Leewu is a line of book covers, writing paper, notebooks and pencils — but the brand strives to be more than just a stationery peddler. To its creators, designers Scott Lee (李威遠) and Phoenix Wu (吳燕凰), Leewu is an exercise in applying a philosophical bent to everyday objects.
The brand was launched last fall by the husband-and-wife team, who also run the Taipei-based graphic design firm Scott Vision Communication (思考特視覺溝通). Their clients have included Uni-President, the company that manages 7-Eleven stores in Taiwan, and Coca Cola.
The duo longed, however, for a creative outlet of their very own.
“A lot of our clients already have a concept in mind when they come to us and it is our job to bring that idea to fruition,” says Wu, a former journalist. “But we wanted to create something that completely represents our own tastes.” The name Leewu was formed from a combination of the couple’s surnames and is a homophone of the Chinese word for “gift.”
One of the brand’s signature products is a series of book covers bearing line drawings by Lee of a solitary female figure. The woman, with long, black hair hanging down her back, looks through a window at pouring rain, sits in front of a computer, leans against a wall or hunches over on a floor in a cocktail dress, and is always alone. The series is called Reading, Not Loneliness (閱讀不•寂寞).
Wu thought of the concept behind the book covers. “Life is very complicated, especially for women. You are always someone’s wife, daughter or mother, and even though you fill all those roles, it can be a lonely road sometimes,” she says. The women in her husband’s drawings are only seen from the back, making it easier for different people to identify with them, the way readers project their own thoughts and emotions onto the characters in a novel.
“When a book you are reading moves you, you don’t have to worry about being wrong or being rejected,” says Wu. “Everyone has their own interpretation of the same pages and their own way of getting involved in the story. When you are reading is also when you are the most independent, and loneliness and independence are two completely different emotions.”
Other Leewu items, like a spiral-bound journal that comes in its own canvas drawstring case, are meant to facilitate connections with other people.
“We wanted to create a set with a notebook and a bag, so you can write and draw in it, and then perhaps leave it as a keepsake for your child or someone else. Then it’s like a time capsule of your emotions,” says Wu.
Wu hopes that Leewu’s line of coffee mugs, Super Mugits, will help office workers stake out their own identity in a workplace. The designs on the ceramic cups are inspired by briefcases, purses and golf bags, with the mug handle taking the place of the bag’s strap. Some of them riff on trends, including a cup that is based on the “I am not a plastic bag” canvas tote designed by Anya Hindmarch for US grocery store chain Whole Foods.
“It’s hard to express yourself in an office. But you can get a hint of what someone’s sense of style is or what his or her viewpoints are by looking at that person’s coffee mug,” says Wu. “People’s mugs become very important to them. In fact, they sometimes spend more time holding their mug in their office then they do holding a family member’s hand.”
Other products capture Wu and Lee’s own experiences, like a line of pencils and notebooks named The Blue: Ocean and Wood (the blue 海&木). The natural wood casing of the pencils were inspired by the color and texture of driftwood, while the cover of each notebook features a painting of a seascape.
“The notebook covers are meant to evoke the feeling we had when we went to the ocean side. Watching the sea gives you a different feeling each time. It can be carefree or sad. It might help you reflect on things or make you feel lonely,” says Wu.
Other items in the Leewu line include small raffia fabric containers that users fold themselves with the aid of cords in each corner, hand-sewn cloth bags, and a line of letter paper and envelopes called Avowal of Love.
“We create a lot of our items for our own pleasure, but we also hope that our stuff will also be seen as practical and useful by our customers,” says Wu.
Behind a car repair business on a nondescript Thai street are the cherished pets of a rising TikTok animal influencer: two lions and a 200-kilogram lion-tiger hybrid called “Big George.” Lion ownership is legal in Thailand, and Tharnuwarht Plengkemratch is an enthusiastic advocate, posting updates on his feline companions to nearly three million followers. “They’re playful and affectionate, just like dogs or cats,” he said from inside their cage complex at his home in the northern city of Chiang Mai. Thailand’s captive lion population has exploded in recent years, with nearly 500 registered in zoos, breeding farms, petting cafes and homes. Experts warn the
The unexpected collapse of the recall campaigns is being viewed through many lenses, most of them skewed and self-absorbed. The international media unsurprisingly focuses on what they perceive as the message that Taiwanese voters were sending in the failure of the mass recall, especially to China, the US and to friendly Western nations. This made some sense prior to early last month. One of the main arguments used by recall campaigners for recalling Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) lawmakers was that they were too pro-China, and by extension not to be trusted with defending the nation. Also by extension, that argument could be
Aug. 4 to Aug. 10 When Coca-Cola finally pushed its way into Taiwan’s market in 1968, it allegedly vowed to wipe out its major domestic rival Hey Song within five years. But Hey Song, which began as a manual operation in a family cow shed in 1925, had proven its resilience, surviving numerous setbacks — including the loss of autonomy and nearly all its assets due to the Japanese colonial government’s wartime economic policy. By the 1960s, Hey Song had risen to the top of Taiwan’s beverage industry. This success was driven not only by president Chang Wen-chi’s
The centuries-old fiery Chinese spirit baijiu (白酒), long associated with business dinners, is being reshaped to appeal to younger generations as its makers adapt to changing times. Mostly distilled from sorghum, the clear but pungent liquor contains as much as 60 percent alcohol. It’s the usual choice for toasts of gan bei (乾杯), the Chinese expression for bottoms up, and raucous drinking games. “If you like to drink spirits and you’ve never had baijiu, it’s kind of like eating noodles but you’ve never had spaghetti,” said Jim Boyce, a Canadian writer and wine expert who founded World Baijiu Day a decade