Long before the great fidget spinner craze of 2017, and before I had any idea what a fidget toy actually was, I would fiddle with just about any object I could get my hands on.
Pens. Bottle caps. Paperclips. Remote controls. The car radio dial. Anything mechanical was particularly vulnerable.
Much to my mum's annoyance.
One of my more vivid childhood fidgeting memories involved a pair of metal nail clippers that I was absent-mindedly clicking over and over again until they suddenly snapped and exploded into several pieces.
This became something of a family joke.
Apparently, I should get a job as a product tester because I had an uncanny ability to test things to destruction.
In hindsight, they probably weren't wrong.
My first accidental fidget toy
A few years later, my mum bought me a brightly coloured twisty teething ring designed for babies.
It was a joke.
Unfortunately for her, I loved it.
It was made from brightly coloured plastic with lots of interlocking sections that could be twisted and manipulated. It was satisfying, repetitive and gave my hands something to do.
It was, accidentally, a pretty good fidget toy.
I played with it around the house for ages.
I can't remember what eventually happened to it. Based on my previous track record, I probably broke it. Otherwise, it's presumably sitting at the back of a drawer somewhere.
But there was one fairly obvious problem.
It was a baby's toy.
There was absolutely no chance I was taking it to work.
When did fidgeting become acceptable?
Things have changed considerably since then.
There's much more public understanding of ADHD, neurodiversity and sensory needs, and fidgeting itself seems to carry less stigma.
I'm glad about that.
I've certainly become much more comfortable with my own need to move and fiddle with things. My ADHD diagnosis helped me understand some of those behaviours rather than constantly trying to suppress them.
But even now, I'm not sure I'd particularly want a rainbow-coloured teething ring sitting beside my laptop.
Not because I'm embarrassed by fidgeting.
I just don't particularly want a rainbow-coloured teething ring on my desk.
And I suspect I'm not alone.
Which raises an interesting question.
What's the difference between an adult fidget toy and a focus tool?
And does it actually matter what we call them?
What is an adult fidget toy?
Search for an adult fidget toy today and you'll find an enormous range of objects.
Spinners. Rollers. Sliders. Clickers. Magnetic mechanisms. Coins. Rings. Buttons. Mechanical switches.
Many have moved a long way from the brightly coloured plastic fidget toys traditionally associated with children.
Fidget toys for adults are often made from much more premium materials: aluminium, stainless steel, titanium, brass, walnut and other hardwoods.
Some are beautifully engineered.
Some are playful.
Some require considerable skill to master.
And some occupy an interesting space somewhere between a tactile object, an everyday carry item and a collectable piece of industrial design.
There are people with extraordinary collections of them, beautifully arranged in display cases.
Ironically, some probably receive considerably less fidgeting than admiration.
But I understand the appeal.
There's something satisfying about an object that has been engineered simply to feel really good in your hand.
But is it still a toy?
This is where language gets interesting.
There's nothing inherently wrong with the word toy.
Adults play.
Adults collect things.
Adults buy mechanical keyboards because they like the sound of the clicky key caps. We buy expensive pens because they feel nice to write with. We collect watches, cameras, records and countless other objects partly because interacting with them gives us pleasure.
Play doesn't suddenly stop being valuable because you turned eighteen.
But I also understand why the term fidget toy doesn't resonate with everyone.
If you've spent your life being told to sit still, stop fiddling and pay attention, describing the object that helps you manage that restlessness as a "toy" can feel infantilising.
Particularly in a professional environment.
You might be comfortable fidgeting during a Zoom call while simultaneously feeling less comfortable announcing to everyone that you're playing with your toy.
Perhaps that's partly why another term has started to appeal to me.
Focus tool.
So what is a focus tool?
Search for focus tools online and you'll encounter something quite different.
Pomodoro timers. Productivity apps. Website blockers. Flashcards. To-do lists. Browser extensions.
Mostly digital tools designed to help us organise our attention and get things done.
They're perfectly valid focus tools.
But they're not quite what I mean when I use the phrase.
For me, a tactile focus tool is a physical object designed to work alongside your attention.
Something satisfying to hold or interact with while you're thinking, listening, reading or working.
A switch beneath your thumb during a meeting.
A dial turned while you're thinking through a problem.
Something tactile in your hand while listening to someone speak.
The object isn't necessarily there to entertain you.
It's there to give your hands somewhere to go.
Perhaps the difference is intention
This is where I think the distinction becomes useful.
A fidget toy and a focus tool can be exactly the same object.
The difference might simply be how and why you're using it.
A fidget can be something you actively play with. You might learn tricks, practise movements or enjoy the mechanism entirely for its own sake.
A focus tool might be designed to disappear slightly more into the background.
You don't necessarily look at it.
You don't need to think about what you're doing.
Your hands interact with it while your attention remains somewhere else.
During a meeting.
While reading.
On a phone call.
While working through an idea.
Neither approach is better.
They're just different relationships with the object.
Designing fidget tools for adult spaces
There's also a design distinction that interests me.
Some adult fidget toys lean deliberately into gaming, EDC or science-fantasy aesthetics. Others are colourful, playful and expressive.
That's brilliant if that's your style.
But I felt there was room for something else.
I wanted tactile objects that felt at home in the same environments as the other things I love.
A walnut desk.
A good notebook.
A mechanical keyboard.
A beautifully designed lamp.
A laptop.
A cup of coffee.
Objects made from wood and metal, with simple geometry and satisfying mechanisms. Things influenced as much by mid-century furniture and industrial design as traditional fidget toys.
Something you wouldn't feel the need to put away when a client walks into the room.
That's the territory I'm exploring with Focus Lab.
Toy, tool or something in between?
I often describe Focus Switch and Focus Deck as fidget tools.
I like the term because it sits somewhere in the middle.
Fidget immediately tells you something about the physical interaction.
Tool says something about the intention behind it.
But I'm not particularly precious about the terminology.
If someone calls Focus Switch an adult fidget toy, then it's an adult fidget toy.
If someone calls it a focus tool, it's a focus tool.
If someone simply thinks it's a really satisfying piece of walnut with a switch sticking out of it, that's fine too.
Language matters because it shapes how we perceive things.
But ultimately, I think the object matters more.
Find what works for you
Some people love brightly coloured fidget toys.
Others want beautifully machined metal.
Some want something soft to squeeze. Others want a loud mechanical click.
Some people proudly display entire collections, while others want something subtle enough to disappear into their hand during a meeting.
There isn't a correct answer.
And perhaps that's the most important thing I've learned.
Fidgeting is personal.
The movement that feels satisfying to me might drive you completely mad. The object that helps one person occupy restless hands might become an irritating distraction in the hands of somebody else.
So whether we call them adult fidget toys, focus tools, sensory tools or fidget tools, I'm much more interested in how these objects fit into our lives.
Do you enjoy using it?
Does it feel good in your hand?
Do you keep reaching for it?
Does it belong in the environment where you actually want to use it?
And will you still want it on your desk years from now?
That's what I'm trying to create with Focus Lab.
Not a more grown-up name for a toy.
Rather, beautiful, tactile objects that people genuinely want to use.
Because people with busy hands and busy minds deserve beautiful things too.
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About the author.
Will Saunders is a UK-based designer and founder of UK Focus Lab, a studio creating analogue tools for focus and calmer work. He writes about attention, distraction, tactile design, creativity and our increasingly complicated relationship with technology.
