"The seat, an everyday object, suddenly took on symbolic weight as a site of both exclusion and potential reclamation," states Iranian-Australian designer Nila Rezaei in a candid conversation with STIR on her project of profound resistance, Crafted Liberation. "It was something so ordinary, but its absence for women in Iran held immense power. It represented where we couldn’t go, what we couldn’t do. By reimagining it with these discarded scarves, we’re not only confronting that exclusion; we're creating a new symbol of collective agency," she continues.

Crafted Liberation, at its core, is a design project rooted in loss, protest and solidarity. At its centre is a simple object: the stadium seat. In Iran, women have been banned from entering stadiums since 1981. The seat becomes a symbol of that exclusion and, through this project, a material protest against it. Created by RK Collective, a Sydney-based design practice co-founded by Rezaei and Christopher Krainer, this social impact project transforms discarded headscarves into composite stadium seats. Each seat is a quiet manifestation of the strength and resistance of Iranian women. Through material transformation and collective contribution, the project holds space for a wider conversation about gender, public space and agency.

The idea grew out of the emotional aftermath of Mahsa Amini’s death after being detained by Iran's morality police due to an improper headscarf violation in 2022 and the protests that followed. Like many in the diaspora, the designer watched events unfold in Iran from afar, caught between anger, grief, guilt and a need to act. It was from that place of dislocation that Crafted Liberation emerged, much like the Untangling the Politics of Hair campaign produced by FCB India for STIR, created & conceived by Rohit Chawla & Swati Bhattacharya. With Krainer, Rezaei began by asking what role design could play in honouring a movement that was so visceral, so personal, yet so geographically distant.

RK Collective then put out a call for discarded headscarves, not expecting the scale of response. Over 500 scarves arrived from across the world, many wrapped in notes and messages. As the duo unpacked them, they felt the physical and emotional weight of the materials. These weren’t just textiles; they were artefacts of control, worn and now cast off by women reclaiming their agency. Initially, they explored different forms the final object could take. One idea was a musical instrument. But they kept returning to the idea of seats. Its everydayness is what made the idea powerful. The stadium seat, often overlooked, represented exactly the kind of gendered spatial control they were trying to challenge. To reimagine that seat using rejected symbols of that control was to shift the narrative to empowerment.

The choice of the seat was also about presence. It was about being seen, taking up space; about turning absence into visibility. This initiative reclaims a form of public participation long denied to women in Iran by embedding their stories directly into a functional object designed for public life.

The material innovation behind the seat was as important as its symbolism. The headscarves—delicate, worn, soft—had to be turned into something durable and structural. RK Collective worked with an Australian manufacturer to develop a composite material using 100 per cent waste - donated headscarves and discarded plastic bags. The process involved lamination, pressure moulding and many failures. Moulds cracked, batches failed, but eventually, they developed a material that was light, strong and full of meaning.

This circular innovation reflects the project's broader ethos: transformation through resilience. What was once used to control is now used to construct. The waste becomes strength. Each chair carries the weight of hundreds of women’s decisions to say no and to contribute instead to something larger, something collective.

The anonymous nature of the donations adds another layer to the collective project. Many women who contributed did so without revealing their names. This anonymity, rather than detracting from the project, gives it power. It forms an invisible network of solidarity woven together by shared intent. The material tells a story that belongs to many but speaks in one voice.

While the design community has responded to the project for its innovative use of materials and strong concept, the project’s vision reaches beyond the world of design. The product designers see these seats placed not just in galleries but in stadiums, libraries, museums and other public spaces where people gather, cheer and share. The intention is to integrate these story-imbued objects into the fabric of daily life. That physical placement is part of what makes the work resonate. The object is designed to be touched, sat on and used. It demands interaction. It invites reflection.

Crafted Liberation also proposes a model of collective authorship. The project was never about a singular artistic voice. From the beginning, it relied on participation, on women making a choice, however small, to contribute to a bigger story. The stadium seat becomes a shared act. Everyone involved, from donor to maker to sitter, becomes part of the protest.

Rezaei speaks openly about her position in the project. Having grown up in Iran until the age of 19, she carries its history and politics with her. Watching Iran’s women, life, freedom movement from Australia, she felt removed but deeply connected. That dissonance of belonging and distance became a catalyst. She began to ask what it meant to act from afar and how design could bridge that emotional and cultural gap. “It was a way to honour the women in Iran, to say: we see you, we stand with you, and to amplify their voice as loud as humanly possible. Through the process of designing and making, I was able to channel that complex grief into something constructive, something hopeful, which became a platform for all of us to connect, share and heal together," shares the product designer with STIR. The work is not neat. It’s full of contradictions; a seat that was once denied is now offered. But that messiness is where its meaning lies.

Crafted Liberation doesn’t claim to offer solutions. Instead, it offers space. Space to reflect. Space to connect. Space to imagine how stories, especially told through material, can shape public discourse. "Every seat we create holds a story," says Rezaei. "A story of women reclaiming spaces, standing together and inspiring change. They are reminders that resistance can be quiet, can be built, can be sat on. These are not just symbols; they’re structures. They hold the weight of grief and the hope of possibility."

This philosophy extends into how the project is expanding. The team behind it hopes that the seats will act as conversation starters, prompting discussions not only about Iran but also about gender, public space and the power of quiet resistance. They believe in material storytelling, not as a metaphor, but as a method. When people see their own narratives embedded in public infrastructure, they feel visible. When design reflects lived experience, it becomes something closer to healing.

Crafted Liberation is not about making objects. It’s about making room. The collective continues to explore how design can act as a platform for empowerment, using their cross-disciplinary background in public art, sustainability, medical design and material innovation. This project, assisted by Creative Australia, represents the beginning of a deeper exploration of how design can hold more than form; it can hold stories, resistance and shared hopes for change. In this way, the seat is not just a product. It’s a proposal. For presence. For protest. For the right to be seen.