Velcro

De Mestral was a Swiss engineer who already had a patent to his name, for a toy plane. The burrs were not a mystery. Everyone in the Alps had picked them off their socks for centuries. What was new was that the plant had got there first.

Under the lens, the cocklebur was a forest of curved hooks. The fibres of his wool were rings the hooks had slipped through. The burr held on because the shapes fit each other. If he could reproduce the geometry in synthetic fibres, he could make a fastener that opened and closed the way burrs did: pull apart, press together. No zipper, no buttons.

Years of trial followed. Cotton hooks tore on the first pull, and linen frayed. He found a weaver in Lyon who could work nylon under infrared heat. At the right temperature, a nylon loop sliced halfway through curled into a hook that did not break. Each side of the fastener used the same material; only the cut differed. He called it Velcro, after the French velours and crochet, velvet and hook.

He patented it in Switzerland in 1955. The fashion world ignored him. The fastener was loud, looked unfinished, and did not match any garment of the period. Sales were slow enough that he nearly closed the company.

Then NASA found it. In zero gravity, Apollo crews stuck their tools to cabin walls and fastened their suits with Velcro that one gloved hand could open. After the moon landings, the same fastener the fashion world had refused was in children's sneakers, hospital cuffs, and military gear. What the dog had brought home was now on every continent.