DESIGN
EXPERTS
Tuscany
Sitting pretty
Whether or not you spent your childhood summers on the Italian Riviera, regista’chairs have long been an evocative hallmark of the region’s classic beach clubs. One heritage maker, Piastri 1961, is seating a new generation.
PHOTOGRAFER – Emanuele Camerini
WRITER – Alexandra Aldea
Allegra Bartoli runs her fingers along a stack of newly made regista chairs, the wood still warm and satin-smooth.
“We only use beech, ash and iroko from Udine,” she says as she walks around the workshop of Piastri 1961. “Every chair is strictly assembled by hand.” The 29-year-old is the latest custodian of the Tuscan company behind the classic regista — the fabric-backed chairs that appear on so many beaches along the Italian coast.
The Bartolis are recent co-owners of the business and were also long-time customers. Bartoli studied fashion in England and was working as a stylist for brands including Burberry. Then her father called with an idea that lured her back to Pietrasanta, a small town just off the Tuscan Riviera. “We have a café in the centre of town and have always had registas from Mr Piastri,” she says. “My dad had become close to the son of the founder of Piastri 1961, Maurizio, who was looking for someone to take over, so I stepped in. I used to dress models. Now I dress regista chairs.”
Regista means “director” in Italian. “The chair borrows its silhouette from the Hollywood original — collapsible, with taut fabric stretched across a wooden frame — but ours is sturdier by design, made to withstand sea winds and salt air,” she says. They’re found on balconies in Rome, café terraces in Venice and boats moored in Ligurian coves. “At our café, Bar Pietrasantese, we have them embroidered with the names of our most faithful customers.”
But it’s on the sands of Versilia, a stretch of land between the Apuan Alps and the Tyrrhenian Sea, that the chair has truly stepped into its leading role. A few kilometres downhill from the workshop, a ritual is under way in the resort town of Forte dei Marmi. Striped umbrellas stretch in perfect rows, canvas cabanas flap softly in the breeze and children’s feet slap against the hot wooden walkways as they race towards the sea.
From his red regista stencilled with the word “Salvataggio” on the back, the bagnino — a lifeguard — scans the horizon, one eye on the waves, the other on the elegant choreography beneath the umbrellas. The nonne arrive in pairs, drag their chairs across the sand with a soft scrape and form a loose circle to hold court. With the quiet determination of seasoned detectives, the nonni snap open La Settimana Enigmistica, Italy’s beloved crossword magazine, and lower themselves into their chairs with a practised thud. The canvas creaks, the wood settles, and summer begins.
To fully grasp the significance of the regista, one must understand that of the bagni. Unlike public beaches, these meticulously arranged beach clubs are well equipped with all manner of beach furniture. “Families rent the same umbrella, cabin, loungers and chairs every year,” says Bartoli. Here, summer moves in a familiar rhythm. Every regista flaunts the bagno’s colour scheme, from pale peach with forest green to navy with cream piping. “Our seamstresses are experts,” says Bartoli. “They know which bagno a chair is for, based on the palette.” Most have the name of the beach club carefully hand-embroidered or stamped in relief: Mario, Augustus, Annetta, Graziella, Gilda.
In the 1960s, Versilia’s bagni became the salons of Milanese industrialists, Roman actors and European royalty. You’ll spot the regista in the background of grainy paparazzi photos: a seat for dolce far niente — to nap, spy, flirt and philosophise. Piastri 1961 was born in those years.
While some other producers remain, most focus more broadly on beach equipment, including umbrellas. Few, if any, have specialised in the regista with the same continuity. Maurizio Piastri became the last artisan in Forte dei Marmi to do so. “Piastri’s chairs have been equipping almost every bagno in Forte,” says Bartoli. The market in Forte dei Marmi is also unusually strict, she says. “When we participated at a fair in Rimini [an Italian town on the east coast], the other companies couldn’t believe that registas were still being made from wood because aluminium is now the norm across most coastal resorts. But here, a local ordinance requires chairs to be made only from timber.”
“The chair borrows its silhouette from the Hollywood original — but ours is sturdier, made to withstand sea winds and salt air.”
In 2024, Bartoli began steering Piastri 1961 into new waters. “The old owners were artisans, not a brand,” she says. Now the chairs carry the company’s subtle signature: two small Ps, burnt into the wood just beneath the armrest. The workshop, once housed in a family stable, now sits along a riverbank near the Carrara marble quarries, where the original vintage machinery still hums. Each chair is shaped by hands guided more by habit than haste.
When the new owners made the move, they uncovered forgotten rolls of fabric. “With our business partner Magazzini Bracchi, we launched a limited-edition chair called Vecchia Versilia, made from those old canvases and printed with the names of legendary beach resorts: Portofino, Capri and, of course, Forte dei Marmi,” says Bartoli.
Piastri 1961 has also brought regista chairs to new stages: collaborations with Bulgari and Hotel Villa Serbelloni on Lake Como; showrooms in Forte dei Marmi, Milan and soon Florence; and a quiet debut during the latest Milan Design Week. “We want people to understand the regista’s place in local history but also to show how iconic and versatile it can be, from festivals to private homes,” says Bartoli.
Even inside a house, these chairs evoke the charm of a languid day spent on the beach. As the sun begins to dip, life at the bagni follows a script. The sand is combed; umbrellas are snapped shut and aligned like sentinels. Teenagers, who were curled up in the regista, collect their grandfather’s pink sports newspaper tucked between the canvas and frame and head to the cabins to change for a passeggiata (an evening stroll). Young boys crowd around a football table, shouting with theatrical outrage for one last game. The plastic players rattle — a goal, a round of applause — then the soft creak of the regista being folded away as the bagnino calls it a day.
