by Alexandra Mansilla
Noor Taan: ‘I Want To Prove That We Can Live With Just One Product — Loofah’
29 May 2024
Have you ever imagined that loofah can be used to create clothes? And lamps? And art pieces? Noor Taan, a Lebanese-German multicultural and interdisciplinary designer, proves it can be done. She creates impressive installations from loofah, incorporates it into clothing, and firmly believes we can use loofah in countless ways. In fact, she thinks we could live with just this product and avoid buying anything else.
So, let's dive into the journey of Noor Taan (warning: after reading, you will definitely be a fan of loofah).
— Hi Noor! My first question is about your website. I was looking through it and initially couldn’t find the menu. Then I noticed the logo below your name, like a slash with two dots. When I clicked on it, the menu appeared! Why did you design it this way, and what does the logo mean?
— So this sign is everything I am — it represents division. I really consider myself a hybrid. Not only am I a Gemini, which means being one person in the morning and another at night, but my work style also reflects this duality. As a designer, I can go with something very corporate and diplomatic, but I can also switch to something crazy, out-of-the-box, and abnormal. My personality is much the same: I can be quiet and a good listener, but I can also be explosive and crazy. I love very light shades and colours, but I also love dark ones. It is never anything in the middle — always the two extremes. This sign also represents my name in Arabic.
I also like ergonomic forms; everything circular really fascinates me. Beyond that, I love the playful element. If you are not curious enough, you won't understand. It is not right in front of your face saying, "Click here." You need to explore the page and find it, and then when you click on it, you realise there is another world. That is the idea behind it.
— Okay, that is cool. So, you are Lebanese-German, right? Who in your family is Lebanese, and who is German? And also, as I know, your native language is French.
— Yeah, it is a total melting pot. So, from my dad's side, we are mostly Lebanese. My mom is half Lebanese and half German, and my grandmother is 100% German. My grandmother is one of my biggest inspirations, followed by my mom. My grandmother moved to Lebanon, and when I was younger, we used to like communicating in German.
In my heart, soul, and mind, I consider myself Lebanese, but I don't always feel 100% Lebanese. Sometimes, I feel like I don't belong. When you leave your country at a young age, study abroad, and move around, you often feel like you don't fully belong anywhere. This identity crisis was something I struggled with a lot growing up.
We moved to Montreal because my mom wanted to do her PhD. Back then, I didn't want to go because I had my life and friends in Lebanon, but we moved anyway. Before Montreal, I attended a French school in Lebanon, and I continued in a French school in Montreal. Unfortunately, during those years, I didn't get to pursue any Arabic lessons, so my French became my first language, and my Arabic skills started to diminish.
In Montreal, our family bond grew much closer. Being away from our big family back home and our roots, I had to adapt quickly. I would think about who I wanted to be at school and adapt accordingly.
Moving to Montreal was honestly one of the best experiences of my life. I am very grateful to my parents for taking me away at that age when I was forming my personality and understanding who I was. It placed me in a completely different atmosphere, and I have great memories from those years.
After that, I moved to London and then to New York for my bachelor's and master's degrees. I kept moving, but I would always go home for vacations or Christmas at least twice a year. Even though living in New York was far away and the tickets were expensive, I made an effort to be there for my grandma and to reconnect with my roots, childhood friends, and culture.
I missed speaking Arabic, the good weather, and the warmth of the people. This is when the Lebanese inside of me felt the need to relocate closer to the region. After living in various places like London, Tokyo, New York, Nepal, and Mexico, I decided I needed to be closer to home, and here we are today.
Noor with parents. Photo: Noor's personal archive
— You mentioned an identity crisis. Could you tell us more about it?
— I think it first started with the language aspect. For example, when I used to travel, I loved that if someone was speaking Arabic, I would pretend I didn't understand to hear what they were saying about me. In other places, I would use my polyglot skills to my advantage, even speaking Spanish. I liked being a bit of everything wherever I went.
This is where I started feeling lost.
Growing up, I always saw Arab women with dark features as the standard of beauty, and I knew I didn't have those features. At one point, I was working as a model in London. I remember being asked what ethnicity I wanted to be considered for face modelling. When I said I was Lebanese, they told me I didn't look Lebanese and would be classified differently for clients. I was younger then, and it made me question whether it was to my advantage not to be a proud Arab because I didn't look like one. And I just wanted to belong to my country.
Once, we were in Egypt, and we weren't allowed to enter a mosque we wanted to visit because they said we weren't Arab. We insisted that we were, but they just refused, saying no. It made me so angry inside because I am so proud of my heritage. Why was I being discriminated against just because I didn’t fit their stereotype of an Arab?
In New York, I became more and more proud of my Arab identity. I started speaking more Arabic and incorporating it into my work. If I was doing a project, I would name it something in Arabic and see how people would pronounce it. Every single project became about Lebanon, the Arab world, or being a woman in the Arab world. I emphasised all these things that were a part of me, even if nobody knew my experiences.
It is hard for me to articulate because if I go home and talk to my friends, they don’t really understand. They haven’t lived the same experience.
Noor's grandfather and grandmother. Photo: Noor's personal archive
— You also mentioned your grandmother as a huge inspiration.
My grandmother has a beautiful story. A long time ago, she moved to Lebanon during the Civil War, where she met my grandfather. She was a volunteer doctor at the time. After they met and had kids, she stayed in Lebanon, even after her husband passed away.
She didn't speak a word of Arabic — absolutely zero. She didn't want to take her kids back to Germany because she wanted them to know their father's culture and where they came from, so she stayed. To this day, she still doesn't speak Arabic very well, but you can see that she learned it on her own. She eventually got lucky, remarried, and had two more kids, making a total of five. All of them are very successful, each with a PhD. One of my aunts is an animator who created a book about my grandmother's story.
They were raised in a very German style, with a strong work ethic and no weekends off. My grandma still calls me at 6 AM on Sundays, and I remind her it is the weekend, but she insists there are no weekends. She wakes up every day at 7 AM, has the same meal, and goes to work. At 80 years old, she still works. For her, it is a way of life. She raised my mom to be a strong, independent woman, and that is something I have inherited. We don't know what days off are — there is no such thing as a weekend for us.
She even opened the first school and association for children with special needs in Lebanon, based on Rudolf Steiner’s education principles, which I believe is the best. She included animals for the kids to interact with and activities centred around that. Ever since we were young, my cousins and I were required to attend summer camps at the school, spending time with the kids and being all together. These experiences really humbled me. Growing up, I was grateful for so many things because I interacted with different kids and was exposed to diverse backgrounds. It taught me that no one is better than anyone else; we are all different, but it doesn't mean one is superior.
As I got older, she asked me to volunteer as a teacher, giving art classes to these kids. Every summer, I would go and fulfil these duties. Honestly, it was more rewarding for me than I could have imagined. I felt like I was taking so much more from these kids than I was giving. They taught me more than I hoped to teach them. Every day, I would go home with a great feeling inside, knowing I was giving back to the community. If they reach a certain level, these kids will integrate into society and get jobs. It is beautiful to see their progress over the years.
My granny is a true giver, dedicating her life to helping others. Even now, she remains strong and continues to give back. She is an inspiration, showing strength and compassion in everything she does.
Photo: Noor's personal archive
— Your parents are design practitioners, right? What exactly do they do?
— My mom was the chairperson of the design and architecture school at the Lebanese American University in Lebanon. She also founded the fashion school at the university with the help of a fashion designer. She loves teaching art and the history of art, and she gives classes on women in the media in the Arab region, exploring how the image of women has transformed over the years. She has a PhD and, interestingly enough, did her master's at the same university where I did mine in New York. She studied communication design at Pratt Institute in Brooklyn.
Today, she is an associate professor, and she writes extensively about various Arab artists, including many women. She is also currently writing several books about designers, both up-and-coming and those whose past work deserves recognition. Additionally, she is the director of The Institute for Women in the Arab World, where she helps organise talks and conferences on relevant topics.
He is a collector of many things, but the downside is that he doesn't take care of his collections. They are scattered everywhere. Someday, I want to organise them properly, cataloguing each precious item meticulously.
He also collects old furniture, which sparked my interest in furniture design and refurbishing. Our eventual project is to have a pop-up store where we showcase and sell these refurbished furniture pieces, blending vintage charm with modern style.
In addition to his architectural and design pursuits, he loves cooking, which is another way he expresses his artistic side. He enjoys the little details in everything he does, from sketching and drawing to painting. His creativity and passion for various forms of art have always inspired me.
Photo: Noor's personal archive
— You mentioned that your dad is a crazy collector of everything, including carpets. You also started developing products from leftover carpet pieces. Please tell us more about it!
— My dad, with whom I have an extremely powerful bond, showered me with love as I grew up and inspired me with his good heart and selflessness. He is always thinking about ways to help others and give back to the community. He holds a lot from my grandfather, who had a huge impact on our family and was a guiding figure while I was growing up, teaching me core values and principles in life. My dad is my best friend, and his passion and eye for designing interiors inspired me as I was growing up. He is definitely the first person I call when I need advice on creating an aesthetic for my home.
The inspiration for the carpets came from him. He had this whole story with carpets. He used to sneak out of the house late at night to meet with carpet dealers, and my mom would be like, "What are you doing?" It was his favourite thing, almost a secret passion. He had friends who were carpet dealers, and one night, I went with him. I wanted to see what it was all about, and I ended up falling in love with carpets and the whole process behind them. I understood his passion for it.
My dad has so many carpets that my mom now hates them — she can't stand carpets anymore. While working with textiles, I was inspired to mix and match different materials. I came up with the idea of combining loofah and carpet. I started reaching out to different artisans, and during a solo exhibition in Nepal, I collaborated with a carpet factory that had a lot of leftover pieces they were going to throw away. I asked them to give the scraps to me instead.
I began creating by removing individual threads or sections from the carpet in shapes like squares or circles. I would then cut a mirror to fit the empty spot and embed it into the carpet, creating a carpet mirror for the wall. I questioned why carpets should only be on the floor — why not on the wall? I know you can hang carpets in the traditional Turkish style as art, but I wanted heavy carpets with mirrors inside them on the wall. This concept worked for me, and I was very passionate about it. This series was part of my exhibition, and it really resonated with people.
— You moved — wow! — nine times. Did it influence you somehow?
— It changed me a lot. It shaped my personality because my parents loved changing environments whenever they got bored in the same house. So, we would move, create a different atmosphere, and along the way, I would lose a lot of things. Growing up, this made me not attached to material things but rather to memories and pictures. I learned that I could lose everything and still be okay, which turned me into a minimalist over the years.
Now, I don't buy things I don't need. I am not into the materialistic world where more is better. I can live with just a few things. When I moved to Nepal, I took only the essentials, like underwear, knowing I would buy a few items there and leave space in my suitcase for art pieces. I wanted to bring back art and stories from the places I visited, not my own things. This taught me that material possessions aren't important and that you can live minimally.
I have been privileged to have what I need, but the most important things I received were attention and love from my parents.
You know, I had nobody to watch; I was creating my own story and living my own life. Even my parents were discovering what it meant to have a kid through their experience with me, so our relationship was very unique.
Home has always meant my parents to me. Wherever they are, they are my home because they represent safety, love, and everything I need. I am very attached to them, and I get very emotional when I talk about them because I am so grateful. My parents invested all their money in my education. That was their priority. They could say no to anything else but never to something I was passionate about.
All their savings went towards my education, especially my master's degree in the US, which is incredibly expensive for international students. They were committed to making it happen for me, and I will always be grateful for that. I will never forget how important it was to them and how much I wanted to make them proud. I wanted to succeed even more every day because I knew they had poured everything into my education. It was my duty to stand out and make the most of their sacrifices.
Photo: Noor's personal archive
— Okay, that is great. You mentioned that you need only a few things for living. Can you think a bit and name a few things you can't live without?
— Today, I would definitely bring a loofah. I always travel with one, and it is not just for bathing but also for exploring and testing in various ways.
I also always have two things from my parents. One is a piece of jewelry my dad gave me when I was younger, which holds a picture and brings me good luck. The other is a picture of my mom when she was younger, which I need to have with me at all times.
Another essential is a small notebook. I am old school and prefer writing or sketching over taking notes on my laptop. If something catches my attention, I like to draw or write it down.
Lastly, I always take some herbs, like Moringa powder or an oil that relaxes me. I love everything about tea and am obsessed with it, so I also bring some herbs or tea from back home. It is my comfort, whether in the morning or just as a taste of home.
— Now, about your artwork during the 2006 war in Lebanon. You created art pieces during that time. I haven't been able to find them online. Could you describe them to me?
— I remember very well making a handmade box from different metal pieces I found on the streets of Lebanon — random pieces that didn't make sense on their own. I created a box with a hole inside — so one could put their ear or head in, and it would be dark inside. You would hear noises I recorded from the 2006 war.
You couldn't see anything, but you would hear it and be surrounded by pieces of debris and fragments from the war. I also included a poem I wrote when I was much younger. It was raw and unfiltered, expressing my feelings of anger and the impact the war had on me. This poem played on a loop inside the box.
This project marked the beginning of my habit of repurposing items found on the ground or in the trash — recyclable items or randomly used things. I became the person who picked up anything interesting and used it to create strong, harsh pieces of functional art. These pieces were often pointy and sharp, like one I made from an old belt with rough materials. They were functional but repulsive and harsh to the touch, not meant for actual use. They were meant to describe feelings that couldn't be expressed in words at that moment.
I also expressed myself through paintings in dark colours. That is how I remember this period — it was a time of intense expression through found objects and art.
Photo: Noor's personal archive
— I got it. Thank you for sharing. So, you are a fan of Japan, right? You wrote that there is no place like Japan. Could you describe why you feel that way?
— A culture shock was definitely the first thing I felt when I arrived, but loneliness was also a big part of my experience. It was a time in my life when I truly understood the meaning of being lonely — not just feeling lonely, but really experiencing it deeply. Let me take you back to that time.
In 2019, I moved to Japan for six months as part of my master’s program. Only five of us from New York got accepted into this exchange program, which was mostly for Americans, and I was the only non-American in the group.
At the university, I noticed that the Japanese students were very different — super shy with almost zero social skills. The only language we could all understand was coding, literally.
The loneliness came from the stark contrast between my culture and theirs. Back home, entering a restaurant means hearing loud conversations, laughter, and people sitting in groups. In Japan, every restaurant or cafe had one person per screen, with no exceptions. There was no human interaction — orders were placed on screens, and food was delivered by machines. It was all so silent, with no eye contact or thank yous.
For me, a meal is something to be shared, even with strangers. In Japan, it was rare to see two people at a table.
I also experienced cultural differences in other aspects. For example, I was not allowed to join a gym because I had a tattoo, which they associated with the mafia. I even offered to cover it, but they refused.
The education system was another shock. Unlike in the U.S., where feedback is balanced with positives and negatives, in Japan, they were very blunt. If a student did poorly, they were told they failed outright, which was harsh compared to the encouraging environment I was used to.
One thing I admired about Japan was their work ethic. Unlike the U.S., where individual achievements are celebrated, in Japan, it is all about the team. They don't care about what you did alone but what the group achieved together. This team mentality is a big reason for their success.
Despite the cultural shocks, I loved Japan's minimalistic design and how it inspired my own aesthetic as a designer. Everything was so clean and orderly. My family even visited me there for my birthday, and they were equally impressed by the cleanliness and punctuality of everything, especially the trains.
Overall, my interactions with people were minimal. Men were extremely shy and often avoided me, which made integration difficult. It felt exactly like in the movies when I would see businessmen looking like zombies on the late-night trains, only to transform into completely different people after a few drinks.
I also had some unique experiences, like seeing a friend with a “robot” girlfriend — she literally had no emotions! — and staying in a hotel staffed by the same robots. These moments made me feel like I was in a futuristic world.
These experiences were some of the most profound and eye-opening of my life.
Photo: Noor's personal archive
— Now, let's talk about the loofah. I read a story about your first encounter with it when you were in Lebanon, in the car with your dad, and you saw someone selling loofahs. Can you tell me more about that experience?
— First of all, when I first saw them, it was love at first sight. These loofahs weren’t like the ones we usually buy for our showers. I saw them all together, piled up, and it was magical — visually and even emotionally. I didn’t see them in a bag or on a supermarket shelf; it was in a completely different setting. I wanted to touch them immediately. I told my dad, "I want them all, not just one or two — all of them."
Just to note: at that time, each loofah cost about a dollar, but now they cost around five to six dollars. Over the years, my obsession with loofahs grew. I connected with over 30 farms in Lebanon where we plant them, so I know the market prices and the farmer’s prices very well.
So, I took all the loofahs to my room, closed the door, and started experimenting. I burned one, soaked another in water with paint, sewed them together, and inserted different materials to test their strength. I used plaster and silicone to mould them and explored their details, seeing the lines inside as symbolic of life — detailed and never-ending. For me, the concept was limitless; there were no boundaries to what we could do with this natural object.
When I went to New York for my master’s, my initial thesis was about a tech product — a jewelry piece that boosted people’s confidence by transforming a hearing aid into something stylish. However, in 2020, when COVID hit, I changed my thesis to focus entirely on loofahs. I called it "Life Through Loofah," inspired by the idea of returning to our roots during a time of widespread illness and medical system failures. My message was to reconnect people with their roots through this natural product. I wanted to prove that we could live with just one product — loofah. We can build shelters, eat it, and clean ourselves with it. It is a sustainable and versatile material.
I became deeply interested in the history and uses of loofah. In Paraguay, they use loofahs to build shelters; in Nepal, they eat them in soups; in our region, they use them for hygiene; and most of the world uses them for bathing.
Photo: Noor's personal archive
I gave workshops in Dubai on how to plant loofahs in the UAE climate. My deep dive into loofahs earned me the nickname "Loofah Queen." I started writing about them, conducting tests, and even participated in an art exhibition at Art Basel in Miami, where I created a loofah cocoon to symbolise a womb. It showed how humans can destroy even the most sacred spaces, as more people entered the cocoon than intended, causing it to break.
At Art Basel, I gathered invaluable insights from over 2,000 people who interacted with the loofah. Their reactions varied greatly by culture, providing me with a wealth of information to bring back to my thesis. This multi-sensory experience is what I want to share with people — how a simple, natural material from our planet can be transformed in countless ways.
I remember one particularly unique project: an Arab man at Art Basel suggested creating a shower with a loofah-covered wall so he could scratch his back while showering. This idea inspired me to create an immersive bathing experience in an exhibition, with a loofah covering the walls and floors. It was designed to be a rebirth experience, with healing sounds and loofahs exfoliating and renewing the skin.
After Art Basel, I decided to create the brand "Life of Loofah”, which offers an infinite variety of loofah-based products. It embodies my mission to continuously create and innovate with this one material.
— What are your plans with the brand?
— So, my first collection included wearable items made from loofah and other natural fibres. I collaborated with single mothers in Palestinian camps in Lebanon to create these items, each one telling the story of the woman who made it.
Over time, I connected with various farms in Lebanon to plant and distribute loofah seeds, ensuring that every part of the loofah was reused. This journey led me to Dubai Design Week, where I exhibited loofahs for the first time in an Arab country. The positive reactions encouraged me to apply for a golden visa in Dubai (talent category), and I was accepted.
My brand, “Life of Loofah”, was born from this journey. It aims to create a variety of products from loofahs from lamps and lights to wearable items. Each piece is unique and handmade, reflecting the natural diversity of the loofah. I have also experimented with colouring loofahs and incorporating them into various designs.
Photo: Noor's personal archive
The first series of products from “Life of Loofah” will include lamps and lights, symbolising hope and light. This theme was showcased at the Biennale Design Store in Saudi Arabia, where I released 15 lamps.
“Life of Loofah” is not just about products; it is about creating experiences and installations that connect people to nature and their roots. One memorable project involved creating a loofah chair symbolising authority, which we burned in the desert as a form of protest. The video of the burning chair was projected on rocks, creating a powerful statement.
Our motto, "From Soil to Soul," emphasises the connection between nature and the human spirit. "Life of Loofah" aims to remind people of the importance of protecting nature, embracing their true selves, and returning to their roots.
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