears about parents living alone: its companion app enables a remote livestream, while the robot creates a map of its surroundings so it can move freely throughout the home. Probably one of the cuter uses of technology to address a societal concern.

At this year’s 3daysofdesign, Copenhagen’s annual design week, I stumbled across an exhibition that I found super interesting. Aesop, a brand known for its prestige in retail design, was highlighting the Melbourne-based material research studio Other Matter. Founded in 2020, Other Matter explores the potential of non-petrochemical, algae-based materials for surfaces, signage, retail, and exhibitions.

The studio developed and scaled its OM Signage Film as a direct response to the surprisingly high waste impact of traditional retail assets. In speaking with founder Jessie French, I learned that signage is one of the most material-intensive parts of retail and spatial design, largely because of the PVC film most retailers use. Not only does the film rely on phthalate plastics, but it’s also often tossed in the trash after a single use.

Having spent a few years learning about natural-material replacements like mushroom leather and seaweed-based textiles, what I found really exciting about Other Matter’s work was its scalability. Large retailers like Aesop often struggle to implement environmentally friendly alternatives because of either scale or economics. OM Signage Film feels like a promising path forward because it can be cut, printed, and installed using the same workflows as conventional signage vinyl. The material changes. Almost nothing else has to.

I read this article when it came out a few years back, and I probably haven’t stopped thinking about it since. Every Christmas, every new car, every Eras Tour, or every time a contestant on Love Island (UK only, please) applies a new lip gloss, I think back to it. So I was delighted to share it as one of my Three Curious Things for anyone who may have missed it. In 2018, New York Times writer Caity Weaver set out to learn more about the shiny pieces that kids love and parents hate. She wanted to answer the question of what exactly glitter is and how it is made. It turns out the answer is as simple as “aluminum-metallized polyethylene terephthalate,” and as perplexing as the fact that much of the world’s glitter comes from two companies in New Jersey.

I don’t want to give too much away, but Caity’s journey through the New Jersey glitter industry is shrouded in more secrecy than I would have expected from the CIA. Before reading it, I simply thought of glitter as something kids use to decorate cards, or something I used to put on my eyelids in seventh grade. Why would anyone care about keeping its manufacturing process under wraps? I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Glitter punches way above its weight. It isn’t just decorative. It can be added to everyday objects to make them more beautiful or alluring and, perhaps even more fascinatingly, used to distinguish products from competitors or counterfeits. While glitter is a microplastic and not something whose frivolous use I want to champion, you do have to admire the ascension of something born from cutting scrap metal. There’s a lot in Caity’s piece that might surprise you. As I asked my husband yesterday, “Did you know our attraction to sparkle may stem from an innate need to seek out fresh water?” He didn’t.