In an era when working from home means your office chair might double as a kitchen stool and occasionally host a cat, there stands in Anniston, Alabama, a monument to lumbar support so grand it could comfortably seat a small board of directors or possibly one very indecisive king. The World’s Largest Office Chair, which in true executive fashion looms at a commanding 33 feet tall, remains an oddly majestic beacon of productivity and steel-framed pride.
This towering tribute to ergonomics was commissioned in 1981 by Miller’s Office Furniture with the stated mission of attracting customers but with the unstated benefit of confusing tourists and unnerving the occasional bird. Fashioned from 10 tons of steel and blessed with a concrete foundation sturdy enough to make most skyscrapers blush, the chair was modeled after the Style 72 Boss model, because apparently when going gigantic, one might as well go full Boss.
The chair, which has been lauded by both Guinness World Records and visiting uncles with a deep appreciation for novelty roadside attractions, once held the title of Largest Chair in the World although it gracefully ceded that particular honor in 1995 when a 60-foot rocking chair in Illinois shambled its way into record books and onto the back of an unamused flatbed truck. Still, Anniston’s towering tribute to office decor remains the largest office chair, a distinction as oddly specific as it is fiercely venerated.
The chair has seen its share of ups and downs. In 2005, misbehaving teens scaled it in a nocturnal act of horizontal rebellion, prompting the city to place a fence around it and perhaps deny future generations the joy of declaring tiny mutinies on giant furniture. Despite an evolving office culture that increasingly involves yoga balls and standing desks, the great chair remains, quietly judging our posture from above.
“It might not be the biggest chair anymore,” one local said, “but it’s definitely the chairiest.”
In the end, while it cannot roll or recline or offer lumbar support, it does stand tall as a reminder that sometimes, to really make a statement, you just need to bolt a 10-ton metaphor to the sidewalk.
A chair fit for a king, provided he enjoys paperwork and has legs that extend 12 feet below sea level.