Seven shapes. Still clicking in 2126.

nog /nɔx/, Dutch: 1. still.; 2. one more.

We make one box of bricks and nothing else. No sets, no stickers, no part that only fits one model.

This is everything.
There will never be an eighth.

1,549 bricks in seven shapes. Whatever you make with Nog, you make with these. Every picture on this page is made with these too, right down to the name at the top.

Eight×212The one that holds everything together.

Four×299Rails, masts, long thin ideas.

Two×375Stairs, eyebrows, the bit you ran out of.

Square×153Where towers turn corners.

One×228The small fix for almost anything.

Slope×222Roofs, hulls and the backs of whales.

Dot×60Eyes, wheels, lamps, buttons.

0 of 383 bricks in

Scroll, and it builds.

From the belly up, one brick at a time, in the order the manual gives. It takes a seven-year-old most of a wet Saturday. It’ll take you about nine seconds.

The pink in the throat isn’t a special part.

It’s ordinary bricks that happen to be pink. The eye is a Dot. The spray is twenty more Dots, and we think they’re the best bit.

Now take the whale apart.

That’s the whole upgrade path. Nothing new comes out of the box. The belly is now the white stripes.

Someone has to live there.

The house at the bottom isn’t in the manual’s first draft. A tester called Noor, who is six, said it looked lonely.

We’ve never sold a spaceship set.

Nobody’s stopping you. It’s the same box again, and the dish on top is the same green as the tree someone else made last week.

One brick, every birthday.

Here’s what we’re actually selling. Keep scrolling and you climb a hundred years of one family’s tower. It’s a made-up family. It isn’t a made-up promise.

2026Ines buys a box for Tomás, who turns five today. First brick goes on.

2035Tomás is fourteen and says he’s done with all this. He adds the brick anyway.

2044Tomás moves to Lagos. The box stays in a cupboard. Ines does the birthdays on her own.

2059Aru, Tomás’s daughter, turns six and asks what the tower is for. Nobody has a good answer.

2078A dog chews an Eight. Aru sends us a photo. A new one comes in the post, no questions.

2097Our factory closes. The mould has been public since 2026, so a workshop in Recife carries on.

2114Aru teaches her grandson the whale. He gets the tail wrong the same way she did.

Still clicks.

If a Nog brick ever stops holding, we replace it. You, your kids, or theirs. Ask us in 2126.

Your turn.

Click the plate. These come out of the same box as the whale, so they do run out.

0 Tomato Eights left

We published the mould.

A hundred-year promise from one company is only a nice thought. So the whole system is public domain, free to copy, and drawn in round numbers you can check with a school ruler.

The Nog StandardSheet 1, plan

SectionSheet 2

The sevenSheet 3

Who else makes themSheet 4

Oficina BarroPorto, fired clay bricks
Hinoki KidsKyoto, cypress wood set
Printing ForwardNairobi, school print files
Oficina RecifeRecife, repair moulds

Pull a brick.

Every question is holding up the ones above it. The answer is underneath.

Everything goes back in the box.

The whale, the lighthouse, the lander, the tower, whatever you just left on that plate.

The Box

$148

212Eight
299Four
375Two
153Square
228One
222Slope
60Dot

Ships from Rotterdam in a week. One in ten goes to a school, and that’s already in the price. Guaranteed until 2126.