There’s something delightfully clever about design that refuses to pick just one job. You know what I’m talking about: those rare pieces that make you stop and think, “Wait, it does what?” Birddy, a recent award-winning furniture design by Korean designers Yejin Hong and Seyeon Park, is exactly that kind of creation. It’s a children’s swing when sunny days call for play, and a bird feeder when rain clouds roll in. Simple as that sounds, it’s the kind of thoughtful design that makes you wonder why we don’t see more of it.
The concept earned Hong and Park an Excellence Prize at the 2024 Kengo Kuma & Higashikawa KAGU Design Competition, and for good reason. The competition, known for championing furniture designs that bridge functionality with social awareness, found in Birddy exactly what contemporary design should aspire to be: useful, beautiful, and quietly compassionate.
Designers: Yejin Hong, Seyeon Park
At first glance, Birddy looks like a refined wooden swing, the kind that would fit perfectly in a minimalist backyard or a community park. But flip it upside down on a rainy day, and suddenly you’ve got a protected feeding station for birds seeking refuge and sustenance when the weather turns harsh. It’s this elegant duality that makes the design so compelling. Rather than forcing two functions into an awkward compromise, the designers found a natural harmony between them.
What strikes me most about Birddy is how it normalizes empathy through everyday objects. We’re used to thinking about children’s play equipment and wildlife care as separate concerns, occupying different mental compartments in our design-thinking. Hong and Park challenge that separation. Their design suggests that caring for nature and creating joyful spaces for children aren’t competing priorities but complementary ones. When kids aren’t using the swing, why shouldn’t it serve another purpose? When birds need shelter and food, why can’t the solution be something that already exists in our yards?
The execution shows restraint and respect for both users, human and avian. The wood construction feels appropriate for outdoor use while maintaining aesthetic appeal. There’s no garish attempt to make it “cute” or child-themed. Instead, the design trusts that good form works for everyone. This kind of confidence in simplicity is harder to achieve than it looks. Many designers would be tempted to add unnecessary flourishes or overcomplicate the transformation mechanism. Hong and Park resist that urge entirely.
From a practical standpoint, Birddy addresses real needs without requiring users to sacrifice space or budget for separate items. Urban and suburban dwellers increasingly want to support local wildlife, but bird feeders can feel like visual clutter. A swing is already part of many family landscapes. Combining them removes barriers to participation in backyard conservation. It’s environmental design through integration rather than addition.
The timing feels right too. We’re seeing a broader cultural shift toward multipurpose design as people become more conscious of consumption and space constraints. Furniture that pulls double or triple duty isn’t just trendy anymore, it’s becoming an expectation. But Birddy elevates the concept beyond mere space-saving. This isn’t about cramming more functionality into less area. It’s about finding poetic connections between different forms of care.
There’s also something wonderfully cyclical about the design. Children playing on the swing bring energy and life to a space during fair weather. Birds visiting the feeder bring that same vitality during storms. The object becomes a constant source of animation in the landscape, just with different performers depending on conditions. Parents watching kids swing on Tuesday might find themselves watching sparrows perch on Friday. That kind of continuous engagement with an object creates attachment and value beyond its material worth.
What Hong and Park have created isn’t revolutionary technology or groundbreaking engineering. Birddy succeeds precisely because it doesn’t try to be either. Instead, it represents something equally valuable: thoughtful observation of how we live and a willingness to imagine better arrangements. The best design often comes from asking simple questions like “What else could this do?” and “Who else could this serve?” Birddy answers both beautifully, proving that furniture can be generous in more ways than one.
