inclusive design Archives

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.

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!

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.

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!

Holding Hope: What It Means to Be a Woman Who Designs

This article, written by Rebeccah Pailes-Friedman, was published in the Spring 2025 Issue of IDSA’s INNOVATION Magazine.

Hope isn’t loud. It doesn’t arrive in fanfare or blaze across headlines. For many of us—especially women working in creative fields—it shows up quietly, in the act of continuing. In the sketch, the prototype, the difficult conversation we still choose to have. Design, at its core, is a hopeful practice: it asks us to imagine that something could be better than it is now, and then dares us to shape it. Even when the world feels brittle, uncertain, or indifferent.

As a woman navigating both industry and academia, I’ve come to see hope not as optimism, but as resistance. It’s the decision to keep building—companies, objects, classrooms, futures—in spite of all that tells us not to. And I see this resilience everywhere: in the students who arrive carrying questions no syllabus can answer; in the design teams holding the line for inclusive products; in the small, quiet breakthroughs that happen late at night at the sewing machine or CAD screen.

This kind of hope is rarely celebrated, because it’s not shiny. It doesn’t make headlines. It shows up in the tenacity to make good work even when timelines are tight, budgets are limited, or recognition is slow to come. It’s especially present in the work of women designers, who often take on the invisible emotional labor of collaboration, mentoring, and bridging hard conversations. In our Women in Design conversations over the past few years, I’ve been struck by how often words like perseverance, balance, care, and community come up—none of which scream “disruption,” but all of which embody a more durable kind of design leadership.

When we talked about networking and resilience, we weren’t talking about ladder-climbing. We were talking about survival. About holding space for one another while navigating a field that’s not always structured with us in mind. About reaching out across disciplines and generations. That too is a hopeful act: to believe that connection and mentorship matter, and to keep showing up for each other, even when it’s hard.

I think often about the women I’ve spoken to through this column—their stories, their honesty, their strength. One shared how she stayed in the field because another woman made space for her. Another talked about choosing projects not based on prestige, but on the opportunity to make change. These aren’t always the loudest decisions, but they are the ones that shape the culture of design from the inside out. These women weren’t talking about hope in abstract terms. They were living it, designing it into being.

And let’s be honest: it has been hard. Between global instability, climate disasters, the rollback of rights, economic pressure, and the constant background hum of burnout, it can feel countercultural to keep imagining better futures. But design is inherently future-facing. Whether we’re creating a medical wearable, a system of support for a patient, or a vessel for shared meaning—we’re always in conversation with tomorrow.

Sometimes, that conversation is technical. Sometimes, it’s philosophical. And sometimes, it’s deeply personal.

For me, that dialogue often happens through clay.

In my studio, I make large ceramic vessels—coiled by hand, textured with slips and oxides, and fired until the surfaces crack and reveal layers of transformation. These pieces aren’t about beauty or perfection. They’re my response to climate grief, especially the long, slow disasters like drought and erosion. They’re how I process the overwhelming scale of what’s happening in the world—by shaping it, literally, into something I can hold.

There’s nothing passive about that process. Clay resists. It collapses. The kiln introduces chaos. And yet, I return to it because it grounds me. My ceramics practice is not separate from my design work—it’s the well I draw from. It reminds me that making is a form of meaning-making. That even in the face of loss or uncertainty, our hands can still create.

In earlier writing, I described creativity as a natural pathway—one shaped by instinct, iteration, and trust. When I’m working in clay, I feel that path most clearly. It’s intuitive. It’s physical. I’m not designing for a user or testing for scale. I’m listening. I’m responding. I’m giving form to emotion, tension, hope, and frustration—all of it. My recent work deals with drought because it’s something I can’t stop thinking about. The ground drying up. The surface cracking. The idea of something vital disappearing. Through my vessels, I can process those fears in a way that feels active, not paralyzing.

When I coil the clay, there’s a rhythm. When I fire it, there’s surrender. When the piece comes out—changed, scorched, scarred—it holds a narrative that didn’t exist before. And often, I didn’t know what it would say until I saw it finished. That, to me, is hope in physical form. Not a glossy outcome, but a mark of having passed through something difficult and come out the other side, altered but intact.

And that’s the part I’ve come to understand as hope.

Not the idea that everything will be okay—but the decision to make something anyway. To participate. To stay in the conversation.

I see this same spirit in so many women designers I know. Whether they’re working on equitable tech, gender-responsive products, or advocacy within institutions, they’re not waiting for perfect conditions. They’re doing the work. They’re shaping the conversation. The Women in Design Committee has shown me again and again that progress often looks like this: a little bit of clarity, a lot of persistence, and a shared belief that things can move forward—even if just a few degrees at a time.

There is also something profoundly hopeful in the way women often approach complexity—not by simplifying it or pushing it aside, but by holding it. Balancing competing priorities. Making room for ambiguity. Designing solutions that don’t ignore context but embrace it. Whether that’s a product that adapts to changing bodies, a workspace that accommodates caregiving, or a platform that centers underrepresented voices, women designers are constantly expanding the definition of what design can be—and who it’s for.

And isn’t that the most hopeful thing of all? That we keep showing up?

Hope isn’t naïve. It’s not passive. It’s built from hours, from iterations, from the small courageous decisions we make in the face of constraint. It’s built from care and curiosity and showing up again, even when we’re tired. Especially then.

I don’t always know if what I make will work. In ceramics, pieces crack. Kilns fail. In design, prototypes don’t always land. Budgets get cut. Teams shift. But I keep making. We keep making. Because through that act, we’re building not just products—but possibility.

And that’s what I want to leave you with. Not the kind of hope that demands a silver lining or a five-point plan. But the kind that lives in your hands. The kind you carry quietly into the studio, or the meeting, or the classroom. The kind that grows through practice. Through presence.

Through making.

—Rebeccah Pailes-Friedman, FIDSA

rpf@getinterwoven.com

Appeal vs. Responsibility

The article “Appeal vs. Responsibility”, written by Rebeccah Pailes-Friedman, was published in the Spring 2024 Issue of Innovation Magazine.

In today’s design landscape, creators have moved beyond crafting products to shaping immersive product experiences. In this expanded field, narratives unfold through each curve and contour, blending aesthetics and emotions, and transforming designs into compelling and immersive stories designed to entice consumers. Welcome to the world of seductive design. This article will discuss appeal vs. responsibility in the work of the designer.

Seduction Redefined: A Deeper Dive

As important as functionality is, consumers today expect products to deliver more than function alone. They want products that they can connect to emotionally and that bring them joy. This is the definition of emotional design. We see designers trying to meet this demand across product categories. Take, for example, outdoor and sports products that exude a sense of speed and power, highlighting the sensations your body will experience during product use. The sleek design of a high-performance bicycle features an aerodynamic frame and vibrant colors not only to convey speed and power but also to emphasize the exhilarating feeling cyclists can expect when riding the bike.

Storytelling is a key component in creating a connection between a consumer and the product. The story connects the physical object to the consumer’s emotions. These emotional responses can be powerful, creating a bond between the consumer and the product as well as, crucially, cultivating brand loyalty. Packaging, in particular, has evolved to become part of the product experience, as demonstrated by the plethora of unboxing videos on TikTok, YouTube, and Instagram.

Both technology and the beauty businesses use packaging to define their brands. It is not just a container but an integral part of the overall seductive experience. Think of the similarities between your iPhone and a bottle of perfume; both promise the consumer an experience and are purchased as a part of a lifestyle the consumer desires as much as they are purchased for function. Consider the iPhone’s sleek, minimalist packaging, which resonates with the product’s promise of sophistication and innovation. Similarly, a bottle of perfume, adorned with carefully chosen materials and design elements, becomes a tangible embodiment of the sensorial journey it offers. Both purchases transcend functionality, entangling the consumer’s lifestyle aspirations with the allure of a unique experience.

The Role of Emotional Design

As consumer expectations evolve, emotional design emerges as the driving force behind product desirability, transcending the fulfillment of needs to nurture a profound connection. This shift toward emotional resonance elevates the functionality of products and establishes a deeper bond, transforming them into vessels that embody and reflect the users’ aspirations and sentiments.

Users perceive more aesthetically pleasing designs as easier to use and more effective. Beauty and usability are intertwined. Clean lines, intuitive interfaces, and straightforward user journeys contribute to the overall appeal of a product. The aesthetics of a product influence consumers’ expectations, fostering the perception that it will be easy to use and that it is superior to its competitors.

Two key questions about the significance of emotional design arise. The first is methodological: How does one effectively infuse products with emotional resonance? The second question is ethical: Given the potential extremes of emotional design, what is the designer’s responsibility to balance allure with transparent and conscientious design and manufacturing practices?

Engaging More Than the Eyes

How do designers go beyond surface-level aesthetics to create meaningful and captivating interactions? Designers can appeal to multiple senses to create an immersive and engaging experience. This might include tactile elements, sound design, or even scent. Material, color, and form are part of the overall product narrative and can be used to create an immersive and emotionally resonant experience.

Designing with an empathetic approach can also increase the emotional resonance of products. Products for new parents can connect emotionally to their ethos on child rearing. Lea Stewart, senior manager of design at Newell Brands, uses these emotional drivers to differentiate between brands like Graco and Baby Jogger, which she oversees. Stewart notes that “a product like a stroller can convey that you are the type of parent who believes the best thing for a child is for the adult to keep their adult life and bring the child along. That way, they get to experience more and see good modeling. The aesthetics then cater to that by appealing more to an adult sensibility: looking easy to take on the go and not impeding life. On the other hand, a different parent may believe that the family should center on the child and togetherness, so you, therefore, embed that in the product aesthetics to evoke security, comfort, and parent/child connection. This is all subconscious to the user when they purchase the product, which is the seduction.”

Another path to creating a connection is to infuse products with nature-inspired elements that evoke emotional connections. For instance, a packaging designer for a skincare brand might incorporate botanical illustrations, earthy textures, or eco-friendly materials to align the product with natural goodness and trigger a sense of tranquility and well-being in the consumer.

Customization is one tried-and-true way to connect the consumer to a product. Products that allow consumers to personalize or customize elements based on their preferences, experiences, or memories create an emotional bond. A furniture designer, for example, may offer customizable fabrics, colors, or engraved details, enabling customers to imbue the product with personal meaning and emotional significance.

Inclusivity is a particularly powerful catalyst in emotional design, transcending visual appeal to provide aesthetics and thoughtful, universal functionality. By embracing diverse perspectives and considering the needs of a broad audience, designers not only create universally appealing product experiences but also weave a narrative of allure that resonates on a profound and inclusive level, captivating users from all walks of life.

If you’re interested in going deeper, consider Don Norman’s Emotional Design: Why We Love (or Hate) Everyday Things and Designing Design by Kenya Hara. Norman explores the emotional impact of design on user experiences, delving into how aesthetics, usability, and emotional connections shape our perceptions of products, a perspective directly relevant to the nuanced realm of seductive design. Hara’s book is relevant to the broader topic of design, including elements of seductive design. While the book is more philosophical, exploring the mindset and principles of design, it provides valuable insights
into the foundational aspects of creating compelling and aesthetically pleasing designs.

The Ethics of Seduction

While strategies for creating seductive products abound, the ethical question of the designer’s responsibility hovers over all of them. Given the impact of technology and evolving consumer expectations on the field of industrial design, it is only natural to question how the use of multiple senses
in crafting seductive product experiences might lead to unwanted outcomes—think doom scrolling on any social media platform.

As designers, we need to examine the potential unintended consequences of crafting seductive product experiences. It raises a fundamental question: In whose best interest is it really to design an experience that immerses the consumer to an extreme, and possibly addictive, extent? Awareness of potential pitfalls is essential to creating products that enhance well-being and, at the very least, do no harm.

The shadow of ethical concern looms large over the art of crafting seductive products. The relentless pursuit of engagement and immersion may inadvertently lead to the exploitation of human vulnerabilities and the perpetuation of unhealthy behaviors. As designers, we must navigate the delicate balance between captivating our audience and respecting their autonomy and well-being. In an era dominated by evolving consumer expectations and technological advancements, the use of multiple senses to create captivating experiences raises profound questions about responsibility and accountability. This calls for a nuanced approach that acknowledges the power dynamics inherent in design and prioritizes the ethical imperative of fostering positive and empowering experiences.

We must confront the potential ramifications of immersing users in seductive experiences by considering the fine line between engagement and exploitation. Only by conscientiously weighing the ethical implications of our design decisions can we ensure that seductive products enrich the lives of users without compromising their dignity or agency. It is incumbent upon designers to adopt a proactive stance, diligently examining the unintended consequences of their creations and prioritizing the well-being and autonomy of users above all else. This heightened awareness of ethical considerations underscores the imperative to design products that not only captivate but also uplift and enrich the lives of individuals in a responsible and sustainable manner.

Advocate and Enabler

In the dynamic field of design, the shift from crafting products to shaping immersive experiences marks a transformative moment wherein aesthetics and emotions are consciously intertwined. As we navigate this seductive landscape, emotional design emerges as the linchpin, propelling product desirability beyond functional utility. The narrative unfolds through sleek packaging and glossy campaigns, transforming purchases into sensorial journeys that resonate with consumers’ aspirations.

The increasingly savvy incorporation of multiple senses in product design—the intersection of allure and functionality—beckons an ethical inquiry, prompting designers to balance the immersive experience with transparency and conscientious practices. Methodologies such as empathetic design, nature-inspired elements, and customization serve as tools for creating emotionally connected products. Inclusivity becomes the heartbeat, ensuring universal appeal, while heightened awareness becomes the compass, guiding designers to navigate the potential extremes of seductive experiences and prioritize the well-being of consumers. The world of design evolves, inviting creators to transcend boundaries and shape not just products but profound and inclusive narratives that captivate the diverse tapestry of human experience.

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Universal Design in Ergonomic Product Design: A Brief History and Why it Matters

Universal design is design that can be understood and used by all individuals, regardless of age, size, ability, or disability, to the greatest extent possible. Whether it’s a building, product, service, or environment, the goal of universal design is to develop it in a way that caters to the needs of anyone who wants to use it. This isn’t a specialized requirement for a minority use-case but a fundamental aspect of effective design. The principles of universal design emphasize flexibility, simplicity, and a profound understanding of the diverse needs of users. While we see it as a critical aspect of contemporary design, the concept hasn’t been around all that long. In this Insight article we discuss key influences that lead to the development of universal design as we know it today and outline why it is an increasingly essential design approach.

Changing Demographics

Since the turn of the century, advancements in healthcare, improved living conditions, and the elimination of deadly infectious diseases have contributed to a significant increase in life expectancy. In addition, the aftermath of two world wars and medical breakthroughs resulted in a substantial population of individuals with disabilities. By 1994, over 20% of the U.S. population, around 53 million people, had some level of disability. Today, the U.S. population is the oldest it has ever been. The number of Americans aged 65 and older is forecasted to increase from 58 million in 2022 to 82 million by 2050. These demographic shifts underscore the importance of addressing the diverse needs of an aging and disabled population, then and now.

The intersection of design and societal demographics has undergone a remarkable transformation throughout the 20th century, particularly in addressing the needs of older adults and individuals with disabilities. In the early 1900s, these groups were true minorities, facing challenges in a world designed without consideration for their unique requirements. Today, the landscape has shifted dramatically, with changing demographics influencing design philosophy and popularizing the concept of universal design.

The Barrier-Free Movement

The term ‘universal design’ was coined by the American architect Ronald Mace, a champion of accessible building codes, and made its debut in 1963 in Selwyn Goldsmith’s Designing for the Disabled, a U.K. text that pioneered access for persons with disabilities in the built environment and was revised in 1997 for a contemporary audience. Goldsmith famously created the dropped curb, now a standard feature of sidewalks across the globe. The idea that the environment needed to be accessible pre-dated Goldsmith’s text by about a decade, and is generally accepted as beginning with the barrier-free movement of the 1950s.

In the 1950s the barrier-free movement arose in response to the large numbers of World War II soldiers who had been injured or disabled in the war and their advocates. Barriers in the built environment limited their opportunities for employment and education, and the barrier-free movement initiated a push for public policy changes as well as a reimagining of public space. National standards for barrier-free buildings were developed by the early 60s, though they would not be enacted until adopted by individual state legislatures as much as a decade later. The shift from barrier-free to universal design emphasized inclusivity, affordability, and aesthetics, recognizing that features designed for accessibility could benefit everyone.

Paving the Way

It’s easy to criticize the shortcomings of our current mandates regarding accessibility but it’s important to acknowledge the major legislative victories that have brought us to where we are today, and what a dramatic improvement they are on the guidelines of the past. The Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s set the stage for the Disability Civil Rights Movement, influencing legislation in the 1970s that aimed to eliminate discrimination and provide access to education, public spaces, telecommunications, and transportation. The Architectural Barriers Act of 1968 mandated accessibility for buildings constructed with federal funds, marking a crucial step toward inclusivity.

Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973 was a landmark civil rights law, prohibiting discrimination based on disability. The Education for Handicapped Children Act of 1975 ensured a free, appropriate education for children with disabilities. The Fair Housing Amendments Act of 1988 expanded coverage to include families with children and people with disabilities.

The critical turning point in federal legislation was the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) in 1990, a watershed act that triggered widespread awareness of the civil rights of people with disabilities. This comprehensive legislation addressed discrimination in employment, public spaces, services, transportation, and telecommunications, ensuring a basic level of accessibility nationwide.

From Rehabilitation to Mainstream Markets

While universal design sought to integrate individuals into mainstream design, assistive technology aimed to meet specific needs. Despite their different origins, both fields converged in the middle ground, addressing physical and attitudinal barriers between people with and without disabilities.

African American female IT engineer in wheelchair

The economic downturn of the 1980s impacted funds for the rehabilitation engineering research prompted by the injured veterans of World War II. At the same time, product manufacturers recognized the market potential of assistive products. In 1988, New York City’s Museum of Modern Art showcased “Designs for Independent Living,” featuring products that considered the needs of older adults and people with disabilities. The commercial world began acknowledging these demographics as viable customers. It gradually became clear that a universal design approach could attract buyers beyond the target audience. The success of OXO’s Good Grips kitchen utensils in 1990 exemplified this trend. The products, initially designed for people with arthritis, were appealing to all, not only for their functionality but also for their aesthetic appeal. This marked a shift toward recognizing the marketability of inclusive design. A prominent champion of universal design (and member of the OXO Good Grips development team) is Patricia Moore, an American industrial designer who spent her entire career pushing the boundaries of inclusive design, particularly in the field of gerontological design.

The fields of human factors, ergonomics, and human-centered design are natural allies of universal design, as are the fields of co-design and participatory design, which focus closely on the needs of a specific audience, soliciting and harnessing insights of that audience to develop the solution.

Maximizing Inclusion

The quest for independence and equal rights gained momentum alongside the growth in the disabled population. Baby boomers have embraced inclusive products, challenging stereotypes of aging and gradually normalizing the presence of these products in the market. Buyers of assistive technology now demand products that consider both form and function, suiting their specific needs and use cases. These buyers may be permanent or temporary members of the disabled population, or they may simply like the functionality of the product. The social climate is shifting toward recognizing and respecting the diverse needs of all consumers.

In the 21st century, with our increased life expectancy and our increasingly diverse population, the momentum to develop inclusive products and environments is growing. While ‘universal design’ was a term limited to specialists in design, user experience, computer engineering, architecture, and the like, it is gaining traction outside these fields as its principles yield fruit. Universal design provides a blueprint for maximum inclusion, acknowledging the diversity of the current generation as well as the need to consider the full range of that diversity when building a product, environment, or service.

The demographic, legislative, economic, and social changes that have shaped universal design are propelling the field into the future. When an environment is accessible, user-friendly, convenient, and enjoyable to use, it benefits everyone involved. Through considering the diverse needs and abilities of all individuals during the design process, universal design produces digital and physical environments, services, and systems that effectively meet the needs of people. In essence, universal design equates to good design.

Check out our even adaptive inclusive lingerie project to learn more about universal design, and check out the rest of our Insight series to learn more about 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!