GetInterwoven, Author at Interwoven

A Reflection on Design Internships

An internship is an important rite of passage for any aspiring industrial designer. For students and new graduates, it’s an essential step to get your foot in the door of the industry and break out of the conceptual bubble that is design school.

Internships provide an opportunity to do real design work for a real design company on a temporary basis, essentially a trial run of what the rest of your career might look like. While many students view internships simply as a prerequisite to receiving a full-time job offer, the real value of an internship is learning about yourself through your experience of working for someone else. Through experiential learning, internships help you figure out what you want your future career to look like and how you can make it happen.

Whether you want to work in a specific discipline like soft goods, open up your own studio, or simply figure out a direction for your design career, seeking out targeted internship opportunities and work experience is the best way for young designers to carve out their path in the industrial design field.

How We Got Our Internships at Interwoven Design

Adam Gottesdiener (RISD, Class of ’26)

RISD industrial design intern Adam Gottesdiener uses a serger sewing machine in the Interwoven studio to construct a grey fabric soft goods prototype. — Adam applying his sewing and textile skills at the serger machine to construct soft goods prototypes at Interwoven Design.

My internship search started with a very specific objective: find a place to work that specializes in soft goods and wearables. As a junior at RISD studying Industrial Design, I enjoyed the traditional coursework focused on shop techniques, CAD, and hard goods, but my true passion was sewing and soft goods development. I decided to seek out design firms that specialized in this area so I would be a uniquely qualified candidate for an internship position.

Today’s job market for students and recent graduates is saturated at an unprecedented level. Applying for 50 or more generic jobs a day among my peers is no longer considered an exceptional amount of effort, but rather the norm. While I understand the urge for young designers to mass-apply to every opening they see, I believe there is far more value and potential in seeking out a select few places that uniquely align with who you are and what you do as a designer, making a more concerted effort to be noticed there.

I found out about Interwoven Design on LinkedIn and instantly knew I’d be a great fit, their studio was full of sewing machines, materials, and soft goods development setups, all of which aligned with my background. At the time, they didn’t have an internship posting listed on their page, but I took the time to send them an email anyway with a curated portfolio highlighting my apparel and textile work.

When a fresh internship posting eventually appeared weeks later, I decided to take a unconventional approach: I printed out my application materials, put on a collared shirt, and took a trip to 630 Flushing in Brooklyn to visit the office unannounced. I knocked on the door, introduced myself to a slightly confused employee, and explained that I had already applied online but wanted to drop off my physical portfolio in person.

Initially, after a few rounds of interviews, I received an email informing me that I hadn’t been selected for the role. While I was dismayed, I didn’t give up. It took over a year of staying in touch—sharing updates on my senior thesis and showing growth as a candidate—before Rebeccah reached out right before graduation to offer me a spot. From this process, I learned not to get discouraged at an initial rejection: if you truly feel like a studio is right for you, persistence and targeted effort will pay off.

Chloe Bonnet (Pratt Institute, Class of ’27)

Pratt industrial design intern Chloe Bonnet carefully traces pattern pieces onto technical fabric at a cutting table in the Interwoven studio. — Chloe bringing precision and academic discipline to pattern drafting and soft goods development.

Since starting my education at Pratt Institute, I’ve developed a deep interest in soft goods and wearable design, which sits right at the intersection of Industrial Design and Fashion Design. How I landed my internship at Interwoven Design was closely related to my general outlook on my education and how I approach my coursework at Pratt.

As Industrial Design students, we are surrounded by professors who have established careers in the field and deep industry networks. Having the opportunity to gain insight into the kind of work different professors and studios do is priceless. Throughout my years at Pratt, I’ve made a point to expand my learning by taking classes with many different professors and actively seeking out their perspectives.

While in school, it’s important to understand that how you show up matters. Developing a high standard for your work and your professional habits prepares you directly for an internship by establishing responsibility, punctuality, and organization. An internship is the direct next step from university learning. Small habits—like taking thorough notes, remembering key technical details, and managing your time across multiple deadlines—allow you to balance your priorities smoothly.

Rather than expecting to enter an internship as a master designer with a definitive perspective, understand that interning is about exploration, active listening, and adaptability. Bringing a high-value approach to your daily learning in school builds the exact discipline you need to excel when stepping into a professional team environment.

What We Learned at Our Internship

Interwoven Design leadership and interns Adam Gottesdiener and Chloe Bonnet gather around a worktable reviewing black technical soft goods prototypes. — Active review sessions allow interns to observe real-world design decisions and technical feedback on soft goods prototypes.

1. Executing for Someone Else

In design school, projects are largely self-directed and driven by your personal aesthetic. An internship takes you out of the driver’s seat. Your main job is to translate leadership’s direction into real output, adapt to the studio’s workflow, and absorb their conventions. Over time, you develop a shorthand with your team, learning not just what needs to be done, but why it needs to be executed in that specific way.

2. Treating Every Task as Essential

As an intern, you will handle a wide variety of responsibilities, many of which are not strictly design-related. Handling administrative tasks, shipping packages, prepping materials, or organizing the studio may not feel like glamorous design work, but treating every responsibility with high attention to detail proves you are a reliable, trustworthy team player.

3. Learning by Observation

Your primary role as an intern isn’t to push your own design opinions, but to observe how experienced designers make decisions under real constraints. Sitting in on team meetings, listening to designers debate details, and watching how client feedback shapes a project provides insights no classroom can replicate.

4. The Power of Communication

At Interwoven Design, we saw firsthand how projects progress from early client brief alignment all the way to final tech packs and functional prototypes. Learning how to communicate your ideas clearly—both internally with fellow designers and externally with clients—is what ultimately turns concepts into successful physical products.

Insights from Our Peers: Studio vs. Corporate

An industrial design internship can look drastically different depending on where you work:

Independent Studios: Smaller studios offer broader exposure to the full project lifecycle. With smaller, agile teams, interns get hands-on experience across prototyping, client presentation prep, and day-to-day studio operations.

Large Corporations: Often have dedicated resources for talent recruitment and structured intern programs. However, because projects involve multiple departments (legal, marketing, PR, engineering), decisions take longer, and interns often work on very specialized, narrow slices of a project.

Experiencing different studio environments during your student years is the best way to understand what type of work culture, team size, and design process aligns with your long-term career goals.

Key Takeaways for Future Interns

Focus on Quality Over Quantity: Target a select few studios that genuinely match your skill set rather than mass-applying to dozens of generic job postings.

Tailor Your Materials: Customize your portfolio, cover letter, and resume to highlight the exact skills (e.g., soft goods, pattern-making, CAD) the studio relies on.

Rejection Is Could be Just Timing: View a “no” as an invitation to stay in touch, keep improving your portfolio, and share periodic updates on your work.

Bring Value Through Effort: Be proactive, organized, and enthusiastic about every task, big or small.

A career path in design is rarely outlined from the very start. It takes being proactive, creating your own opportunities, and staying resilient when things don’t go according to plan. Looking back down the line, you’ll realize that every challenge, quiet season, and small success along the way was equally important in getting you to where you wanted to be.

Interwoven designers and industrial design interns Adam Gottesdiener and Chloe Bonnet posing together in the Brooklyn studio. — Wrapping up the day together in the Brooklyn studio after pushing through a major project deadline.

Interwoven Design is a design consultancy that is positioned at the intersection of soft goods and wearable technology, creating products that function with the body and offer comfort as well as the superb performance that arises through the innovative incorporation of rigid, often electronic and responsive elements. Sign up for our newsletter and follow us on Instagram and LinkedIn for design news, multi-media recommendations, and to learn more about product design and development!

A Q&A with James Rudolph, Industrial Design Educator and Founder of Rudolph Design Studio

Spotlight articles shine a light on designers, engineers, researchers, and creative thinkers we admire and the ideas shaping design today. This month, as students head back to school, we’re turning to industrial design education with a provocative question: Are we teaching young designers the right things?

James Rudolf, industrial design educator at the University of Notre Dame and founder of Rudolf Design Studio

We sat down with James Rudolph, Paul Down Assistant Professor of Industrial Design at the University of Notre Dame and founder and principal designer of Rudolph Design Studio. With more than 20 years of industry experience, James brings the perspective of an active practitioner to the classroom.

Our conversation ranged from AI-generated renderings to the enduring value of making, craftsmanship, and putting an idea into someone else’s hands. We talked about what students may be spending too much time learning, whether designers have become too focused on solving problems, and James’s growing interest in what he calls “speculative design for the real world.”

Q:

What’s one skill that students obsess over right now that you don’t think is going to matter as much in five years? And conversely, what’s one “old-school” skill that you think is going to become even more valuable?

A:

A lot of students are obsessed with being able to render at a fidelity that creates engaging, compelling, interesting visuals. In the past, that was such an important skill. If you’re a young designer, your concepts get more attention if they’re visually compelling, have high contrast and perfect perspective, and integrate color, material, and texture in a compelling way.

Some students get stuck on that to the detriment of thinking about the gesture, the overall form, and the general first impression of a physical thing. AI can help young designers create stronger, more compelling visualizations. The designer, in turn, brings the critical thinking and analysis needed to give those visualizations meaning and direction.

Conversely, the more traditional industrial design skill of model making and physical making is an area where I think we could all use a little more time. It doesn’t have to be hand carving, but it has to be the ability to show your idea in a three-dimensional form and put it in somebody’s hand.

And it’s not only model making, but craftsmanship. People respond to craftsmanship. Taking the time to make well-crafted, low-fidelity mockups allows people to evaluate the things you want them to evaluate—the ergonomics, the gesture, the space it takes up, the volume—rather than looking at how poorly something is made.

Q:

Is industrial design education keeping pace with the profession—or is it still preparing students for a version of design that no longer exists?

A:

My research and practice are closely intertwined. I continue to work with industry clients, particularly in healthcare, where I collaborate with engineers, scientists, and researchers to understand people and their needs and bring that perspective to the development of critical technologies. Those experiences also shape my research, giving me an opportunity to reflect and write about the role design can play in advancing healthcare innovation.

Those challenges, processes, and methodologies that I practice are what I try to bring into the classroom. With younger students, I provide more constraints so they can learn some of the fundamentals. As they progress, I give them fewer constraints and more of a framework for the types of questions they should be answering and the work they should be doing from the beginning of a project through the end.

In some ways, I guess it’s going back to an apprentice-style model of education: learning through doing, learning through dialogue, learning through feedback, and learning through interaction with physical things.

Industrial design student wearing safety goggles working on a project in a design studio workshop at the University of Notre Dame — Design student working on a project in West Lake Hall. Photo courtesy of the University of Notre Dame Department of Art, Art History, and Design.

Q:

Has making become optional? What role does physical making still play in industrial design education?

A:

For me, it’s still so critical. The act of making has obviously expanded. When I was in school, it was about working directly with materials—shaping foam, building three-dimensional forms in the wood shop, and learning the fundamentals of form through craft. It meant creating physical objects you could hold, interact with, and put into other people’s hands.

That’s still so critical to industrial design and the physical world, but the ways in which we can make things has grown. Now we’re 3D printing a lot. You can iterate quicker, create quick mockups in CAD, and add more content to your models through displays or digital experiences.

I think making is absolutely critical. It’s part of our approach to research and understanding people. You learn by making in a couple of different ways. You learn yourself through a kind of dialogue with the three-dimensional object, and you respond as a designer to what you’re making. But the real power is being able to learn from others through your making.

Q:

Are we graduating designers who know how to make things—or designers who know how to present things really well?

A:

I think every school is a little bit different. Some schools are certainly doing a better job of making sure that the craft of design is still at the forefront of their curriculum. A lot of it has to do with the expertise of the faculty. We tend to teach what we know, so a lot has to do with the values of the different departments and what areas of design they want to highlight.

There are certainly programs that excel at really strong presentations and portfolios—the ability to tell a compelling narrative through the visual storytelling of their projects. There may be some truth to the trend that a lot of the content in those portfolios tends to be more rendering-heavy, more digital-heavy, and less prototyping-heavy.

But I still see a lot of portfolios that show early, low-fidelity prototyping. I love to see that. I think it’s still paramount to the way designers learn from their own mistakes.

Q:

How do you define design research, what impact does it have, and how might we encourage more students to become design researchers?

A:

For me, design research is really about understanding people: their needs, their wants, their desires. Then, if you move beyond that, thinking about people in terms of social dynamics, behavioral dynamics, and common cognitive things that you need to think through from a human factors perspective.

It’s understanding people within a context, and that means understanding what their common goals, activities, and tasks are. When we start a design research project in my class, it’s about understanding a group or groups of people that have a shared task, activity, or goal.

At Notre Dame, we put a heavy emphasis on design research. In fact, one of the areas of feedback we sometimes receive is that we graduate students who almost have too much design research and less design refinement on the back end.

We start with an area of inquiry and go through the process of: What are the questions we have? How do we frame a research effort around that? What are some of the questions you might want to ask? What are some of the observations you might want to make? What type of people should you include to be more representative of a broader population?

Then, on the back end, how do you turn those observations into insights? How do you communicate what’s important—what you found that was interesting, compelling, and meaningful—to whoever your audience is?

Q:

Has industrial design become too focused on solving problems? Is there still room for work that’s speculative, poetic, or simply asks different types of questions?

A:

I certainly hope so. I grapple with this issue myself all the time. I have a real appreciation for speculative design work and for design work that is not intended only to inform products or practical things in your life. The idea of using the methods, skills, and tools of design to inform dialogue and debate has always been interesting to me. In fact, I wanted to be an artist originally. I went to school for fine art. So the idea of using the object to solicit or evoke dialogue and critical thinking is really compelling to me.

I think that’s a way to inspire students to think beyond practical objects or objects that are meant just to bring utility to your life—introducing projects intended to provoke, prompt, or incite dialogue. There’s this whole other world of design that takes place in art galleries, community settings, and social settings. Students can use their skills in more ways than just developing utilitarian products.

You also have the freedom not to design something. Maybe a product isn’t the right solution. Maybe it’s a system or service, or maybe it’s meant for a gallery or museum setting.

Q:

Everyone is talking about AI replacing designers. Is that the wrong question? Should we really be worried, or should we be excited?

A:

I struggle with AI a little bit because I haven’t found a way in my practice to use it successfully. I go to conferences and watch demonstrations of different workflows for incorporating AI into the design process, and at the end it’s like a coffee maker shrouded in camouflage. The forms don’t make sense and there’s no thought around the workflow or usability.

For more complex healthcare devices—wearables and things that have surgical robotics-like complexity—the results initially look compelling. They’re rendered very nicely, the forms look real, and they have compelling contrast and lighting. But I haven’t been able to use it in a way where I see real value. I can sit down with my partner and brainstorm 20 more reasonable, meaningful ideas. Maybe they’re not perfect or rendered very well, but they actually address the issues that we want to solve.

OneAir Medical and OneAir Environment handheld devices, healthcare and environmental monitoring products designed by Rudolph Design Studio — OneAir Medical and OneAir Environment devices, designed by Rudolph Design Studio.

It’s not to say that AI isn’t going to be there soon. I think it will become a great tool. But it won’t replace your ability to analyze and critique from a human perspective. I’m not scared. I’m frustrated with my own inability to use it successfully. It falls on me to continue to use the tools, understand the tools, and introduce them when I think they’re appropriate.

Q:

You mentioned speculative design earlier, and it’s clearly something you’re thinking about a lot. Where do you see speculative design fitting into the future of industrial design practice and education?

A:

One area that you might have seen me light up about is this idea of speculative design. Early in my career, my research was heavily focused on traditional ways of thinking about design: How do we better understand people’s needs? How do we define needs? How do we create procedures and processes to translate those needs into user-need statements and then into product requirements?

But my own research is going back to what I was more interested in as a student, which is this idea of speculative design. I’ve been rereading Victor Papanek’s Design for the Real World and also reading about speculative work, speculative everything, and discursive design. They often talk to each other as if they’re very different camps—speculative design on one side and traditional industrial design, where we make things useful, practical, and usable, on the other.

Why do they have to be so different? I think there’s room for both, and both camps can learn from each other. I’ve got this idea I’m calling “speculative design for the real world.” How do you leverage the methodologies and thinking of speculative design, and how can those things inform real-world initiatives—important societal and cultural initiatives?

When you think through the lens of speculative design, it opens up an entirely new range of possibilities for where the research might lead. You don’t have to constrain yourself to a thing. It could be an experience. It could be an exhibit. It could be a social initiative. It opens a lot of opportunities for different types of solutions that, as an industrial designer, you might not have thought of at the onset.

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Check out the rest of our Spotlight series to hear more from leaders in the design industry. Sign up for our newsletter and follow us on Instagram and LinkedIn for design news, multi-media recommendations, and to learn more about product design and development!

A Q&A with Hong Kim, Designer of Frame Runners for the 2028 Paralympics

Spotlight articles shine a light on designers, engineers and researchers we admire, asking leaders in the field about their work and their creative journey. This month, our theme is Inclusivity in Design, and we are looking at how products, systems and experiences can expand who gets to participate, and on whose terms.

Hong Kim, Frame Runner Designer for the 2028 LA Paralympics

Frame Running will make its Paralympic debut as a medal event at the 2028 Los Angeles Games, marking a major milestone for a sport that has transformed access to running for people with cerebral palsy. Originally developed in Denmark in 1991 as “RaceRunning,” the three-wheeled running frame quickly spread throughout Northern Europe through CPISRA. In 2019, World Para Athletics officially recognized it as a track discipline, assigning sport classes T71 and T72 and later renaming it Frame Running. In 2023, the rehabilitation organization Good Playground introduced the sport to South Korea by designing and distributing domestically produced running frames, helping train a new generation of athletes for the road to LA.

To explore this space, we spoke with Hong Kim, a New York based multidisciplinary designer and 3D specialist who now leads Frame Runner development for Good Playground. Drawing on years of serious cycling, architectural visualization and medical simulation, Hong approaches the Frame Runner not as a medical aid but as a high performance sports machine and a tool for freedom, dignity and joy.

In this conversation, we discuss engineering for extreme forces, the realities of co-designing with athletes and clinicians, and how elite sports can reshape everyday mobility design for children and seniors.

CAD rendering of a Frame Runner design shown from the side and front, illustrating how an athlete's body positions within the three-wheeled frame, with a chest support, handlebars, and two rear wheels. — A CAD rendering of Hong Kim’s Frame Runner design, showing the athlete’s positioning within the frame from the side and front.

Q:

Can you tell us a little about your journey and how you came to work with the Korean Paralympic team for the 2028 Games?

A:

I am a New York based multidisciplinary designer and 3D specialist. After graduating from Parsons with an MFA, I worked across many different fields, including medical simulation, LEGO game development, 3D fabrication and architectural lighting simulation.

Outside of work, I have been a long time rider and leader with the New York Cycling Club. That experience gave me a very deep, hands-on understanding of how bicycles work, including mechanics, geometry and engineering across different riding styles.

Those two tracks came together in RH1, a carbon scooter concept I developed with an architect colleague. We approached it with total production rigor, and the combination of high-fidelity visualization and 3D-printed prototypes proved that engineering-backed design can bridge the gap between concept and reality.

Eventually, all of this connected. My diverse design background, together with my cycling knowledge, matched what Good Playground needed. That is how I became the design and project lead for a custom Frame Runner program ahead of the 2028 Paralympics, working for a broader international market rather than the Korean team alone.

Q:

A competition mobility device becomes an extension of the athlete’s body. How does that shape your approach to design?

A:

There’s not much existing reference for this kind of device, so a lot of what I do, I have to invent. My starting point is always stability. That’s why I lean on triangular structures, they give the most confidence for a rider to actually push their physical limits. If they don’t feel safe, they won’t try.

From there, I bring in aerodynamics and performance, but always on top of that stable base. I don’t design it as medical equipment. I’m designing a sports machine, something an athlete is proud to use, visually and emotionally.

Q:

Every athlete moves differently. What are the biggest biomechanical differences you consider when designing a Frame Runner?

A:

Sizing, small, medium, large, is just the starting point. The real complexity is in how each athlete transfers energy into the machine. Some push almost entirely through the chest support; others generate strong lateral force through rapid arm strokes. I was genuinely surprised watching some athletes push hard enough that the metal connection between the frame and body actually tore.

So the real challenge isn’t just making parts adjustable, it’s making sure every joint and connection point where force concentrates can survive that load, so 100% of the athlete’s effort transfers directly into forward motion instead of getting lost in flex or wobble.

Pull quote from Hong Kim reading, your strongest tools are your ideas and your curiosity.

Q:

Can you share a moment when working with an athlete completely changed the way you thought about design?

Three athletes competing in Frame Running on a track, each pushing a three-wheeled frame with helmets on, racing side by side. — Athletes competing in Frame Running.

A:

Watching that chest support tear under real force was one. Another was an athlete whose leg kept rubbing against the frame during training, something no CAD model would ever show you. Those issues only appear when a real person, with a specific body and movement pattern, uses the device.

Working with a company founded by a physician was critical here, I had direct access to feedback from doctors and physical therapists, and could translate that immediately into structural changes. It taught me that this work isn’t about a beautiful static rendering. It’s about managing force, friction and human limits in their most extreme form, and that’s genuinely humbling.

Q:

How much of a competition Frame Runner is customized for each athlete, and what stays standardized?

A:

We use a hybrid model, custom frame geometry combined with standardized bicycle components. The main frame is tailored to the athlete’s height and proportions, built around small, medium and large, with extra-small or extra-large available when needed.

For everything else, we rely on off-the-shelf bike parts wherever possible, handlebars, stems, saddles, seatposts, and wheels in 650c or 700c sizes, along with specific wheel-tilt angles for stability. That keeps things serviceable using familiar bicycle infrastructure, rather than requiring a lab or factory every time something needs adjusting.

Pull quote from Hong Kim reading, mobility design isn't just about mechanical speed, it's about freedom, dignity and identity.

Q:

How would you describe Good Playground‘s overall design philosophy for the Frame Runner program?

A:

Good Playground’s logo integration and graphic concept

It comes down to two things: engineering simplicity and total visual branding. On the engineering side, we’re minimizing part counts and optimizing structure for real manufacturing, true 3D engineering grounded in structural reality, not surface styling. On the design side, we’re building one unified visual language across every touchpoint, frame geometry, uniforms, footwear, helmets…so the whole program reads as a single high-performance sports identity, even within a tight budget.

Before scaling up, we field-tested 100 first-generation stainless steel units with young athletes, so these decisions came from real feedback, not assumptions.

Q:

Has designing competition mobility devices changed the way you think about products for everyone, not just athletes?

A:

Definitely. My long-term interest is everyday life, seniors, children, anyone who needs mobility support. I want to shift medical devices away from a cold, clinical aesthetic into something closer to lifestyle or sports gear. The emotional experience matters as much as the mechanical one.

Looking ahead, I hope to initiate projects like a “My First Wheelchair” concept, a lightweight indoor wheelchair designed for young children encountering mobility devices for the first time. My goal is for it to feel more like playing with building blocks than sitting in hospital furniture. If a child feels curious and proud instead of sick, that changes everything. High-performance sports projects serve as our testing laboratory, and what we learn there will eventually shape warmer, more inclusive everyday products.

Q:
You’re also an avid cyclist. How has that shaped the way you think about design, ergonomics and performance?

A:

Photorealistic rendering of the Frame Runner in orange and blue, showing the triangular frame, chest support, handlebars, and three carbon wheels. — A rendering of the Frame Runner design, currently a work in progress.

If I weren’t a cyclist, I don’t think I could design this product well. Personal experience is everything with rideable devices, no matter how beautiful something looks, nobody uses it if it’s uncomfortable. I ride many different machines, folding bikes, gravel bikes, road bikes, mountain bikes, and a Frame Runner is just another member of that family to me.

Cycling also taught me how small changes matter: a two-millimeter adjustment can completely change how your body feels after hours of riding. That’s shaped how I think about ergonomics as something dynamic, not fixed, early in a season, athletes need a more upright, comfortable position; as they train, they naturally settle into a lower, more aerodynamic one. The equipment has to be able to follow that evolution. I call it biogeometry, designing for how the body and machine change together over time, not for one static moment.

Q:

Looking ahead, what do you think is the next big opportunity in mobility design, and what advice would you give designers who want to work in this space?

A:

The biggest opportunity is shifting focus from transportation to quality of life. People with physical limitations don’t want gear that makes them look fragile in public, there’s a huge, underdeveloped space for mobility tools people are genuinely proud to use, closer to personal style than medical equipment. Mobility design isn’t just about mechanical speed, it’s about designing freedom, dignity and identity. Any product that raises someone’s daily quality of life while breaking that stigma has the potential to lead this field.

My advice to other designers: don’t overthink it, and don’t be afraid to start. You don’t need to be an expert in everything, let doctors handle medicine, engineers handle calculations, fabricators handle the builds. Your strongest tools are your ideas and your curiosity. Stay genuinely interested in how people actually move and live, and the technical problems become challenges you want to solve, not obstacles.

Three images showing the RH1 carbon scooter concept: a finished render, a photo of a physical prototype being handled, and hand-drawn technical sketches with measurements. — Hong Kim’s RH1 carbon scooter concept, from rendering to clay prototype and sketches.

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Our conversation with Hong left us with a clear takeaway: inclusive design isn’t about compensating for limitation, it’s about engineering trust. What stayed with us most was where he wants to take this next, beyond elite sport, toward everyday mobility devices that give children and seniors the same freedom and pride he’s building for Paralympic athletes.

At Interwoven Design Group, collaborations like this are a huge part of what makes our work so meaningful. Many of the projects we work on exist at the intersection of design, engineering, material science, healthcare, and emerging technology. Working alongside experts like Candace not only pushes the work further technically, but also expands how we think about problem solving, comfort, usability, and the future of wearable systems. It’s this cross-disciplinary exchange that continues to make the field of smart textiles such an exciting space to work in.

Rethinking the Uni-form: Designing for Every Body

A uniform is designed to create unity. By definition, it means remaining the same in all cases and at all times. In sports, it symbolizes equity, shared identity, and belonging. But human bodies are anything but uniform. For decades, uniform design has mastered the art of creating visual unity. As our understanding of human anatomy, movement, and performance materials continues to evolve, it’s worth asking: What’s next for the uniform?

There is an inherent tension between a standardized product and the fluid, unpredictable reality of human anatomy. Rather than seeing today’s athletic apparel as a limitation, I see it as a foundation—one that invites us to rethink how performance products can evolve. The future isn’t about replacing the traditional playbook; it’s about expanding it to embrace human variability as a design opportunity.

The Clues in the Micro-Adjustments

Watching professional sports closely reveals a fascinating trend: elite athletes making subtle, intuitive making subtle, intuitive adjustments to their gear.

Close-up of a soccer player's lower legs showing team-issued socks with holes cut around the calves, revealing the compression layer underneath. — Professional athletes often make small modifications to their uniforms to improve comfort and performance. These adjustments can offer valuable insights for future sportswear design.

Soccer players routinely modify their team-issued socks to improve comfort and reduce pressure. Basketball players roll waistbands or adjust their collars during play. These aren’t acts of self-expression. They’re performance-driven adjustments that help athletes optimize fit, comfort, and movement while remaining visually united as a team.

Designing a uniform means balancing many priorities: performance, durability, manufacturability, and a shared visual identity. Yet no two bodies move exactly alike. As athletes sprint, twist, jump, and stretch, subtle differences in anatomy and movement naturally emerge.

Rather than seeing these adaptations as exceptions, we can view them as valuable design feedback. They reveal opportunities for apparel to better support the individual while preserving the collective identity that uniforms are meant to represent.

Designing from the Body Outward

An inspiring example of this mindset shift can be found in highly specialized performance gear—such as custom racing wheelchairs engineered for Special Olympics athletes.

Custom racing wheelchair designed for a Special Olympics athlete, highlighting individualized seating, support, and frame geometry. — High-performance adaptive equipment begins with the athlete’s body. Every component is engineered to support individual movement, comfort, and performance.

Here, the equipment adapts to the athlete—not the other way around. Because a project cannot start with a generic template, the engineering must begin entirely with the athlete’s unique body, posture, and movement patterns. Every decision—from the frame geometry to the seating angle—is tailored to an individual’s specific capability.

What makes these projects so compelling is how seamlessly hard and soft systems work together. While the rigid frame delivers mechanical speed, the athlete’s safety and endurance depend entirely on the softer touchpoints: pressure-mapped cushions, custom-contoured supports, and anatomical strapping. It proves that when design starts from the body and builds outward, it unlocks a completely different level of synergy between the user and the product.

An Unexplored Space for Future Possibilities

Wheelchair fencer in full protective uniform seated in a specialized sports wheelchair during training.

If complex performance equipment can be engineered to adapt so precisely, it opens up a largely unexplored opportunity for the future of team apparel.

The future of sportswear doesn’t have to mean a uniform that simply scales rigidly from XS to XXL. Instead, the “uni-form” can be imagined as an adaptable, modular system—one that maintains a shared team identity on the outside, while flexing to accommodate different body geometries and abilities on the inside.

That shift could lead to uniforms with modular paneling that accommodates different postures or prosthetics, adaptive seam placement that follows movement rather than symmetry, intuitive closures that support independent dressing, and material zones tuned for comfort, breathability, or sensory needs. The goal isn’t to change what a team looks like. It’s to expand how many athletes can perform at their best while sharing the same identity.

Belonging and Performing Together

Belonging to a team is an emotional experience, and the uniform is the visual anchor of that bond. True innovation in this space doesn’t mean sacrificing visual unity; it means evolving the underlying architecture so that the uniform supports every athlete’s peak expression.

Uniform design has always been about creating belonging.
The next chapter isn’t about changing that purpose. It’s about expanding who that belonging is designed for. Perhaps the future of the uni-form isn’t one form at all.

It’s designing for every body.

Diverse group of people representing individuality, body diversity, and personalized design possibilities for the future of apparel. — The human body is the starting point for thoughtful design. Understanding individual form, movement, and personal needs opens new possibilities for the future of adaptive apparel and performance products.

Beyond Devices: The Future of Smart Textiles

For years, wearable technology has been defined by devices; watches, bands, clips, and sensors attached to the body. These products brought computing closer to us, but they remained distinct objects, layered onto daily life rather than fully integrated within it. Today, that boundary is beginning to dissolve. Advances in miniaturization, materials, and fabrication are enabling a new generation of wearable technology that is built directly into what we wear. Electronics are becoming so small, flexible, and adaptable that they can be embedded into fibers, yarns, and fabrics, transforming textiles into intelligent systems. In this emerging paradigm, clothing transforms from a passive to an active layer; capable of sensing, communicating, and supporting the body in real time.

At Interwoven Design, we operate at the intersection of soft goods, wearable technology, and human-centered design. Our team brings together expertise in textiles, engineering, and product development to translate complex technologies into wearable solutions that feel intuitive and natural. In this Insight article, we explore how smart textiles are redefining wearable technology, and the design challenges that come with embedding intelligence into fabric. We also examine IARPA’s SMART ePANTS program as a case study in how next-generation textile systems are being developed and what they signal for the future of wearable design across industries.

From Wearables to Woven Systems

Early wearable technologies succeeded by attaching intelligence to the body. Devices were clipped, strapped, or adhered, creating a clear distinction between the user and the technology. While effective, this approach introduced friction, both physical and cognitive. Devices had to be managed, charged, positioned, and maintained.

A flexible circuit with sensor pad, PCB, power module, and surface-mount components integrated into a knit textile alongside conductive threads and stitching, illustrating smart textile construction — Sensors, circuitry, and power integrated directly into the fabric. The electronics are not attached to the textile; they are part of it.

Smart textiles represent a fundamental shift away from this model. Instead of discrete objects, intelligence becomes distributed across the garment itself. Sensors, conductive pathways, and responsive elements are integrated into the fabric, allowing the entire system to function as a cohesive whole. The garment is no longer a carrier of technology; it is the technology.

This shift enables interaction that is continuous and embedded in daily life. Rather than engaging with a device, users inhabit a system. Clothing can sense movement, monitor physiological signals, respond to environmental changes, and communicate data without requiring direct input. At the core of this transformation is the rapid miniaturization of electronic components. Sensors, conductors, power sources, and processing units are shrinking to the point where they can be incorporated into fibers and yarns without compromising flexibility or comfort. Conductive threads can function as wiring, while micro-scale sensors can be embedded directly into the structure of a textile.

This evolution changes how designers think about materials. Electronics shift from separate components to be housed within a product to intrinsic properties of the material itself. A fabric can conduct, sense, heat, or transmit information, not because something has been added to it, but because it has been engineered to do so at a fundamental level. As a result, the role of design expands. Decisions about weave structure, fiber composition, and material layering become as critical as traditional considerations like form and enclosure. Designing a smart textile is not just about integrating technology, it is about orchestrating performance at the level of the material system.

The Challenges of Translation

For designers, the central challenge of smart textiles is not simply technical integration, it is experiential translation. Electronics and textiles are fundamentally different systems, governed by opposing constraints. One is rigid, precise, and sensitive; the other is soft, adaptive, and expected to endure constant movement, friction, and environmental exposure. Bridging these worlds requires more than embedding components into fabric; it demands rethinking how products are conceived from the ground up. Traditional product design often treats materials as a means of housing or protecting internal components. In smart textiles, the material is the system. Decisions about fiber composition, knit structure, layering, and seam construction directly impact not only comfort and durability, but also electrical performance. Stretch, for example, is no longer just a fit consideration, it affects conductivity, signal stability, and sensor accuracy. Similarly, the placement of seams or zones of tension can influence how reliably a system performs over time.

Inside view of an Interwoven concept garment for SMART ePANTS. Conductive channels follow the seams, making construction decisions inseparable from electrical performance.

Designing at this level introduces a new set of constraints that must be balanced simultaneously. A garment must stretch, but not in ways that compromise embedded circuits. It must be breathable, while still protecting sensitive elements from moisture. It must withstand washing, abrasion, and repeated wear cycles without degrading performance. Each of these requirements influences the others, creating a tightly interdependent system where small decisions can have cascading effects.

Durability and lifecycle are also notable challenges. Unlike traditional electronics, which are often treated as discrete, replaceable objects, smart textiles are expected to behave like clothing: washed frequently, worn in varied conditions, and maintained over time. Designers must consider how these products age, how components are protected or exposed, and what failure looks like. Does the garment continue to function if one element degrades? Can it be repaired, or is it disposable? These questions push design beyond form and function into systems thinking.

Equally important is the user experience. Smart textiles must feel indistinguishable from traditional garments, even as they perform complex functions. This requires careful attention to weight, drape, texture, and fit. Hard points, bulk, or inconsistencies in material can quickly break the illusion, reminding the user that they are wearing a device rather than clothing. The goal is to achieve a level of integration where the technology disappears; where the garment behaves exactly as expected while quietly delivering enhanced capability. Designers must also consider how to communicate functionality through material, form, and experience. Feedback may come through changes in temperature, pressure, or texture rather than visual interfaces. The product must feel reliable and intuitive, even when its most advanced features are hidden from view.

Designing smart textiles is an exercise in reconciliation. It requires aligning the precision of electronics with the fluidity of textiles, the demands of performance with the expectations of comfort, and the complexity of systems with the simplicity of everyday use.

Case Study: SMART ePANTS

An Interwoven designer adjusting the fit of a cream-colored shirt on a fit model during a SMART ePANTS garment development session — A fit model session for an Interwoven garment developed for the SMART ePANTS program, where pattern and fit are refined to keep embedded technology comfortable and unobtrusive in wear.

One of the most ambitious explorations of this concept is the SMART ePANTS program, developed by the Intelligence Advanced Research Projects Activity (IARPA). The initiative focuses on creating fully integrated textile systems: garments that incorporate sensing, power, computation, and communication directly into the fabric.

The goal of SMART ePANTS is to develop clothing that can capture and process information about the wearer and their environment without relying on external devices. Sensors capable of detecting audio, movement, and location are woven into the garment, while conductive fibers act as wiring to connect these systems. Power is supplied through flexible, deformable energy solutions, and data is processed using ultra-low-power electronics embedded within the textile structure.

What distinguishes this program is not any single technology, but the level of integration. Rather than assembling components into a wearable device, SMART ePANTS treats the garment itself as a platform where every element, from fiber to system architecture, contributes to overall performance. The result is a product that maintains the look and feel of everyday clothing while functioning as a sophisticated technological system. This approach has significant implications for design. By embedding intelligence directly into textiles, the need for bulky hardware is reduced, and the user experience becomes more seamless. The garment can be worn naturally, without requiring adjustment or awareness, allowing technology to operate in the background.

From Research to Real-World Applications

While programs like SMART ePANTS are rooted in advanced research, their implications extend far beyond specialized applications. As these technologies mature, they will begin to influence a wide range of industries, from healthcare and wellness to performance apparel and everyday clothing, translating into applications that prioritize comfort, wearability, and seamless integration into daily life. The trajectory is familiar: high-performance, research-driven innovation gradually becomes refined, simplified, and accessible to broader audiences.

In healthcare, this shift is particularly evident. Garments designed for continuous physiological monitoring are moving away from rigid patches and adhesive sensors toward soft, wearable formats that can be worn over extended periods. For example, products like the Hexoskin Smart Shirt integrate sensors directly into the fabric to monitor respiration, heart rate, and activity without requiring additional devices. Similarly, platforms such as the Sensoria Smart Socks embed pressure sensors into knit structures to analyze gait and movement, demonstrating how everyday apparel can double as a data collection system without sacrificing comfort.

Performance apparel is another area where smart textiles are gaining traction. Brands are exploring garments that actively support the body through embedded functionality rather than external hardware. The Ralph Lauren PoloTech Shirt tracks biometric data and streams it to your device, while recovery-focused compression garments incorporate engineered fabrics that enhance circulation and muscle support.

In wellness and lifestyle applications, smart textiles are becoming increasingly discreet and intuitive. Sleep-focused products, posture-correcting garments, and stress-responsive wearables are leveraging soft, flexible materials to deliver benefits without introducing friction into daily routines. Early-stage innovations, such as textiles that can subtly adjust temperature in response to the body or fabrics that incorporate haptic feedback for relaxation, point toward a future where garments play an active role in regulating comfort and well-being.

In industrial and safety contexts, smart textiles are moving beyond rigid equipment toward more wearable solutions. High-visibility clothing with embedded sensors can monitor worker fatigue or environmental conditions, while military and first-responder gear is beginning to incorporate distributed sensing systems that enhance situational awareness without adding bulk.

Across these categories, a consistent pattern emerges: the most successful products are those that translate complex technology into familiar, wearable formats. Rather than introducing entirely new behaviors, they enhance existing ones, turning shirts, socks, and outerwear into platforms for sensing, response, and support. As the underlying technologies continue to mature, the distinction between “technology” and “textile” will become increasingly blurred, paving the way for products that feel less like innovations and more like natural evolutions of what we already wear.

The Future: Textile as Interface, System, and Platform

The future of smart textiles is one where the textile itself becomes the interface, the system, and the platform. Clothing will no longer be a static layer, but an active participant in how we experience the world: sensing, responding, and adapting in real time. For designers, this represents a fundamental shift in how products are conceived and developed. It requires thinking beyond objects and toward systems, beyond components and toward materials, and beyond interaction and toward experience. The challenge is to harness the potential of embedded intelligence while maintaining the qualities that make textiles inherently wearable: softness, flexibility, and comfort. The most successful solutions will not be those that showcase technology, but those that integrate it so seamlessly that it becomes invisible, leaving behind only the experience of wearing something that works effortlessly with the body.

At Interwoven Design, we partner with clients to navigate this evolving landscape, translating emerging technologies into products that balance innovation with usability. By integrating expertise in soft goods, textiles, and wearable systems, we help bring the next generation of smart textiles from concept to reality.