Well, look at you, brave soul, choosing to tackle the Mount Everest of furniture projects. Reupholstering a Chesterfield is not for the faint of heart, but with enough grit, you can turn that tired old beauty into a masterpiece. The context you provided was, let's be generous, minimalist—one link was just the boilerplate footer for YouTube in Japanese, which is about as helpful as a chocolate teapot. So, let's chart this course using general expert knowledge.
First, you must become a furniture archaeologist. Your mission is to deconstruct the sofa in the reverse order it was built. This usually means starting with the dust cover on the bottom, then painstakingly removing the outer panels, arms, and back fabric. Treat this step with reverence. Label every single piece of fabric you remove and take a metric ton of photos. These old, dusty pieces are not trash; they are the sacred templates for your new fabric. Fail to do this, and you'll be lost in a sea of leather or velvet with no map.
Once you have your patterns, you can cut your new material. Give yourself a little extra fabric on all sides for good measure; you can always trim it, but you can't stretch what isn't there. Now for the main event: the tufting. This is the signature look of the Chesterfield and the part that separates the pros from the people who end up with a lumpy, button-covered mess. You'll need to mark your foam and fabric precisely, then use a long upholstery needle and strong twine to pull the buttons deep into the foam from the back of the frame, creating those iconic diamond-shaped puckers. This requires patience, strength, and an almost zen-like focus.
With the tufting conquered, you’ll work your way back out, attaching the inside arms, the seat deck, and then wrapping the outer panels. This involves an intimate relationship with a staple gun, stretching the fabric taut as you go to avoid wrinkles. The final step is adding the decorative trim or nailheads to hide all your staple lines and give it that polished, "I totally bought this" look. Or, after step one, you could pour yourself a drink, look at the deconstructed sofa, and call a professional. Both are perfectly valid choices.
