In 2023, when my daughter was 10 months old, my husband and I bought a house in east L.A. and spent a chaotic few months trying to get ourselves settled in our new space. One of the selling points of the house was a tiny little cabin in the backyard that could be an office for me and an occasional guest accommodation. Because I wanted it to feel more like an office than a bedroom, I felt the only solution for a guest bed was a sleeper sofa. Thus began my agonizing, six-odd-month search for a sleeper sofa I could endure looking at all day while working but that could also be a serviceable bed … but crucially, not, like, too comfortable, lest I be tempted to snooze instead of write.
My search was multi-pronged: word of mouth (I asked every friend and designer I knew whether they had a recommendation); press (Wirecutter, this publication, Architectural Digest, etc.); infinite late-night Googling sessions in the hope of uncovering some small obscure brand; polling my IG followers; cruising around a bunch of furniture stores in the Melrose area. I actually lost sleep as I began to be convinced that ugly sofas were “handsome, if you squint”; I would mentally commit to one, only to pull out at the last moment before making the purchase. I was functionally paralyzed — unfamiliar territory for an inveterate online shopper. To make matters worse, most brick-and-mortar furniture shops have at most one sleeper sofa on the floor, and the majority I visited didn’t stock any. The idea that you might want to, you know, test the thing out seemed anathema to brands prepared to take $5,000 off your person. When I visited the Design Within Reach shop in Pasadena in the vain hope of seeing one, I was treated with something resembling condescension (I could have been projecting) when I dared to ask if the vast store had a sleeper model on the floor. I returned to the internet.
The thing is, sofas that are not beds cost a ton of money. Add in a sleeper function, and you have another couple thousand dollars to contend with. But even after you’ve entered a state of Zen acceptance and clicked the “Affirm” button to “pay over time,” it still feels like you should really, really like the thing, not merely tolerate it. I demurred. Plus it required a lot of research. You had to know your sleeper-sofa types.
For instance, there’s the “futon,” which I feel confident needs no explanation. We all have an image of a futon in our minds. And that futon probably has stains on it, and lives in a “common room.” The best of these I found—which I seriously considered—was from an old-school source: The Futon Shop, which, to its credit, uses organic and non-toxic materials. The “Okinawa Bi-Fold Wood Futon Frame with Drawers” in the “Natural” wood finish for $935 (not including the mattress — that’ll add another $600 to the equation) is quite handsome. I contemplated returning to 2002 but remembered the outrageous discomfort of the futon couch that accompanied me throughout college and decided, I can’t go back.
A cousin of the futon, but with a generally more couch-like mien is the “convertible sofa.” These have a backrest that can be laid flat without needing to pull out a mattress and often involve what I think of as “sardine style” sleeping because the sleeper(s) will be positioned parallel to what was formerly the back of the couch, as opposed to perpendicular to it. There are advantages to this construction and I was closest to buying one from Room & Board (which, for what it’s worth is the brand that most of my IG followers suggested for sleeper couches) called the Deco ($1,999 includes a very essential-seeming topper) before my husband came into the room and said, “Are you crazy, you hate tufted sofas [true] and also, what’s that hunchback business?” referring to the part of the mattress that swings down when the couch is serving as a couch, but which looms uncomfortably like a giant malignant tumor. Room & Board, I feel compelled to note, is one of the few furniture stores I visited that did have a sleeper model on the floor, but it was the boxy, generic-looking Viva sofa for $2,499 — if you’re into that style, I feel like, why not just go for the Ikea Finnala for $1000 less?
Also in the convertible category (I think? The distinctions start to blur) goes the type of sofa where the seating surface simply unfurls onto the floor to become a bed. I eyed the undeniably cool vintage 1960s De Sede, folds-out-onto-the-floor “DS 85” model recommended to me by someone whose aesthetic sensibility I revere, designer Sally Breer. This piece ranges from $7,000 to $14,000 (depending on the online vintage dealer) and looking at photos makes me think of spilt martinis and various instances of sexual misconduct. I also consider — but really consider — the Rove Concepts “Milo Sleeper Sofa” for $2,665 which, in the Cobalt Velvet (regrettably, the totally wrong color palette for my office), is actually very chic. The downside of many of the couches in this category is that the sleeping surface is on the ground which is not great when the visiting parents in question are pushing 80 and cranky about their knees.
I know you don’t necessarily want me to go on, but I’m sorry, there are too many types of sleeper couches — we must forge ahead! And, perhaps the variety we all most associate with the genre is the “pull out” (sounds a bit dirty but I guarantee that intimacy is rarely top of mind for anyone sleeping on said type of “bed”). The ones most recommended to me by the IG hivemind were by American Leather. “The best night of sleep I’ve had in my life,” said one commenter, “I used an American Leather pull-out sofa as my main bed for five years,” said another. “My in-laws say it’s more comfortable than their bed at home,” claimed another enthusiast. It’s not that I disbelieved these well-intentioned folks — I have had some extremely decent nights of sleep on an American Leather sleeper sofa at my godfather’s house. It’s just that, well, it’s called American Leather. Why does it have to sound so MAGA-y? And even if I were to clear the hurdle of the macho-patriotic name, I’m still not wowed by their designs, which are strongly reminiscent of couches I’ve sat on in therapists’ offices. Plus, not cheap! Most styles in a queen size come in at around $5,000 or more.
At some point in late December — we had moved in July — I had narrowed it down to the Serena & Lily “Spruce Street Sleeper” in a tony nautical stripe for a whopping $7,400 (despite never having purchased a single thing from the brand, or frankly having any familiarity whatsoever with their product mix) and Sixpenny’s Neva Sleeper sofa in a yellow cotton-linen called Honey Bee for $4,149, whose principle attraction is that the “baseboard” (let’s call it) of the sofa extends out when you pull it out and makes the bed iteration look sturdier and more legitimate. I had lost the plot. After receiving sage and sobering advice from my husband, I closed those browser windows only to decide that I didn’t deserve anything fancier than the $399 cottage-core-y Ikea Hemnes sofa in a cheery on-trend marigold hue. I didn’t go for it, but I still kinda wish I did. It’s a daybed and a queen bed, thanks to a kind of trundle mechanism and stacking mattresses.
I had nearly given up hope when my friend, the very aesthetically-attuned photographer Sam Contis, came to stay and casually mentioned that the only sleeper sofa she had ever coveted was the ’Guest Bed’ from a Belgian company called Bautier, an original design created by Marina Bautier for her eponymous line of minimalist furniture. Bautier, I discovered, is a lovely shop located in Brussels with a modest online storefront. Founded by designer Marina Bautier in 2013, they make pared-down, functional, and durable pieces intended to be used for a lifetime. In the brand’s own words, “Bautier is not about making standout objects. Its designs are pure and modest, reduced to its bare essentials.” Sustainability is also a major factor in the brand’s philosophy — they fastidiously select local suppliers, manufacturers, and materials. The shop, which I’m dying to visit, comprises a full home collection, including small accessories, books, and classic homeware from other like-minded brands.
[Editor’s note: Bautier lists its prices in Euros; the USD price shown is an approximation.]
I spent a long time “with” the Guest Bed. The browser window stayed open for a month. A link to it was messaged to many a friend for corroboration. Finally, I decided it was, in fact, my unicorn: a piece of timeless minimalist furniture ingeniously designed to slide frictionlessly open into something that actually looked like an attractive, intentional bed frame thanks to interlocking wood slats and stacking mattresses. Open, it measures something close to 63 x 81 inches, bigger than an American Double and smaller than a Queen, but not in a “can’t find sheets that fit” kind of way. It was also made of solid oak wood (unlike most pull-out sofas whose rickety metal legs resemble the prongs on stacking chairs at a corporate convention). Its cushions were also covered in a natural fiber blend of wool and viscose. As a new mom, one of my search parameters was to find something made with non-toxic materials, and in this regard the Bautier Guest Bed also fit the bill.
I placed the order, opting for a pale yellow textile from the sustainable Danish company Kvadrat (one of ten upholstery options). I waited, I think, about 8 or 10 weeks for it to be delivered from Europe, and when it arrived in a Raiders of the Lost Ark crate (I had to buy a crowbar just to open it) it was perfect. Easily assembled, exceedingly chic, and a perfect office daybed to festoon with an absurd number of throw pillows. More often than not I find myself sitting there to write rather than at my desk. Comfortable without being distractingly plush. Is it the most deluxe sleeping surface for guests that ever was? No. Apparently you need to compromise on your aesthetic credo for that pleasure. But I throw a Turmerry natural latex topper (which gets stored in the slim clearance area beneath the sofa) on there whenever anyone comes to stay and, so far, I’ve had nary a complaint.
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