We started with a jar of beetroot.
My grandmother lived on her own until she was ninety-one, and she was fiercely proud of it. She cooked, she gardened, she had opinions about everything.
What finally started to bother her wasn't anything serious. It was lids. She'd stand at the bench working at a jar, and eventually she'd have to leave it on the counter and wait for someone to come round.
She never complained about her knees. She complained about that jar.
A four-dollar piece of textured silicone fixed it. Not a nurse, not a walking frame, not a conversation about whether she should still be living alone. A piece of silicone.
That's the whole idea behind Still Able. There is a large, mostly ignored category of very simple objects that hand small pieces of independence back to people, and almost nobody sells them properly. They're buried at the back of medical supply catalogues, photographed under fluorescent light, described in language that makes you feel like a patient.
We sell the same products in a way that doesn't do that.
What we promise
We won't sell you something that doesn't work. We won't talk to you like you're fragile. And if something isn't right, thirty days, money back.
— Jordan