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Design: A Quick Immersion
August 17, 2026
Design: A Quick Immersion by Audrey G. Bennett was a thought-provoking read on my trip from Detroit to Boston. Bennett guided me through three questions that structure the book: What is design? What design is? But is it good design?
Design can be seen as a human activity of creative problem-solving (p. 172), yet it is also enacted by people with the power to access resources (p. 119). Ralph Pearson defined design as “a universal human sense of order inherent to the human spirit and experienced through the senses” (p. 65). Paul Rand argued that “design is a personal activity and springs from the creative impulse of an individual for the distinct pleasure of personal accomplishment and self-realization” (p. 109). It reminds me that design is a human capacity and a creative practice shaped by access and power.
In the era of the Transformation Economy and Longevity Economy, the idea that “design is the unity of form and function” (p. 100) may no longer be sufficient. Good design requires us to consider meaningful socio-ecological change. We evaluate design outcomes based on their impacts on society, culture, the economy, and the environment, rather than judging them solely by their aesthetics, intentions, or imagined potential for change (p. 179). This expands the question from What does design do? to What kinds of change does design produce, for whom, and at what cost?
Bennett’s P-model of design can be a great starting point. She frames design as “a cultural system mediated by power involving people with purposeful practices in places that generate products with the potential to address problems in places” (p. 213). Design as a cultural system comprises people, places, practices, purposes, products, problems, and power (p. 89). Rather than understanding design primarily through individual designers or designed objects, the P-model encourages us to see design as a broader system of relationships, resources, contexts, and consequences.
For me, this perspective offers a more comprehensive framework for thinking about how we might create inclusive and longevity-friendly design solutions. It also raises a larger question: if design is fundamentally a cultural system shaped by people, places, practices, and power, how might we design not simply for longer and meaningful lives, but with the complex social and ecological systems in which those lives unfold?
Design: A Quick Immersion by Audrey G. Bennett was a thought-provoking read on my trip from Detroit to Boston. Bennett guided me through three questions that structure the book: What is design? What design is? But is it good design?
Design can be seen as a human activity of creative problem-solving (p. 172), yet it is also enacted by people with the power to access resources (p. 119). Ralph Pearson defined design as “a universal human sense of order inherent to the human spirit and experienced through the senses” (p. 65). Paul Rand argued that “design is a personal activity and springs from the creative impulse of an individual for the distinct pleasure of personal accomplishment and self-realization” (p. 109). It reminds me that design is a human capacity and a creative practice shaped by access and power.
In the era of the Transformation Economy and Longevity Economy, the idea that “design is the unity of form and function” (p. 100) may no longer be sufficient. Good design requires us to consider meaningful socio-ecological change. We evaluate design outcomes based on their impacts on society, culture, the economy, and the environment, rather than judging them solely by their aesthetics, intentions, or imagined potential for change (p. 179). This expands the question from What does design do? to What kinds of change does design produce, for whom, and at what cost?
Bennett’s P-model of design can be a great starting point. She frames design as “a cultural system mediated by power involving people with purposeful practices in places that generate products with the potential to address problems in places” (p. 213). Design as a cultural system comprises people, places, practices, purposes, products, problems, and power (p. 89). Rather than understanding design primarily through individual designers or designed objects, the P-model encourages us to see design as a broader system of relationships, resources, contexts, and consequences.
For me, this perspective offers a more comprehensive framework for thinking about how we might create inclusive and longevity-friendly design solutions. It also raises a larger question: if design is fundamentally a cultural system shaped by people, places, practices, and power, how might we design not simply for longer and meaningful lives, but with the complex social and ecological systems in which those lives unfold?
Deep Change: Creating Space for Meaningful Transformation
August 14, 2026
I discovered Kees Dorst’s Deep Change: Creating Space for Meaningful Transformation at the Design [Re]Thinking conference in Lisbon this summer. I enjoyed his engaging talk and decided to read his latest work before the fall semester begins.
Change means challenging norms and questioning the things we often take for granted. It is rarely easy. Change requires us to adjust to new realities, new ways of thinking, and new ways of doing things. Change is not simply an outcome; it is a process. I am particularly intrigued by the transitional space within that process—the period between what was and what is yet to become. This in-between stage might spark creative possibilities.
Our lives are filled with these transitions: moving from senior year into the job market, from an international city to a suburban community, or from being single to forming a family. These moments are not necessarily “problems” with clear ownership or straightforward solutions. Dorst describes such situations as open, complex, dynamic, and networked problem situations (p. 209). This raises a question: How might we create space for deep change within these transitional moments?
In the context of change, we often want to “solve” problems so that the tension goes away (p. 199). Perhaps the tension itself is valuable. Deep change asks us to stay with the uncertainty and hold the creative tension long enough for alternative possibilities to emerge. As Dorst suggests, “we take a fundamentally different route from the paradigm that we have inherited, the relational problem-solving that is deeply embedded in our ways of thinking, our disciplines, and our organizations” (p. 209).
This perspective makes me think about transition as a space for design. Instead of treating transition as something people need to overcome or manage, we might see it as a generative condition, a space in which assumptions can be questioned, relationships reconsidered, and new possibilities imagined.
Dorst proposes a new form of innovation infrastructure: the “studio,” a space for ongoing, deep, and meaningful transformation. By bringing studios, we can shape the transitions (p. 1). Innovation requires working with others, bringing people along on the journey, and engaging them with new mindsets and behaviors (p. 198). An innovation ecosystem might be comprehended as a “studio of studios” (p. 184): interconnected spaces where people collectively explore, learn, and create possibilities for transformation.
What makes deep change different from solving problems is not only about changing what exists, but also about creating the conditions in which different futures can emerge.
Deep change. Change deep.
I discovered Kees Dorst’s Deep Change: Creating Space for Meaningful Transformation at the Design [Re]Thinking conference in Lisbon this summer. I enjoyed his engaging talk and decided to read his latest work before the fall semester begins.
Change means challenging norms and questioning the things we often take for granted. It is rarely easy. Change requires us to adjust to new realities, new ways of thinking, and new ways of doing things. Change is not simply an outcome; it is a process. I am particularly intrigued by the transitional space within that process—the period between what was and what is yet to become. This in-between stage might spark creative possibilities.
Our lives are filled with these transitions: moving from senior year into the job market, from an international city to a suburban community, or from being single to forming a family. These moments are not necessarily “problems” with clear ownership or straightforward solutions. Dorst describes such situations as open, complex, dynamic, and networked problem situations (p. 209). This raises a question: How might we create space for deep change within these transitional moments?
In the context of change, we often want to “solve” problems so that the tension goes away (p. 199). Perhaps the tension itself is valuable. Deep change asks us to stay with the uncertainty and hold the creative tension long enough for alternative possibilities to emerge. As Dorst suggests, “we take a fundamentally different route from the paradigm that we have inherited, the relational problem-solving that is deeply embedded in our ways of thinking, our disciplines, and our organizations” (p. 209).
This perspective makes me think about transition as a space for design. Instead of treating transition as something people need to overcome or manage, we might see it as a generative condition, a space in which assumptions can be questioned, relationships reconsidered, and new possibilities imagined.
Dorst proposes a new form of innovation infrastructure: the “studio,” a space for ongoing, deep, and meaningful transformation. By bringing studios, we can shape the transitions (p. 1). Innovation requires working with others, bringing people along on the journey, and engaging them with new mindsets and behaviors (p. 198). An innovation ecosystem might be comprehended as a “studio of studios” (p. 184): interconnected spaces where people collectively explore, learn, and create possibilities for transformation.
What makes deep change different from solving problems is not only about changing what exists, but also about creating the conditions in which different futures can emerge.
Deep change. Change deep.
Doughnut Economics: Seven Ways to Think Like a 21st-Century Economist
August 7, 2026
How might we consider social infrastructure as a design material for a longevity society? How might we integrate longevity-relevant characteristics into complex systems that enable sustainable lifestyles and support people and the planet to thrive in balance?
I was inspired by Satu Miettinen’s Planetary Design for Services workshop, which led me to explore Kate Raworth’s Doughnut Economics. I was initially intrigued by the theory's name and visual metaphor. Raworth describes the Doughnut as “a twenty-first-century compass: between the social foundation of human well-being and the ecological ceiling of planetary pressure lies a safe and just space for humanity.” (p. 38)
The doughnut’s mental model helped me quickly grasp its design intent. Its shape can represent a dynamic boundary between social foundations and ecological limits, shifting our perception from “good is forward-and-up” toward “good is in-balance” (p. 46). This simple yet powerful reframing challenges the assumption that progress must always be defined in terms of continuous growth.
This perspective also makes me think about the evolution of economic paradigms—from the Experience Economy (Pine & Gilmore, 1999) to the Longevity Economy (Coughlin, 2017) and, more recently, the Transformation Economy (Pine, 2026). Economic transformation is essential and critical (p. 256), but perhaps the larger opportunity is to rethink human prosperity within a flourishing network of complexity (p. 47), shifting our collective aspiration and decision-making from endless growth toward thriving in balance (p. 45).
In this context, I am drawn to the concept of the Embedded Economy, which nests the economy within society and society within our living world, while recognizing the diverse ways in which people’s desires can be satisfied (p. 62). This model resonates with my Design for Longevity (D4L) Unclock Framework (2025) because longevity cannot be understood solely at the level of products or services. It needs to be embedded within broader social, economic, technological, and ecological systems.
How might we consider social infrastructure as a design material for a longevity society? How might we integrate longevity-relevant characteristics into complex systems that enable sustainable lifestyles and support people and the planet to thrive in balance?
I was inspired by Satu Miettinen’s Planetary Design for Services workshop, which led me to explore Kate Raworth’s Doughnut Economics. I was initially intrigued by the theory's name and visual metaphor. Raworth describes the Doughnut as “a twenty-first-century compass: between the social foundation of human well-being and the ecological ceiling of planetary pressure lies a safe and just space for humanity.” (p. 38)
The doughnut’s mental model helped me quickly grasp its design intent. Its shape can represent a dynamic boundary between social foundations and ecological limits, shifting our perception from “good is forward-and-up” toward “good is in-balance” (p. 46). This simple yet powerful reframing challenges the assumption that progress must always be defined in terms of continuous growth.
This perspective also makes me think about the evolution of economic paradigms—from the Experience Economy (Pine & Gilmore, 1999) to the Longevity Economy (Coughlin, 2017) and, more recently, the Transformation Economy (Pine, 2026). Economic transformation is essential and critical (p. 256), but perhaps the larger opportunity is to rethink human prosperity within a flourishing network of complexity (p. 47), shifting our collective aspiration and decision-making from endless growth toward thriving in balance (p. 45).
In this context, I am drawn to the concept of the Embedded Economy, which nests the economy within society and society within our living world, while recognizing the diverse ways in which people’s desires can be satisfied (p. 62). This model resonates with my Design for Longevity (D4L) Unclock Framework (2025) because longevity cannot be understood solely at the level of products or services. It needs to be embedded within broader social, economic, technological, and ecological systems.
The Field Guide to Design Futures
August 2, 2026
“Future Thinking is a mindset. Design Futures is a practice.”
— Giovanni Caruso and Silvio Cioni, The Field Guide to Design Futures (2026, p. 40)
Recently, I’ve been working on AI and life planning research with Rejara. In between interviews, I’ve been enjoying reading The Field Guide to Design Futures by Giovanni Caruso and Silvio Cioni. It has prompted me to think about life planning in a different way: in many respects, life planning is the process of designing multiple possible futures. One question from the book has stayed with me: “How can we make futures meaningful?” (p. 86)
This question also brings me back to Fry’s Design Futuring (2008), which argues that design is about shaping the futures we inhabit. What I appreciate about The Field Guide to Design Futures is that many of its approaches begin not with the future, but with the present. Designing futures can start by paying closer attention to the world around us today.
For example, Nova’s (2016) peripheral ethnography encourages researchers to examine marginal practices, overlooked behaviors, and unconventional uses of technology as early indicators of cultural transformation (p. 58). Smith and Ashby’s (2020) concept of active noticing is an ongoing practice of remaining attentive to subtle cues, weak signals, and unexpected patterns that may point toward future change (p. 65). Candy and Dunegan’s (2017) idea of contextualization situates artifacts in real-world environments, enabling people to experience possible futures that feel relevant and meaningful (p. 188).
These methods remind me that understanding the future begins with observing the present more carefully. They encourage sharper observation, broader perspectives, and greater sensitivity to the complexity of social and technological change. Design is not about creating artifacts—it is a transformational force capable of influencing behaviors, societies, and values (p. 99).
This also resonates with Lupton’s (2017) work on design sociology, which offers a lens for understanding these transformations. Design sociology invites us not only to speculate about possible and preferable futures, but also to examine the meanings embedded in the objects, rituals, infrastructures, and systems that shape everyday life—both in the present and in the futures we imagine.
“Future Thinking is a mindset. Design Futures is a practice.”
— Giovanni Caruso and Silvio Cioni, The Field Guide to Design Futures (2026, p. 40)
Recently, I’ve been working on AI and life planning research with Rejara. In between interviews, I’ve been enjoying reading The Field Guide to Design Futures by Giovanni Caruso and Silvio Cioni. It has prompted me to think about life planning in a different way: in many respects, life planning is the process of designing multiple possible futures. One question from the book has stayed with me: “How can we make futures meaningful?” (p. 86)
This question also brings me back to Fry’s Design Futuring (2008), which argues that design is about shaping the futures we inhabit. What I appreciate about The Field Guide to Design Futures is that many of its approaches begin not with the future, but with the present. Designing futures can start by paying closer attention to the world around us today.
For example, Nova’s (2016) peripheral ethnography encourages researchers to examine marginal practices, overlooked behaviors, and unconventional uses of technology as early indicators of cultural transformation (p. 58). Smith and Ashby’s (2020) concept of active noticing is an ongoing practice of remaining attentive to subtle cues, weak signals, and unexpected patterns that may point toward future change (p. 65). Candy and Dunegan’s (2017) idea of contextualization situates artifacts in real-world environments, enabling people to experience possible futures that feel relevant and meaningful (p. 188).
These methods remind me that understanding the future begins with observing the present more carefully. They encourage sharper observation, broader perspectives, and greater sensitivity to the complexity of social and technological change. Design is not about creating artifacts—it is a transformational force capable of influencing behaviors, societies, and values (p. 99).
This also resonates with Lupton’s (2017) work on design sociology, which offers a lens for understanding these transformations. Design sociology invites us not only to speculate about possible and preferable futures, but also to examine the meanings embedded in the objects, rituals, infrastructures, and systems that shape everyday life—both in the present and in the futures we imagine.
Studio Properties: A Field Guide to Design Education
July 30, 2026
While preparing for my upcoming design studio courses, I had the pleasure of reading Studio Properties: A Field Guide to Design Education by Derek Jones, Elizabeth Boling, James Benedict Brown, James Corazzo, Colin M. Gray, and Nicole Lotz (Bloomsbury). It prompted me to reflect on a simple yet profound question:
When people mention a design studio, what comes to your mind?
The studio is more than a classroom. It is “an environment which supports reflection and ongoing reflective practice, where artifacts, activities, or interactions are themselves reflective actions or elements” (p. 85). The studio is only one learning space; students create and adopt informal learning environments, supported by the fact that “studio has no front” (p. 43). The studio becomes an extension of a designer’s thinking—a place that supports creative activities and interactions that emerge throughout the design process (p. 38). Studio is also a place for experimentation: learning through doing, failing, and iterating (p. 15).
John Dewey’s theory of experiential learning (1938) emphasizes that meaningful learning emerges through experience and reflection. One aspect that resonates with my own teaching is how we give and receive feedback. As Carless and Boud (2018) argue, feedback is a sense-making process. The educational value often comes from actionable, forward-looking feedback that students can apply. This notion of feedforward provides timely guidance for improving future actions, decisions, and design processes rather than simply evaluating past performance (p. 75).
These ideas connect with Donald Schön’s studio pedagogy. In Educating the Reflective Practitioner (1987), Schön describes design education as a process of learning by doing and reflection-in-action, where expertise develops through immersive practice and continual reflection. Reflection occurs both during design activity and afterward, which he distinguishes as reflection-in-action (reflecting while designing) and reflection-on-action (reflecting after the experience to inform future practice).
I continually find myself navigating between these two modes of reflection. Some of the meaningful moments in design education emerge from this creative tension—moving fluidly between making and thinking, action and reflection, experimentation and learning. This ongoing process transforms the design studio from simply a space into a meaningful place (p. 195): not merely where projects are completed, but where designers continuously question, reflect, and grow.
While preparing for my upcoming design studio courses, I had the pleasure of reading Studio Properties: A Field Guide to Design Education by Derek Jones, Elizabeth Boling, James Benedict Brown, James Corazzo, Colin M. Gray, and Nicole Lotz (Bloomsbury). It prompted me to reflect on a simple yet profound question:
When people mention a design studio, what comes to your mind?
The studio is more than a classroom. It is “an environment which supports reflection and ongoing reflective practice, where artifacts, activities, or interactions are themselves reflective actions or elements” (p. 85). The studio is only one learning space; students create and adopt informal learning environments, supported by the fact that “studio has no front” (p. 43). The studio becomes an extension of a designer’s thinking—a place that supports creative activities and interactions that emerge throughout the design process (p. 38). Studio is also a place for experimentation: learning through doing, failing, and iterating (p. 15).
John Dewey’s theory of experiential learning (1938) emphasizes that meaningful learning emerges through experience and reflection. One aspect that resonates with my own teaching is how we give and receive feedback. As Carless and Boud (2018) argue, feedback is a sense-making process. The educational value often comes from actionable, forward-looking feedback that students can apply. This notion of feedforward provides timely guidance for improving future actions, decisions, and design processes rather than simply evaluating past performance (p. 75).
These ideas connect with Donald Schön’s studio pedagogy. In Educating the Reflective Practitioner (1987), Schön describes design education as a process of learning by doing and reflection-in-action, where expertise develops through immersive practice and continual reflection. Reflection occurs both during design activity and afterward, which he distinguishes as reflection-in-action (reflecting while designing) and reflection-on-action (reflecting after the experience to inform future practice).
I continually find myself navigating between these two modes of reflection. Some of the meaningful moments in design education emerge from this creative tension—moving fluidly between making and thinking, action and reflection, experimentation and learning. This ongoing process transforms the design studio from simply a space into a meaningful place (p. 195): not merely where projects are completed, but where designers continuously question, reflect, and grow.
Longevity Nation
July 19, 2026
“We start aging the day we are born, but we pursue healthy longevity throughout our lives.”
— Michael Clinton, Longevity Nation (2026, p. 13)
I discovered Michael Clinton’s Longevity Nation while preparing my Design for Longevity Across Scale course at the U-M in Fall 2026. Longevity has become a critical global agenda (p. 179). Around the world, concepts such as Longevity Society (Scott, 2021), Society 5.0, Smart Platinum Society, Super Smart Society, and Age-Free Society all reflect a growing recognition that demographic change demands new ways of thinking about health, technology, cities, and education (p. 179).
This transition places greater responsibility on all of us to reimagine the future of medicine, technology, higher education, and society (p. 191). Several key priorities are identified, including ending ageism, advancing digital equity, and supporting aging in place for everyone (p. 192). Singapore’s Healthier SG program (p. 116) and Abu Dhabi Department of Health (p. 117) illustrate how governments integrate longevity into policy. In 2024, Raees Tonse described the vision behind the Longevi-City project in Ras Al Khaimah, United Arab Emirates: “Longevi-City represents a movement towards a healthier future for all. By leveraging cutting-edge advances in healthcare, technology, and community development, it empowers individuals and communities to lead longer, healthier, and more fulfilling lives.” (p. 178)
Although aging and longevity are inseparable, the language of longevity invites broader participation and encourages people of every generation to actively shape their futures (p. 13). Clinton’s Three Ps reinforces this perspective. Instead of emphasizing chronological milestones, he focuses on meaningful life decisions: finding a life partner, becoming a parent (if one chooses), and pursuing a fulfilling profession (p. 15).
As more people live to 100 and beyond, longevity cannot be viewed solely as a healthcare challenge; it is also a societal design challenge. Addressing it will require collaboration among governments, nonprofits, public-private partnerships, venture capital, entrepreneurs, researchers, designers, and communities to create solutions that improve the quality of life (p. 174). The goal is not simply to extend years of life, but to cultivate a Longevity Lifestyle (p. 13) and build a Longevity-Ready society (p. 175)—one in which our social infrastructure, built environment, and technologies enable people to live longer, healthier, and more meaningful lives.
“We start aging the day we are born, but we pursue healthy longevity throughout our lives.”
— Michael Clinton, Longevity Nation (2026, p. 13)
I discovered Michael Clinton’s Longevity Nation while preparing my Design for Longevity Across Scale course at the U-M in Fall 2026. Longevity has become a critical global agenda (p. 179). Around the world, concepts such as Longevity Society (Scott, 2021), Society 5.0, Smart Platinum Society, Super Smart Society, and Age-Free Society all reflect a growing recognition that demographic change demands new ways of thinking about health, technology, cities, and education (p. 179).
This transition places greater responsibility on all of us to reimagine the future of medicine, technology, higher education, and society (p. 191). Several key priorities are identified, including ending ageism, advancing digital equity, and supporting aging in place for everyone (p. 192). Singapore’s Healthier SG program (p. 116) and Abu Dhabi Department of Health (p. 117) illustrate how governments integrate longevity into policy. In 2024, Raees Tonse described the vision behind the Longevi-City project in Ras Al Khaimah, United Arab Emirates: “Longevi-City represents a movement towards a healthier future for all. By leveraging cutting-edge advances in healthcare, technology, and community development, it empowers individuals and communities to lead longer, healthier, and more fulfilling lives.” (p. 178)
Although aging and longevity are inseparable, the language of longevity invites broader participation and encourages people of every generation to actively shape their futures (p. 13). Clinton’s Three Ps reinforces this perspective. Instead of emphasizing chronological milestones, he focuses on meaningful life decisions: finding a life partner, becoming a parent (if one chooses), and pursuing a fulfilling profession (p. 15).
As more people live to 100 and beyond, longevity cannot be viewed solely as a healthcare challenge; it is also a societal design challenge. Addressing it will require collaboration among governments, nonprofits, public-private partnerships, venture capital, entrepreneurs, researchers, designers, and communities to create solutions that improve the quality of life (p. 174). The goal is not simply to extend years of life, but to cultivate a Longevity Lifestyle (p. 13) and build a Longevity-Ready society (p. 175)—one in which our social infrastructure, built environment, and technologies enable people to live longer, healthier, and more meaningful lives.
Communities of Practice Within and Across Organization: A Guidebook
July 12, 2026
In the process of writing my chapter on Communities of Practice (CoP) and Design for Longevity (D4L) for The Handbook of Interdisciplinary Design Education (Cambridge University Press), I was delighted to discover Communities of Practice Within and Across Organizations: A Guidebook by Etienne Wenger-Trayner, Beverly Wenger-Trayner, Phil Reid, and Claude Bruderlein. Ironically, a delayed flight turned into an unexpected gift. It gave me enough uninterrupted time to finish the book’s final three chapters on my journey back from Boston to Ann Arbor.
The authors interpret CoP as “groups of people who share a concern or a passion for something they do and learn how to do it better as they interact regularly” (p. 11). Every CoP is built upon three interrelated structural elements: domain, community, and practice (p. 12). These elements provide a powerful framework for understanding learning communities and designing interdisciplinary educational environments. One of the defining characteristics of a CoP is Legitimate Peripheral Participation (LPP). The authors discuss the five levels of participation, ranging from core and active participants to occasional, peripheral, and transactional participants (p. 78). Community members contribute in various ways, with different motivations, perspectives, and ambitions throughout their journeys.
The authors also denote the seven dimensions of community maturation: practice, domain, community, identification, leadership, awareness, and context (p. 108). Reading this section reminded me that cultivating a CoP is much like cultivating design talent. It requires continuous nurturing and investment over time. Sustainable communities emerge through thoughtful stewardship, maintaining an appropriate community rhythm, supporting an energized core group, fostering personal connections, and attending to many other community-level success factors (p. 129).
These ideas resonate with my own work on D4L. As we enter what Joseph Pine (2026) describes as the Transformation Economy, one of our challenges is to create and sustain the social infrastructures that enable people and communities to flourish over extended lifespans. The question is no longer only, “How do we design for individuals?” It is increasingly how we cultivate and sustain CoP that nourish human development, creativity, and well-being throughout longer lives? That, to me, is the exciting opportunities for interdisciplinary design education.
In the process of writing my chapter on Communities of Practice (CoP) and Design for Longevity (D4L) for The Handbook of Interdisciplinary Design Education (Cambridge University Press), I was delighted to discover Communities of Practice Within and Across Organizations: A Guidebook by Etienne Wenger-Trayner, Beverly Wenger-Trayner, Phil Reid, and Claude Bruderlein. Ironically, a delayed flight turned into an unexpected gift. It gave me enough uninterrupted time to finish the book’s final three chapters on my journey back from Boston to Ann Arbor.
The authors interpret CoP as “groups of people who share a concern or a passion for something they do and learn how to do it better as they interact regularly” (p. 11). Every CoP is built upon three interrelated structural elements: domain, community, and practice (p. 12). These elements provide a powerful framework for understanding learning communities and designing interdisciplinary educational environments. One of the defining characteristics of a CoP is Legitimate Peripheral Participation (LPP). The authors discuss the five levels of participation, ranging from core and active participants to occasional, peripheral, and transactional participants (p. 78). Community members contribute in various ways, with different motivations, perspectives, and ambitions throughout their journeys.
The authors also denote the seven dimensions of community maturation: practice, domain, community, identification, leadership, awareness, and context (p. 108). Reading this section reminded me that cultivating a CoP is much like cultivating design talent. It requires continuous nurturing and investment over time. Sustainable communities emerge through thoughtful stewardship, maintaining an appropriate community rhythm, supporting an energized core group, fostering personal connections, and attending to many other community-level success factors (p. 129).
These ideas resonate with my own work on D4L. As we enter what Joseph Pine (2026) describes as the Transformation Economy, one of our challenges is to create and sustain the social infrastructures that enable people and communities to flourish over extended lifespans. The question is no longer only, “How do we design for individuals?” It is increasingly how we cultivate and sustain CoP that nourish human development, creativity, and well-being throughout longer lives? That, to me, is the exciting opportunities for interdisciplinary design education.
Design Business Book Guide
July 11, 2026
Many thanks to Hironori Iwasaki, Professor of Creative Innovation at Musashino Art University (MAU), for giving me a copy of 「デザイン×ビジネス」を高めるブックガイド (Design Business Book Guide). Although the book is written in Japanese, I enjoyed browsing its curated collection of 30 influential design books. Even without reading every page, it provided an opportunity to revisit foundational design theories and frameworks that connect design with business, the social sciences, and public policy.
Damien Newman’s The Design Squiggle (p. 30), which intuitively visualizes the “fuzzy front end” of the design process (Khurana & Rosenthal, 1997)—the ambiguity, iteration, and complexity that characterize creativity before ideas become well defined. It resonates with Tom Kelly’s The Art of Innovation (p. 48) and The Ten Faces of Innovation (p. 308), both of which emphasize creative collaboration and innovation within organizations.
Iwasaki also highlights the role of design in the public sector. The Design Council’s Public Sector Design Ladder (p. 39) outlines three stages of design maturity: 1. Design for discrete problems, 2. Design as capability, and 3. Design for policy. This progression illustrates how design can evolve from solving individual challenges to building organizational capability and ultimately shaping public policy.
Another inspiring framework comes from Ezio Manzini in Design, When Everybody Designs: An Introduction to Design for Social Innovation (2015). The Design Mode Map (p. 356) presents a 2×2 framework that contrasts problem-solving and sense-making on one axis with expert design and diffuse design on the other, providing a lens for understanding different forms of design practice, including grassroots organizations, cultural activists, design and communication agencies, and design and technology agencies.
These seminal books and insightful frameworks remind me that design is more than creating products, services, and experiences. It is a way of thinking and action that shapes strategies, organizations, infrastructures, communities, cultures, systems, and ultimately society. They also reinforce the interdisciplinary foundation of my own work on Design for Longevity (D4L), where design intersects with systems transformation, service innovation, and long-term societal impact.
Many thanks to Hironori Iwasaki, Professor of Creative Innovation at Musashino Art University (MAU), for giving me a copy of 「デザイン×ビジネス」を高めるブックガイド (Design Business Book Guide). Although the book is written in Japanese, I enjoyed browsing its curated collection of 30 influential design books. Even without reading every page, it provided an opportunity to revisit foundational design theories and frameworks that connect design with business, the social sciences, and public policy.
Damien Newman’s The Design Squiggle (p. 30), which intuitively visualizes the “fuzzy front end” of the design process (Khurana & Rosenthal, 1997)—the ambiguity, iteration, and complexity that characterize creativity before ideas become well defined. It resonates with Tom Kelly’s The Art of Innovation (p. 48) and The Ten Faces of Innovation (p. 308), both of which emphasize creative collaboration and innovation within organizations.
Iwasaki also highlights the role of design in the public sector. The Design Council’s Public Sector Design Ladder (p. 39) outlines three stages of design maturity: 1. Design for discrete problems, 2. Design as capability, and 3. Design for policy. This progression illustrates how design can evolve from solving individual challenges to building organizational capability and ultimately shaping public policy.
Another inspiring framework comes from Ezio Manzini in Design, When Everybody Designs: An Introduction to Design for Social Innovation (2015). The Design Mode Map (p. 356) presents a 2×2 framework that contrasts problem-solving and sense-making on one axis with expert design and diffuse design on the other, providing a lens for understanding different forms of design practice, including grassroots organizations, cultural activists, design and communication agencies, and design and technology agencies.
These seminal books and insightful frameworks remind me that design is more than creating products, services, and experiences. It is a way of thinking and action that shapes strategies, organizations, infrastructures, communities, cultures, systems, and ultimately society. They also reinforce the interdisciplinary foundation of my own work on Design for Longevity (D4L), where design intersects with systems transformation, service innovation, and long-term societal impact.
Essential: A Design Guide for Life
July 8, 2026
“Quality is not perceived with the eyes; it is felt more than seen.”
— Miguel Milá, Essential: A Design Guide for Life (2025, p. 132)
With time flying by before heading back to Ann Arbor for work, I’ve been trying to carve out moments to enjoy Essential: A Design Guide for Life by Miguel Milá (published by Apartamento). I feel fortunate to have found this book. In just 158 pages, it distills his lifetime of design wisdom and philosophy.
Milá humbly describes himself as a pre-industrial designer. For him, design is “a constant flux” (p. 11), and many successful designs emerge from careful observation and unexpected chance (p. 23). As he beautifully writes, “Designing is like looking through a magnifying glass; it allows you to observe and to understand.” (p. 16)
One of my favorite passages is: “The best design is the kind that accompanies you without bothering you” (p. 12), referring equally to “a person or a piece of furniture.” Good design, like meaningful relationships, becomes beloved, approachable, useful, and necessary (p. 56). It grows with us over time. Milá also emphasizes choosing materials that age gracefully, allowing objects to develop their own character (p. 51). This resonates with Jasper Morrison’s concept of Objectality (2026)—the character and presence that an object embodies beyond its appearance.
Milá's approach to design is refreshingly grounded. He believes in learning through direct experience: listening more than reading, observing more than seeking out (p. 79). Drawing is the deepest way of understanding because it demands complete attention (p. 124). Above all, designers should remain true to themselves (p. 76).
Design is an ongoing pursuit of balance: between appearance and feeling, usability and beauty, function and value. Milá captures this philosophy in the opening pages: “Design is to pursue order; design is about fulfilling a function while appealing to an emotion, the aesthetic emotion. Anything solved through beauty is good design. But achieving beauty without functionality is something else. In design, both things have to come together at the same time: a functional solution and beauty.” (p. 11)
Great design is not simply something we see—it is something we live with, trust, and feel every day.
“Quality is not perceived with the eyes; it is felt more than seen.”
— Miguel Milá, Essential: A Design Guide for Life (2025, p. 132)
With time flying by before heading back to Ann Arbor for work, I’ve been trying to carve out moments to enjoy Essential: A Design Guide for Life by Miguel Milá (published by Apartamento). I feel fortunate to have found this book. In just 158 pages, it distills his lifetime of design wisdom and philosophy.
Milá humbly describes himself as a pre-industrial designer. For him, design is “a constant flux” (p. 11), and many successful designs emerge from careful observation and unexpected chance (p. 23). As he beautifully writes, “Designing is like looking through a magnifying glass; it allows you to observe and to understand.” (p. 16)
One of my favorite passages is: “The best design is the kind that accompanies you without bothering you” (p. 12), referring equally to “a person or a piece of furniture.” Good design, like meaningful relationships, becomes beloved, approachable, useful, and necessary (p. 56). It grows with us over time. Milá also emphasizes choosing materials that age gracefully, allowing objects to develop their own character (p. 51). This resonates with Jasper Morrison’s concept of Objectality (2026)—the character and presence that an object embodies beyond its appearance.
Milá's approach to design is refreshingly grounded. He believes in learning through direct experience: listening more than reading, observing more than seeking out (p. 79). Drawing is the deepest way of understanding because it demands complete attention (p. 124). Above all, designers should remain true to themselves (p. 76).
Design is an ongoing pursuit of balance: between appearance and feeling, usability and beauty, function and value. Milá captures this philosophy in the opening pages: “Design is to pursue order; design is about fulfilling a function while appealing to an emotion, the aesthetic emotion. Anything solved through beauty is good design. But achieving beauty without functionality is something else. In design, both things have to come together at the same time: a functional solution and beauty.” (p. 11)
Great design is not simply something we see—it is something we live with, trust, and feel every day.
The Unimportance of Form and Other Arguments
July 5, 2026
“Design as a tool for improving daily life and the appreciation of human existence.”
— Jasper Morrison, Utilism vs. Uselessnism (2002, p. 154)
I recently found The Unimportance of Form and Other Arguments by Jasper Morrison, edited by Sina Sohrab (Apartamento), at Under the Cover, a thoughtfully curated contemporary bookshop in Lisbon specializing in independent magazines, books, and artworks. It was also a pleasure chatting with the shop owner, who shared a similar passion for design books.
I have admired Jasper Morrison’s work since reading Super Normal: Sensations of the Ordinary (2006), which he co-authored with Naoto Fukasawa. Drawing on decades of industry experience, Morrison introduces the notion of “Objectality”—a way of measuring the character an object embodies (p. 12). Objectality is the equivalent of personality: “It’s the character and spirit of things. It’s what attracts us to, or repels us from, an object” (p. 139). Objectality emerges from the balance of many variables, such as form and void, materials and absence of materials, and discretion and indiscretion (p. 139).
Another idea I found interesting is his discussion of the quality of atmosphere (p. 111). Every space possesses an atmosphere, whether empty or full (p. 139). The atmosphere of a space (p. 125) shapes the objectality of the products within it, just as those objects, in turn, influence the atmosphere of the space. Objects and space continuously shape one another.
Morrison’s reflections on design remain especially relevant today: “Design for the sake of design has sometimes ignored the normality of real use.” (p. 114) He argues that decorative objects often become useless because they attempt to disguise their true purpose, pretending to be something they are not (p. 114). In contrast, the anonymous object, whose value lies in reminding us that “in the real world an object is just an object, depending on itself to find love and appreciation” (p. 136).
Perhaps the key takeaway is his reminder that design is never static. As he writes, design evolves with time, and “in 100 years there will be a very different perception of what is decorative” (p. 130). Reading Morrison reminded me that thoughtful and respectful design solutions are rarely about novelty alone. It is about creating objects that quietly enrich everyday life, earn appreciation through use, and gracefully endure as our perceptions, cultures, and space evolve.
“Design as a tool for improving daily life and the appreciation of human existence.”
— Jasper Morrison, Utilism vs. Uselessnism (2002, p. 154)
I recently found The Unimportance of Form and Other Arguments by Jasper Morrison, edited by Sina Sohrab (Apartamento), at Under the Cover, a thoughtfully curated contemporary bookshop in Lisbon specializing in independent magazines, books, and artworks. It was also a pleasure chatting with the shop owner, who shared a similar passion for design books.
I have admired Jasper Morrison’s work since reading Super Normal: Sensations of the Ordinary (2006), which he co-authored with Naoto Fukasawa. Drawing on decades of industry experience, Morrison introduces the notion of “Objectality”—a way of measuring the character an object embodies (p. 12). Objectality is the equivalent of personality: “It’s the character and spirit of things. It’s what attracts us to, or repels us from, an object” (p. 139). Objectality emerges from the balance of many variables, such as form and void, materials and absence of materials, and discretion and indiscretion (p. 139).
Another idea I found interesting is his discussion of the quality of atmosphere (p. 111). Every space possesses an atmosphere, whether empty or full (p. 139). The atmosphere of a space (p. 125) shapes the objectality of the products within it, just as those objects, in turn, influence the atmosphere of the space. Objects and space continuously shape one another.
Morrison’s reflections on design remain especially relevant today: “Design for the sake of design has sometimes ignored the normality of real use.” (p. 114) He argues that decorative objects often become useless because they attempt to disguise their true purpose, pretending to be something they are not (p. 114). In contrast, the anonymous object, whose value lies in reminding us that “in the real world an object is just an object, depending on itself to find love and appreciation” (p. 136).
Perhaps the key takeaway is his reminder that design is never static. As he writes, design evolves with time, and “in 100 years there will be a very different perception of what is decorative” (p. 130). Reading Morrison reminded me that thoughtful and respectful design solutions are rarely about novelty alone. It is about creating objects that quietly enrich everyday life, earn appreciation through use, and gracefully endure as our perceptions, cultures, and space evolve.
Design and Democracy: Essay Towards Democratic Imagination
June 29, 2026
Design and Democracy: Essays Towards Democratic Imagination, co-edited by Emília Duarte and João Batalheiro Ferreira, was one of the highlights I brought home from the 15th Design Thinking Research Symposium (DTRS’15) in Lisbon. I was fortunate to receive a copy from Emília Duarte during the conference.
Emília Duarte’s proposal of seven key transformations that may guide a new design ethos for democratic regeneration. As a provisional synthesis, she argues that design should move from control to co-creation, from exploitation to regeneration, from anthropocentrism to the more-than-human, from short-termism to long-term thinking, from global to pluriversal, from autonomy to relationality, and from progress to flourishing (p. 67).
These ideas connect with current conversations about the future of design education. As Sabine Junginger writes, “We must invest in learning new ways of transdisciplinary co-design and co-creation” (p. 121). Similarly, Koray Gelmez denotes that “Design education, when understood as more than professional preparation, is a fertile ground for these democratic capacities” (p. 97). These perspectives suggest that design education is not simply about developing professional skills—it is about cultivating democratic imagination, collaboration, and collective responsibility.
Katja Tschimmel further traces the evolution of Design Thinking (DT) and its implications for design education (p. 215). The concept has evolved through multiple phases: DT 1.0 as a cognitive approach, DT 2.0 as an innovation methodology, and the emerging DT 3.0, in which AI is expected to become an active collaborator in creative and design processes. This evolution raises important questions about how designers learn, collaborate, and create value in increasingly complex sociotechnical systems.
These reflections also echo Francesco Zurlo’s argument that the role of designers is to reveal and strengthen interdependence: between people, across cultures, between people and artifacts, among artifacts themselves, between people and nature, across value chains and food systems, and ultimately between present and future generations (p. 237). In addition to designing products or services, designers are increasingly called to design relationships, systems, and conditions that enable collective flourishing.
Reading this volume inspired me to think that the future of design is inseparable from the future of democracy, and that design education should evolve accordingly to prepare designers who can navigate complexity, foster collaboration, and imagine more just, regenerative, and inclusive futures.
Design and Democracy: Essays Towards Democratic Imagination, co-edited by Emília Duarte and João Batalheiro Ferreira, was one of the highlights I brought home from the 15th Design Thinking Research Symposium (DTRS’15) in Lisbon. I was fortunate to receive a copy from Emília Duarte during the conference.
Emília Duarte’s proposal of seven key transformations that may guide a new design ethos for democratic regeneration. As a provisional synthesis, she argues that design should move from control to co-creation, from exploitation to regeneration, from anthropocentrism to the more-than-human, from short-termism to long-term thinking, from global to pluriversal, from autonomy to relationality, and from progress to flourishing (p. 67).
These ideas connect with current conversations about the future of design education. As Sabine Junginger writes, “We must invest in learning new ways of transdisciplinary co-design and co-creation” (p. 121). Similarly, Koray Gelmez denotes that “Design education, when understood as more than professional preparation, is a fertile ground for these democratic capacities” (p. 97). These perspectives suggest that design education is not simply about developing professional skills—it is about cultivating democratic imagination, collaboration, and collective responsibility.
Katja Tschimmel further traces the evolution of Design Thinking (DT) and its implications for design education (p. 215). The concept has evolved through multiple phases: DT 1.0 as a cognitive approach, DT 2.0 as an innovation methodology, and the emerging DT 3.0, in which AI is expected to become an active collaborator in creative and design processes. This evolution raises important questions about how designers learn, collaborate, and create value in increasingly complex sociotechnical systems.
These reflections also echo Francesco Zurlo’s argument that the role of designers is to reveal and strengthen interdependence: between people, across cultures, between people and artifacts, among artifacts themselves, between people and nature, across value chains and food systems, and ultimately between present and future generations (p. 237). In addition to designing products or services, designers are increasingly called to design relationships, systems, and conditions that enable collective flourishing.
Reading this volume inspired me to think that the future of design is inseparable from the future of democracy, and that design education should evolve accordingly to prepare designers who can navigate complexity, foster collaboration, and imagine more just, regenerative, and inclusive futures.
Building Successful Community of Practice
June 21, 2026
“Knowledge is something you buy with money. Wisdom is something you acquire by doing it.”
— Taiichi Ohno, Workplace Management (1988)
I picked up Building Successful Communities of Practice after watching Emily Webber’s insightful talk, Communities of Practice: The Missing Piece of Your Agile Organisation (GOTO Copenhagen 2016). It turned out to be a perfect pocket-sized companion for my flight from Detroit to Haneda.
One idea that resonated with me is Webber’s application of Communities of Practice (CoP) within organizations. Early-stage communities require intentional nurturing and support as they begin to grow (p. 70). When cultivated well, communities can foster organizational learning, accelerate individual development, improve knowledge sharing, and strengthen communication.
The book adapts the community maturity model from Wenger, McDermott, and Snyder (2002), mapping community development through energy and visibility across five stages (p. 19): 1. Discover & Imagine (Potential), 2. Incubate & Deliver Immediate Value (Forming), 3. Focus & Expand (Maturing), 4. Ownership & Openness (Self-Sustaining), and 5. Let Go & Live On (Transformation).
The discussion of learning and knowledge is compelling. If knowledge is viewed as an iceberg, explicit knowledge lies above the waterline, while tacit knowledge remains beneath the surface (p. 13). Wenger, McDermott, and Snyder (2002) describe tacit knowledge as practice and explicit knowledge as process. This distinction echoes David Kolb’s (1984) definition of learning as “the process whereby knowledge is created through the transformation of experience” (p. 9).
Knowledge can be documented, taught, and transferred. Practice, however, is lived experience, the application of knowledge through action. This perspective reinforces the foundation of experiential learning and highlights why CoPs are powerful vehicles for cultivating wisdom, not just knowledge.
As I continue exploring CoPs in design education, I am increasingly interested in how CoP can help us rethink learning not as the transfer of information, but as participation in a shared practice and the collective creation of knowledge.
“Knowledge is something you buy with money. Wisdom is something you acquire by doing it.”
— Taiichi Ohno, Workplace Management (1988)
I picked up Building Successful Communities of Practice after watching Emily Webber’s insightful talk, Communities of Practice: The Missing Piece of Your Agile Organisation (GOTO Copenhagen 2016). It turned out to be a perfect pocket-sized companion for my flight from Detroit to Haneda.
One idea that resonated with me is Webber’s application of Communities of Practice (CoP) within organizations. Early-stage communities require intentional nurturing and support as they begin to grow (p. 70). When cultivated well, communities can foster organizational learning, accelerate individual development, improve knowledge sharing, and strengthen communication.
The book adapts the community maturity model from Wenger, McDermott, and Snyder (2002), mapping community development through energy and visibility across five stages (p. 19): 1. Discover & Imagine (Potential), 2. Incubate & Deliver Immediate Value (Forming), 3. Focus & Expand (Maturing), 4. Ownership & Openness (Self-Sustaining), and 5. Let Go & Live On (Transformation).
The discussion of learning and knowledge is compelling. If knowledge is viewed as an iceberg, explicit knowledge lies above the waterline, while tacit knowledge remains beneath the surface (p. 13). Wenger, McDermott, and Snyder (2002) describe tacit knowledge as practice and explicit knowledge as process. This distinction echoes David Kolb’s (1984) definition of learning as “the process whereby knowledge is created through the transformation of experience” (p. 9).
Knowledge can be documented, taught, and transferred. Practice, however, is lived experience, the application of knowledge through action. This perspective reinforces the foundation of experiential learning and highlights why CoPs are powerful vehicles for cultivating wisdom, not just knowledge.
As I continue exploring CoPs in design education, I am increasingly interested in how CoP can help us rethink learning not as the transfer of information, but as participation in a shared practice and the collective creation of knowledge.
Universal Methods of Design
June 13, 2026
Just returned from the 2026 Design Research Society (DRS) Conference in Edinburgh. I was honored to co-chair the Longevity Track alongside Prof. Bruce Hanington, co-author of Universal Methods of Design with Bella Martin. I first encountered this classic methodology book as a design student, and I read it again during a 14-hour flight from Tokyo just before meeting Bruce in person. One section that resonated with me was Research through Design (p. 146).
Drawing on Christopher Frayling’s seminal essay Research in Art and Design (1993), design research can be understood through three categories: research into design, research for design, and research through design. Later scholars expanded these ideas further. Anne Burdick (2003) argued that design itself, such as the act of making, prototyping, and material exploration, can serve as a mode of inquiry and knowledge production, rather than a means of problem-solving.
Research into design studies design itself, including its history, theory, aesthetics, perception, and cultural impact. Research for design generates insights, references, and contextual knowledge that inform the creation of design artifacts and experiences. Research through design positions the design process as the research method, where experimentation, prototyping, and reflection become vehicles for generating new knowledge.
In the context of Design for Longevity (D4L), I find all three approaches valuable at different stages of inquiry. Research into design helps establish the foundations of D4L by examining historical perspectives, theories of longevity, life-centered products, longevity-friendly aesthetics, and individuals’ perceptions. Research for design integrates insights from multi-generational culture, work, the built environment, and social infrastructure to inform the development of products, services, experiences, and systems. Research through design may be powerful because longevity and aging are not destinations but lifelong and deeply personal processes. Through iterative prototyping, interventions, and immersive learning, designers can continuously explore how people adapt, evolve, and flourish across changing life circumstances.
As societies navigate unprecedented demographic shifts, perhaps D4L calls for a combination of all three modes of inquiry—not only to better understand aging, but also to actively shape longer and meaningful lives.
Just returned from the 2026 Design Research Society (DRS) Conference in Edinburgh. I was honored to co-chair the Longevity Track alongside Prof. Bruce Hanington, co-author of Universal Methods of Design with Bella Martin. I first encountered this classic methodology book as a design student, and I read it again during a 14-hour flight from Tokyo just before meeting Bruce in person. One section that resonated with me was Research through Design (p. 146).
Drawing on Christopher Frayling’s seminal essay Research in Art and Design (1993), design research can be understood through three categories: research into design, research for design, and research through design. Later scholars expanded these ideas further. Anne Burdick (2003) argued that design itself, such as the act of making, prototyping, and material exploration, can serve as a mode of inquiry and knowledge production, rather than a means of problem-solving.
Research into design studies design itself, including its history, theory, aesthetics, perception, and cultural impact. Research for design generates insights, references, and contextual knowledge that inform the creation of design artifacts and experiences. Research through design positions the design process as the research method, where experimentation, prototyping, and reflection become vehicles for generating new knowledge.
In the context of Design for Longevity (D4L), I find all three approaches valuable at different stages of inquiry. Research into design helps establish the foundations of D4L by examining historical perspectives, theories of longevity, life-centered products, longevity-friendly aesthetics, and individuals’ perceptions. Research for design integrates insights from multi-generational culture, work, the built environment, and social infrastructure to inform the development of products, services, experiences, and systems. Research through design may be powerful because longevity and aging are not destinations but lifelong and deeply personal processes. Through iterative prototyping, interventions, and immersive learning, designers can continuously explore how people adapt, evolve, and flourish across changing life circumstances.
As societies navigate unprecedented demographic shifts, perhaps D4L calls for a combination of all three modes of inquiry—not only to better understand aging, but also to actively shape longer and meaningful lives.
Design with Heart: Age-Friendly Design in Practice
June 3, 2026
Ron Nabarro’s Design with Heart: Age-Friendly Design in Practice accompanied me on my 14-hour direct flight from Detroit to Haneda. The idea of designing with heart invites us to move beyond the myth of the “average” user and recognize the full spectrum of human experience. This perspective resonates with Ron’s vision for the future of design. Beyond shaping products, services, and experiences, design is also a way of being (p. 118).
As he writes, “The future of design isn’t about choosing between accommodation and excellence; it’s about understanding that true excellence embraces everyone. When we design with the full spectrum of human ability and circumstances in mind, we don’t weaken our solutions; we improve them” (p. 378).
Age-friendly design offers a compelling example of what the future of design can look like. It is not about creating specialized solutions solely for older adults. Rather, it is about designing for human variation, dignity, and participation across the entire lifespan (p. 50).
In an increasingly multigenerational society, the notion of designing for an “average” user becomes inadequate. The typical user does not exist. Instead, designers must embrace variability and adaptability (p. 93) to address the diverse realities of human abilities, circumstances, and life transitions (p. 75). One powerful example is the principle of designing for the margins—creating solutions for those who face the greatest challenges, an approach that ultimately benefits everyone (p. 54).
I was particularly drawn to the concept of lifestyle age, which captures the rhythm and character of everyday life (p. 182). Lifestyle age describes how a person chooses to live physically, socially, and emotionally, regardless of their chronological age. More importantly, lifestyle age acknowledges the many ways people continue to navigate the opportunities and challenges of their life journey. It reflects how individuals structure their days, what motivates them, and how they remain connected to communities, relationships, and activities that provide meaning and purpose (p. 182). In this sense, aging is not merely a biological process but an ongoing expression of identity, aspiration, and participation.
As populations around the world continue to age, age-friendly design offers more than a framework for addressing demographic change. It challenges designers to reconsider who we design for, how we define inclusion, and what it means to create with empathy. Designing with heart is ultimately about recognizing human diversity not as a constraint, but as a source of possibility.
Ron Nabarro’s Design with Heart: Age-Friendly Design in Practice accompanied me on my 14-hour direct flight from Detroit to Haneda. The idea of designing with heart invites us to move beyond the myth of the “average” user and recognize the full spectrum of human experience. This perspective resonates with Ron’s vision for the future of design. Beyond shaping products, services, and experiences, design is also a way of being (p. 118).
As he writes, “The future of design isn’t about choosing between accommodation and excellence; it’s about understanding that true excellence embraces everyone. When we design with the full spectrum of human ability and circumstances in mind, we don’t weaken our solutions; we improve them” (p. 378).
Age-friendly design offers a compelling example of what the future of design can look like. It is not about creating specialized solutions solely for older adults. Rather, it is about designing for human variation, dignity, and participation across the entire lifespan (p. 50).
In an increasingly multigenerational society, the notion of designing for an “average” user becomes inadequate. The typical user does not exist. Instead, designers must embrace variability and adaptability (p. 93) to address the diverse realities of human abilities, circumstances, and life transitions (p. 75). One powerful example is the principle of designing for the margins—creating solutions for those who face the greatest challenges, an approach that ultimately benefits everyone (p. 54).
I was particularly drawn to the concept of lifestyle age, which captures the rhythm and character of everyday life (p. 182). Lifestyle age describes how a person chooses to live physically, socially, and emotionally, regardless of their chronological age. More importantly, lifestyle age acknowledges the many ways people continue to navigate the opportunities and challenges of their life journey. It reflects how individuals structure their days, what motivates them, and how they remain connected to communities, relationships, and activities that provide meaning and purpose (p. 182). In this sense, aging is not merely a biological process but an ongoing expression of identity, aspiration, and participation.
As populations around the world continue to age, age-friendly design offers more than a framework for addressing demographic change. It challenges designers to reconsider who we design for, how we define inclusion, and what it means to create with empathy. Designing with heart is ultimately about recognizing human diversity not as a constraint, but as a source of possibility.
Discursive Design: Critical, Speculative, and Alternative Things
May 28, 2026
Before traveling to Tokyo to conduct the Design for Longevity (D4L) workshop and participate in the Pan-Asia University of Michigan Alumni Reunion, I was excited to read and meet the authors of Discursive Design: Critical, Speculative, and Alternative Things by Bruce M. Tharp and Stephanie M. Tharp (published by MIT Press).
The ideas and applications of Discursive Design strongly resonate with the concept of building a LongevityTech City that I hope to further explore. In many ways, the book itself feels like a “discursive artifact.” Discursive artifacts almost always contain multiple agendas, interpretations, and possibilities. There are many ways to “digest” the book’s rich content.
I was particularly inspired by how the authors frame Discursive Design as a genus (p. 84), encompassing diverse species such as Adversarial Design, Anti-Design, Contestational Design, Critical Design, Critical Jugaad, Design Fiction, Radical Design, and Speculative Design. I appreciate how Discursive Design is positioned analogously as a genus with many evolving species spanning from the past to the future.
The Four-Field Mapping framework (p. 59) is also a compelling analytical tool for understanding artifacts through the lenses of the commercial, responsible, experimental, and discursive. Beyond serving as a framework for analyzing existing designs and iterative prototypes, it can also support designers in becoming clearer about their design intentions, not only their solutions, and more deliberate in their actions during the early stages of the design process.
As the authors note, “As a tool (the four-field framework) that copes with reality without contesting reality, the ultimate measure of its success is if it is somehow useful or intellectually interesting rather than correct.” (p. 58)
I look forward to future collaboration with Bruce and Stephanie at the Penny W. Stamps School of Art & Design through design research, design education, and beyond.
Before traveling to Tokyo to conduct the Design for Longevity (D4L) workshop and participate in the Pan-Asia University of Michigan Alumni Reunion, I was excited to read and meet the authors of Discursive Design: Critical, Speculative, and Alternative Things by Bruce M. Tharp and Stephanie M. Tharp (published by MIT Press).
The ideas and applications of Discursive Design strongly resonate with the concept of building a LongevityTech City that I hope to further explore. In many ways, the book itself feels like a “discursive artifact.” Discursive artifacts almost always contain multiple agendas, interpretations, and possibilities. There are many ways to “digest” the book’s rich content.
I was particularly inspired by how the authors frame Discursive Design as a genus (p. 84), encompassing diverse species such as Adversarial Design, Anti-Design, Contestational Design, Critical Design, Critical Jugaad, Design Fiction, Radical Design, and Speculative Design. I appreciate how Discursive Design is positioned analogously as a genus with many evolving species spanning from the past to the future.
The Four-Field Mapping framework (p. 59) is also a compelling analytical tool for understanding artifacts through the lenses of the commercial, responsible, experimental, and discursive. Beyond serving as a framework for analyzing existing designs and iterative prototypes, it can also support designers in becoming clearer about their design intentions, not only their solutions, and more deliberate in their actions during the early stages of the design process.
As the authors note, “As a tool (the four-field framework) that copes with reality without contesting reality, the ultimate measure of its success is if it is somehow useful or intellectually interesting rather than correct.” (p. 58)
I look forward to future collaboration with Bruce and Stephanie at the Penny W. Stamps School of Art & Design through design research, design education, and beyond.
Urban Design Thinking: A Conceptual Toolkit
May 24, 2026
Borrowed Urban Design Thinking by Kim Dovey from the U-M library last semester, and finally had time to finish it during the early summer break. I was intrigued by the book’s title because I found myself reading it in three different configurations:
Urban · Design Thinking
Urban Design · Thinking
Urban Design Thinking ·
Each configuration suggests a different interpretation, echoing the book's subtitle: a conceptual toolkit.
I especially enjoyed Dovey’s Urban DMA framework. It is an assemblage of density (how close can we get?— concentration and form), mix (what creates attraction?—co-functioning and diversity of uses), and access (how do we move around?—connectivity and flows). Density, mix, and access comprise a structural core for the emergence of urban intensity (p. 15). Urban DMA provides an alternative lens for understanding the complexity of contemporary urban challenges. Rethinking cities is inherently multidisciplinary and multi-scalar (p. 263). These challenges are interconnected, systemic, and deeply interdependent. It is difficult to address them solely through the isolated perspectives of economics, urban planning, or other disciplines, nor through singular frameworks.
The urban framework shapes the context within which everyday urban life unfolds (p. 39). For example, Edward Halll (1966) proposed four primary interpersonal distances: “public,” “social,” “personal,” and “intimate” distance. Different spatial distances generate different tensions and relationships, influencing how we interact. These ideas of distance can also be extended to advertising within the city.
When considering urban design as a form of advertising (p. 213), Dovey outlines a typology of urban advertising (p. 210) comprising embodied, contiguous, and detached advertising. Embodied advertising is embedded transparently within everyday urban life. Contiguous advertising is designed to directly intercept or redirect urban flows. Detached advertising refers to advertising separated from the product itself, such as billboards.
Embodied advertising can be experienced in traditional supermarkets or street markets, where commercial exchange is naturally integrated into daily life through sensory experiences: the weight of food in your hands, the negotiation of prices with vendors, and the smells encountered as you move through the market. Contiguous advertising appears in retail signage, price tags, storefront displays, or promotional flyers. Detached advertising, by contrast, is the least connected to the product itself, operating more as an independent visual layer within the urban landscape.
Urban space is a site of exchange and circulation among people, ideas, and goods. It is also shared with people we do not know and who may not share our views or values (p. 9). Cities become spaces of negotiation, coexistence, and encounter.
Borrowed Urban Design Thinking by Kim Dovey from the U-M library last semester, and finally had time to finish it during the early summer break. I was intrigued by the book’s title because I found myself reading it in three different configurations:
Urban · Design Thinking
Urban Design · Thinking
Urban Design Thinking ·
Each configuration suggests a different interpretation, echoing the book's subtitle: a conceptual toolkit.
I especially enjoyed Dovey’s Urban DMA framework. It is an assemblage of density (how close can we get?— concentration and form), mix (what creates attraction?—co-functioning and diversity of uses), and access (how do we move around?—connectivity and flows). Density, mix, and access comprise a structural core for the emergence of urban intensity (p. 15). Urban DMA provides an alternative lens for understanding the complexity of contemporary urban challenges. Rethinking cities is inherently multidisciplinary and multi-scalar (p. 263). These challenges are interconnected, systemic, and deeply interdependent. It is difficult to address them solely through the isolated perspectives of economics, urban planning, or other disciplines, nor through singular frameworks.
The urban framework shapes the context within which everyday urban life unfolds (p. 39). For example, Edward Halll (1966) proposed four primary interpersonal distances: “public,” “social,” “personal,” and “intimate” distance. Different spatial distances generate different tensions and relationships, influencing how we interact. These ideas of distance can also be extended to advertising within the city.
When considering urban design as a form of advertising (p. 213), Dovey outlines a typology of urban advertising (p. 210) comprising embodied, contiguous, and detached advertising. Embodied advertising is embedded transparently within everyday urban life. Contiguous advertising is designed to directly intercept or redirect urban flows. Detached advertising refers to advertising separated from the product itself, such as billboards.
Embodied advertising can be experienced in traditional supermarkets or street markets, where commercial exchange is naturally integrated into daily life through sensory experiences: the weight of food in your hands, the negotiation of prices with vendors, and the smells encountered as you move through the market. Contiguous advertising appears in retail signage, price tags, storefront displays, or promotional flyers. Detached advertising, by contrast, is the least connected to the product itself, operating more as an independent visual layer within the urban landscape.
Urban space is a site of exchange and circulation among people, ideas, and goods. It is also shared with people we do not know and who may not share our views or values (p. 9). Cities become spaces of negotiation, coexistence, and encounter.
Vision & Strategy: Strategic Thinking for Creative and Social Entrepreneurs
May 19, 2026
Preparing for the incoming fall class, Strategic Design and Urban Systems (UT 430, Section 2), and wanting to better understand the notion of theory of change, I came across Doris Rothauer’s Vision & Strategy: Strategic Thinking for Creative and Social Entrepreneurs (published by Birkhäuser). It was an engaging two-hour read during a short trip between Boston and Detroit.
Henry Mintzberg, author of Strategy Safari (1998), noted that “Strategy, it turns out, is one of those words that people define in one way and often use in another, without realizing the difference.” This observation naturally connects to the classic strategy pyramid (p. 19), which moves from top to bottom through vision, mission, strategies, goals, and activities.
For Mintzberg (1994), the best strategies are visions, not plans, based on the assumption that strategy development is fundamentally a reflexive process (p. 36). However, without sufficient temporal perspective and long-term commitment to distinguish and evaluate these layers, collective decision-making can become challenging. The Change Map (p. 84) offers a useful starting point to bridge the gap between vision and strategy through a 2×2 framework that maps the capability for change against the necessity for change. This approach helps identify the type and extent of change that may be necessary or preferable, as well as the direction it should take, especially in situations marked by team uncertainty.
The book also examines the Drivers of Change (p. 126). I particularly appreciated the STEEP-categories, which frame the primary areas of impact as Societal, Technological, Economic, Environmental, and Political factors. These Drivers of Change can inform how we shape the multiple possibilities of The Path of Life (p. 98). Similar to a journey map, Beratergruppe Neuwaldegg’s The Path of Life is grounded in the systemic concept of self-organization: any organization is a social system whose essential communicative activities consist of a sequence of interconnected decisions.
Preparing for the incoming fall class, Strategic Design and Urban Systems (UT 430, Section 2), and wanting to better understand the notion of theory of change, I came across Doris Rothauer’s Vision & Strategy: Strategic Thinking for Creative and Social Entrepreneurs (published by Birkhäuser). It was an engaging two-hour read during a short trip between Boston and Detroit.
Henry Mintzberg, author of Strategy Safari (1998), noted that “Strategy, it turns out, is one of those words that people define in one way and often use in another, without realizing the difference.” This observation naturally connects to the classic strategy pyramid (p. 19), which moves from top to bottom through vision, mission, strategies, goals, and activities.
For Mintzberg (1994), the best strategies are visions, not plans, based on the assumption that strategy development is fundamentally a reflexive process (p. 36). However, without sufficient temporal perspective and long-term commitment to distinguish and evaluate these layers, collective decision-making can become challenging. The Change Map (p. 84) offers a useful starting point to bridge the gap between vision and strategy through a 2×2 framework that maps the capability for change against the necessity for change. This approach helps identify the type and extent of change that may be necessary or preferable, as well as the direction it should take, especially in situations marked by team uncertainty.
The book also examines the Drivers of Change (p. 126). I particularly appreciated the STEEP-categories, which frame the primary areas of impact as Societal, Technological, Economic, Environmental, and Political factors. These Drivers of Change can inform how we shape the multiple possibilities of The Path of Life (p. 98). Similar to a journey map, Beratergruppe Neuwaldegg’s The Path of Life is grounded in the systemic concept of self-organization: any organization is a social system whose essential communicative activities consist of a sequence of interconnected decisions.
Smart Cities
May 10, 2026
While preparing for my Fall 2026 course, Strategic Design and Urban Systems (UT 430, Section 2), I came across Germaine Halegoua’s Smart Cities from the MIT Press Essential Knowledge series. The book prompted me, as a designer, to reflect on the idea that a smart city should be a social city (p. 67).
Katharine Willis and Alessandro Aurigi’s Digital and Smart Cities (2018) similarly argue that smart city developers often frame cities as socially constructed environments in which technology is embedded in everyday urban life (p. 65). Yet many smart city frameworks reduce people to users or customers rather than citizens and active producers of the city. Even when residents are included in planning processes, they are often imagined primarily as data generators, technology consumers, or sources of urban problems (p. 127).
In this context, “big data” has become a cornerstone of smart city development (p. 114). However, people frequently remain external to these systems rather than integral participants within them. Citizens are expected to interact with the ecosystem, yet they are rarely given meaningful agency to shape it (p. 131). This resonates with Sara Williams, Director of the Civic Data Design Lab at MIT, who noted in Public Data for Public Good (2018) that “big data will not change the world unless it is collected and synthesized into tools that have a public benefit” (p. 156).
Too often, smart city technologies position citizens as passive recipients of automated systems and providers of data, assuming that information alone can rationally change human behavior (p. 134). We should be mindful of using the notion of the “city in a box,” a critique of corporate, one-size-fits-all urban master plans (p. 187). Instead, through deeper citizen engagement, communication, and culture-building, public-private partnerships (PPPs) can be reimagined to support more humane and participatory urban futures.
Perhaps the challenge is not simply how to make cities smarter, but how to make them more human-centered from the start: cities shaped not only by the logics of capitalism and complex public-private infrastructures, but also by care, participation, culture, and collective well-being. Humanity-centered, smart-from-the-start cities (p. 47) may move beyond technological efficiency toward genuinely improving urban life. In this sense, the smart city becomes not only a technological blueprint, but also a “greenprint” for accommodating increasing urbanization and population growth through more sustainable forms of living (p. 30).
While preparing for my Fall 2026 course, Strategic Design and Urban Systems (UT 430, Section 2), I came across Germaine Halegoua’s Smart Cities from the MIT Press Essential Knowledge series. The book prompted me, as a designer, to reflect on the idea that a smart city should be a social city (p. 67).
Katharine Willis and Alessandro Aurigi’s Digital and Smart Cities (2018) similarly argue that smart city developers often frame cities as socially constructed environments in which technology is embedded in everyday urban life (p. 65). Yet many smart city frameworks reduce people to users or customers rather than citizens and active producers of the city. Even when residents are included in planning processes, they are often imagined primarily as data generators, technology consumers, or sources of urban problems (p. 127).
In this context, “big data” has become a cornerstone of smart city development (p. 114). However, people frequently remain external to these systems rather than integral participants within them. Citizens are expected to interact with the ecosystem, yet they are rarely given meaningful agency to shape it (p. 131). This resonates with Sara Williams, Director of the Civic Data Design Lab at MIT, who noted in Public Data for Public Good (2018) that “big data will not change the world unless it is collected and synthesized into tools that have a public benefit” (p. 156).
Too often, smart city technologies position citizens as passive recipients of automated systems and providers of data, assuming that information alone can rationally change human behavior (p. 134). We should be mindful of using the notion of the “city in a box,” a critique of corporate, one-size-fits-all urban master plans (p. 187). Instead, through deeper citizen engagement, communication, and culture-building, public-private partnerships (PPPs) can be reimagined to support more humane and participatory urban futures.
Perhaps the challenge is not simply how to make cities smarter, but how to make them more human-centered from the start: cities shaped not only by the logics of capitalism and complex public-private infrastructures, but also by care, participation, culture, and collective well-being. Humanity-centered, smart-from-the-start cities (p. 47) may move beyond technological efficiency toward genuinely improving urban life. In this sense, the smart city becomes not only a technological blueprint, but also a “greenprint” for accommodating increasing urbanization and population growth through more sustainable forms of living (p. 30).
Teaching Graphic Design
April 27, 2026
“Cultivate your curiosity and creative hunger and learn to learn.” (p. 121)
— Nikolaus Hafermaas, Chair of ArtCenter’s Undergraduate Graphic Design Department and the Graphic Design Graduate Program
I was fortunate to receive Teaching Graphic Design by Sven Ingmar Thies (published by Birkhäuser) last year. It took time not only to read but to truly “digest” its rich content, which brings together insights from 24 experts and educators. While grounded in graphic design, the book reaches far beyond the discipline. Graphic design is about changing perspectives through critical thinking, understanding core issues, generating ideas creatively, and realizing them through impactful outcomes (p. 37). These qualities resonate across all design fields, emphasizing holistic thinking (p. 28) and project-based learning (p. 44). As Masayo Ave notes, “Design is a profoundly multisensory and multidisciplinary subject for all” (p. 94).
A central theme is that design education cultivates the ability to learn how to learn (p. 28). Toshio Yamagata highlights that design is not only about problem-solving but about enabling discovery (p. 253). This aligns with Takeshi Sunaga’s perspective on social design: design does not reside solely in the studio but unfolds within society (p. 248). Similarly, Gesche Joost frames design research as a means to analyze and address societal challenges through design methods (p. 143).
Design can be considered as emerging as both a practice and a life philosophy, deeply intertwined with personal and social contexts, an insight particularly relevant for educators. I am especially inspired by Yasuhiro Sawada’s view that “teaching is more about collaborative thinking” (p. 214). This echoes Brigitt Hartwig’s teaching approach, characterized by intuition, improvisation, empathy, passion, and encouragement (p. 127), aiming to foster a learning environment with a pleasant atmosphere, free of fear, and humorous.
Revisiting the book to jot down reflections also reminded me of Jean Lave and Etienne Wenger’s Communities of Practice (CoPs) and Legitimate Peripheral Participation (LPP), which frame learning as a situated, collaborative process embedded in social practice (1991).
“Cultivate your curiosity and creative hunger and learn to learn.” (p. 121)
— Nikolaus Hafermaas, Chair of ArtCenter’s Undergraduate Graphic Design Department and the Graphic Design Graduate Program
I was fortunate to receive Teaching Graphic Design by Sven Ingmar Thies (published by Birkhäuser) last year. It took time not only to read but to truly “digest” its rich content, which brings together insights from 24 experts and educators. While grounded in graphic design, the book reaches far beyond the discipline. Graphic design is about changing perspectives through critical thinking, understanding core issues, generating ideas creatively, and realizing them through impactful outcomes (p. 37). These qualities resonate across all design fields, emphasizing holistic thinking (p. 28) and project-based learning (p. 44). As Masayo Ave notes, “Design is a profoundly multisensory and multidisciplinary subject for all” (p. 94).
A central theme is that design education cultivates the ability to learn how to learn (p. 28). Toshio Yamagata highlights that design is not only about problem-solving but about enabling discovery (p. 253). This aligns with Takeshi Sunaga’s perspective on social design: design does not reside solely in the studio but unfolds within society (p. 248). Similarly, Gesche Joost frames design research as a means to analyze and address societal challenges through design methods (p. 143).
Design can be considered as emerging as both a practice and a life philosophy, deeply intertwined with personal and social contexts, an insight particularly relevant for educators. I am especially inspired by Yasuhiro Sawada’s view that “teaching is more about collaborative thinking” (p. 214). This echoes Brigitt Hartwig’s teaching approach, characterized by intuition, improvisation, empathy, passion, and encouragement (p. 127), aiming to foster a learning environment with a pleasant atmosphere, free of fear, and humorous.
Revisiting the book to jot down reflections also reminded me of Jean Lave and Etienne Wenger’s Communities of Practice (CoPs) and Legitimate Peripheral Participation (LPP), which frame learning as a situated, collaborative process embedded in social practice (1991).
Design Thinking with Artificial Intelligence
March 31, 2026
Thanks to Daniel Graff, Mark Clark, Dan Li, and Lei Xia for sending me Design Thinking with Artificial Intelligence (Palgrave Macmillan) from Shanghai. It was a pleasure to read during my flight from Detroit to Washington, DC.
The book introduces the emerging concept of AI Design (AID) tools, which focus on creating physical and conceptual artifacts (p. 17). These tools span the entire research lifecycle from initial user study to insight synthesis and strategic application (p. 135). For instance, the distinction between traditional brainstorming and “brAIstorming” (p. 182) is interesting. Similarly, the “3-3-10” method—using an AI partner to generate three ideas in three minutes, followed by a ten-minute exchange—offers a contemporary counterpart to Rohrbach’s classic 6-3-5 brainwriting method (1960), where six participants generate three ideas every five minutes (p. 196).
It prompted me to reflect on how we might better ground AI outputs in real data, such as transcripts, diaries, and field notes, while using AI primarily for structuring and grouping, rather than inventing user insights (p. 171). In this context, prompting emerges as a critical design skill; interactive prompting becomes central to the process (p. 173). AI offers unprecedented speed and scale, while users can provide purpose and grounding. The interaction of AI and humans ultimately makes ideas meaningful and real (p. 174).
The development of explanatory AI is designed to mediate interactions between humans and increasingly complex AI systems (p. 284). Importantly, AI should be treated primarily as a collaborator rather than a tool. Framing AI as a collaborator can position designers as supervisors. Designers also actively guide and shape AI’s role within the design process (p. 45).
While AI can process complexity, identify patterns, and generate alternatives, designers remain essential as empathizers and system sense-makers (p. 92). An effective AI designer needs to deeply understand human needs, skills, and contexts, ensuring that AI-supported solutions are both relevant and grounded (p. 284). A sharper question for the AI era: are “wicked problems” (Cross, 1982) truly unsolvable, or has that belief simply reflected human limits that AI is now beginning to unsettle?
Thanks to Daniel Graff, Mark Clark, Dan Li, and Lei Xia for sending me Design Thinking with Artificial Intelligence (Palgrave Macmillan) from Shanghai. It was a pleasure to read during my flight from Detroit to Washington, DC.
The book introduces the emerging concept of AI Design (AID) tools, which focus on creating physical and conceptual artifacts (p. 17). These tools span the entire research lifecycle from initial user study to insight synthesis and strategic application (p. 135). For instance, the distinction between traditional brainstorming and “brAIstorming” (p. 182) is interesting. Similarly, the “3-3-10” method—using an AI partner to generate three ideas in three minutes, followed by a ten-minute exchange—offers a contemporary counterpart to Rohrbach’s classic 6-3-5 brainwriting method (1960), where six participants generate three ideas every five minutes (p. 196).
It prompted me to reflect on how we might better ground AI outputs in real data, such as transcripts, diaries, and field notes, while using AI primarily for structuring and grouping, rather than inventing user insights (p. 171). In this context, prompting emerges as a critical design skill; interactive prompting becomes central to the process (p. 173). AI offers unprecedented speed and scale, while users can provide purpose and grounding. The interaction of AI and humans ultimately makes ideas meaningful and real (p. 174).
The development of explanatory AI is designed to mediate interactions between humans and increasingly complex AI systems (p. 284). Importantly, AI should be treated primarily as a collaborator rather than a tool. Framing AI as a collaborator can position designers as supervisors. Designers also actively guide and shape AI’s role within the design process (p. 45).
While AI can process complexity, identify patterns, and generate alternatives, designers remain essential as empathizers and system sense-makers (p. 92). An effective AI designer needs to deeply understand human needs, skills, and contexts, ensuring that AI-supported solutions are both relevant and grounded (p. 284). A sharper question for the AI era: are “wicked problems” (Cross, 1982) truly unsolvable, or has that belief simply reflected human limits that AI is now beginning to unsettle?
The Sciences of the Artificial
March 21, 2026
“Everyone designs who devices course of action aimed at changing existing situations into preferred ones.” (Simon, 1969; p. 55)
Revisiting the first edition of Herbert Simon’s The Sciences of the Artificial provides a great source for my literature review paper. Simon frames design as a discipline concerned with “how things ought to be,” emphasizing the creation of artifacts that enable the attainment of desired goals (p. 59). In this sense, design is not merely about form-making, but about systematically devising artifacts with intended properties and functions (p. 55).
Simon’s definition of the “artificial” is equally critical. Initially described as “produced by art rather than by nature; not genuine or natural; affected; not pertaining to the essence of the matter” (p. 4), the term is reframed in a more precise and functional sense: “artificial” is used to denote systems that have a given form and behavior only because they adapt (for are adapted), in reference to goals or purposes, to their environment.
He further distinguishes artificial from natural phenomena through four key characteristics (p. 6): 1. artificial things are synthesized by humans; 2. artificial things may imitate natural appearances while lacking underlying natural properties; 3. artificial things are characterized in terms of functions, goals, and adaptive behavior; and 4. artificial things are often discussed, particularly when they are being designed, in terms of imperatives as well as descriptives.
Artifacts can also be understood as interfaces between inner and outer environments (p. 6). This perspective is particularly generative: a thinking human being is itself an adaptive system, whose goals define this interface. Human behavior, therefore, is goal-oriented and adaptive—rendering it “artificial.” What we observe are not the full complexities of the system, but only those characteristics that constrain or enable adaptation (p. 52).
This raises a question for design inquiry: if artifacts as interfaces mediate adaptation, their value lies less in what they are than in how they reshape relationships between goals, environments, and behaviors. In designing artifacts for experimentation, the focus shifts to transformation—what adaptations they enable, what behaviors they invite, and what preferred futures they make possible.
“Everyone designs who devices course of action aimed at changing existing situations into preferred ones.” (Simon, 1969; p. 55)
Revisiting the first edition of Herbert Simon’s The Sciences of the Artificial provides a great source for my literature review paper. Simon frames design as a discipline concerned with “how things ought to be,” emphasizing the creation of artifacts that enable the attainment of desired goals (p. 59). In this sense, design is not merely about form-making, but about systematically devising artifacts with intended properties and functions (p. 55).
Simon’s definition of the “artificial” is equally critical. Initially described as “produced by art rather than by nature; not genuine or natural; affected; not pertaining to the essence of the matter” (p. 4), the term is reframed in a more precise and functional sense: “artificial” is used to denote systems that have a given form and behavior only because they adapt (for are adapted), in reference to goals or purposes, to their environment.
He further distinguishes artificial from natural phenomena through four key characteristics (p. 6): 1. artificial things are synthesized by humans; 2. artificial things may imitate natural appearances while lacking underlying natural properties; 3. artificial things are characterized in terms of functions, goals, and adaptive behavior; and 4. artificial things are often discussed, particularly when they are being designed, in terms of imperatives as well as descriptives.
Artifacts can also be understood as interfaces between inner and outer environments (p. 6). This perspective is particularly generative: a thinking human being is itself an adaptive system, whose goals define this interface. Human behavior, therefore, is goal-oriented and adaptive—rendering it “artificial.” What we observe are not the full complexities of the system, but only those characteristics that constrain or enable adaptation (p. 52).
This raises a question for design inquiry: if artifacts as interfaces mediate adaptation, their value lies less in what they are than in how they reshape relationships between goals, environments, and behaviors. In designing artifacts for experimentation, the focus shifts to transformation—what adaptations they enable, what behaviors they invite, and what preferred futures they make possible.
A Visible Distance: Craft, Creativity, and the Business of Design
March 15, 2026
“Design is everything, but everything is not design”—Matt Owens (2024, p. 113)
I read Matt Owens’s A Visible Distance: Craft, Creativity, and the Business of Design (published by Set Margins) while traveling from Boston to Detroit and then to Chicago over two days. His invaluable stories and professional experiences made the reading both special and intimate.
I was particularly drawn to the term “creative empathy.” Owens defines creative empathy as “the art and practice of embracing the thoughts and actions of a team to arrive at the best possible creative solution while installing as much objectivity and shared ownership as possible” (p. 41).
He argues that successful creative empathy requires seeing through the eyes of every stakeholder, including your team, the client’s team, and the people who pay for the work to happen (p. 43). In essence, creative empathy is about collectively making sense of the present in order to create something that feels authentic, resonates with others, and inspires them to care, think, or invest (p. 46).
With creative empathy, design becomes the glue that holds together not only a brand system (p. 115), but also the many critical touchpoints across an experience. Design can be considered across every moment, from the visceral reaction when we first encounter a product or service to the infrastructural business decisions that often remain invisible (p. 119).
If design is a cultural production of meaning, designers can no longer approach audiences merely as a “viewing eye and devouring stomach” (p. 220). How might we better embrace the fluid relationship among design, creativity, culture, and commerce to keep us all moving forward (p. 20)?
The notion of creative authorship, as a potential shift from traditional ideas of creative leadership, is also worth considering. It suggests that designers are responsible for the work they bring into the world and the meaning it produces (p. 140). A greater emphasis on creative authorship, rather than creative leadership alone, may help amplify our creative potential (p. 143).
“Design is everything, but everything is not design”—Matt Owens (2024, p. 113)
I read Matt Owens’s A Visible Distance: Craft, Creativity, and the Business of Design (published by Set Margins) while traveling from Boston to Detroit and then to Chicago over two days. His invaluable stories and professional experiences made the reading both special and intimate.
I was particularly drawn to the term “creative empathy.” Owens defines creative empathy as “the art and practice of embracing the thoughts and actions of a team to arrive at the best possible creative solution while installing as much objectivity and shared ownership as possible” (p. 41).
He argues that successful creative empathy requires seeing through the eyes of every stakeholder, including your team, the client’s team, and the people who pay for the work to happen (p. 43). In essence, creative empathy is about collectively making sense of the present in order to create something that feels authentic, resonates with others, and inspires them to care, think, or invest (p. 46).
With creative empathy, design becomes the glue that holds together not only a brand system (p. 115), but also the many critical touchpoints across an experience. Design can be considered across every moment, from the visceral reaction when we first encounter a product or service to the infrastructural business decisions that often remain invisible (p. 119).
If design is a cultural production of meaning, designers can no longer approach audiences merely as a “viewing eye and devouring stomach” (p. 220). How might we better embrace the fluid relationship among design, creativity, culture, and commerce to keep us all moving forward (p. 20)?
The notion of creative authorship, as a potential shift from traditional ideas of creative leadership, is also worth considering. It suggests that designers are responsible for the work they bring into the world and the meaning it produces (p. 140). A greater emphasis on creative authorship, rather than creative leadership alone, may help amplify our creative potential (p. 143).
Design Futuring: Sustainability, Ethics and New Practice
March 4, 2026
“Design has to be understood not just as an object of historical study and contemporary cultural and economic practice, but also as an object of current cultural politics inside and outside education.” —Tony Fry (1981)
During spring break at the University of Michigan, I revisited Tony Fry’s Design Futuring: Sustainability, Ethics and New Practice while preparing a journal article submission. Design is never simply “a problem-solving activity” (p. 57). Design is embedded in the world around us and within us. We are surrounded by designed things that function in ways so familiar that they are often invisible (p. 29).
Design is also inherently political (p. 56). I am inspired by his notion of the “designing of the designed,” which frames design as an embodied political act in everyday materials (p. 211). This perspective invites a deeper question: what shapes the future? The future is no longer something that simply arrives; it is something we collectively make (p. 155).
In discussions of sustainability, Fry highlights the interrelationships among ecology, equity, and the economy, visualized as a triangular framework. The widely cited definition of sustainability originates from the 1987 Brundtland Report by the World Commission on Environment and Development, which describes sustainable development as “paths of social, economic and political progress that meet the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs.” Sustainability is closely tied to economic growth, yet growth must be managed to preserve natural resources and ensure the quality of life for future generations (p. 41).
Sustainable development can be described as a “three-legged stool” comprising environmental, economic, and social sustainability (p. 184). The idea of “sustain-ability, ”a concept that emphasizes the capacity to secure and maintain a qualitative condition of being over time. Sustainability, in this sense, is not an endpoint but an ongoing process in which the forces that support and extend life outweigh those that negate it (p. 43).
Thinking about sustainability inevitably raises questions of the quality of products, services, environments, and ultimately of life itself. What does it mean to design for quality, and what might such quality cost? The emergence of a Quality Economy could serve as a practical philosophy embodied in redirective design practice. This approach is not limited to large systems or institutions; it can operate at various scales, from the maker of craft objects to multinational manufacturing corporations (p. 217).
“Design has to be understood not just as an object of historical study and contemporary cultural and economic practice, but also as an object of current cultural politics inside and outside education.” —Tony Fry (1981)
During spring break at the University of Michigan, I revisited Tony Fry’s Design Futuring: Sustainability, Ethics and New Practice while preparing a journal article submission. Design is never simply “a problem-solving activity” (p. 57). Design is embedded in the world around us and within us. We are surrounded by designed things that function in ways so familiar that they are often invisible (p. 29).
Design is also inherently political (p. 56). I am inspired by his notion of the “designing of the designed,” which frames design as an embodied political act in everyday materials (p. 211). This perspective invites a deeper question: what shapes the future? The future is no longer something that simply arrives; it is something we collectively make (p. 155).
In discussions of sustainability, Fry highlights the interrelationships among ecology, equity, and the economy, visualized as a triangular framework. The widely cited definition of sustainability originates from the 1987 Brundtland Report by the World Commission on Environment and Development, which describes sustainable development as “paths of social, economic and political progress that meet the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs.” Sustainability is closely tied to economic growth, yet growth must be managed to preserve natural resources and ensure the quality of life for future generations (p. 41).
Sustainable development can be described as a “three-legged stool” comprising environmental, economic, and social sustainability (p. 184). The idea of “sustain-ability, ”a concept that emphasizes the capacity to secure and maintain a qualitative condition of being over time. Sustainability, in this sense, is not an endpoint but an ongoing process in which the forces that support and extend life outweigh those that negate it (p. 43).
Thinking about sustainability inevitably raises questions of the quality of products, services, environments, and ultimately of life itself. What does it mean to design for quality, and what might such quality cost? The emergence of a Quality Economy could serve as a practical philosophy embodied in redirective design practice. This approach is not limited to large systems or institutions; it can operate at various scales, from the maker of craft objects to multinational manufacturing corporations (p. 217).
The Transformation Economy
February 22, 2026
“While memorable experiences engage who you are, meaningful experiences connect with who you are, and transporting experiences move you beyond who you are, transformative experiences change who you are.” (Pine, 2026, p. 89)
I read Joseph Pine’s recent book, The Transformation Economy (Harvard Business Review Press), particularly because his earlier work, The Experience Economy, has been a significant source of design inspiration. The Progression of Economic Value (Figure 1-1, p. 3) outlines the societal shift from commodities to goods, services, experiences, and ultimately transformations. Customization can be viewed as the antidote to commoditization (p. 5). While mass-produced goods are largely standardized, services and experiences introduce differentiation through customization, as seen in hospitality and travel experiences. Pine proposes a succinct formulation of value:
Value created = functionally provided + net value of time (p. 16)
This perspective resonates strongly with my reflections on Design for Longevity (D4L). In particular, Pine’s Transformation Journey (Figure 5-4, p. 130) provides a useful aspect for examining the D4L Unlock Framework: longevity, service, system, design, technology, and society. The journey comprises twelve stages—living life, aspiration, hesitation, meeting the guide, commitment, preparation, starts—and fits, crucible, transformation, reflection, integration, and greater flourishing—organized into four broader phases: aspiration, experiences, transformation, and integration.
The ultimate goal of transformation is human flourishing (p. 169). Transformation can be unfolded through three critical phases: diagnosis, encapsulated experiences, and follow-through. Importantly, a transformation is not complete unless it is sustained over time. I particularly appreciate Pine’s use of the term “follow-through” rather than “follow-up.” Follow-through implies ensuring that transformation takes hold and endures, avoiding decline (p. 187).
Change, however, is never easy.
The transformation economy also invites reconsideration of Clayton Christensen’s Jobs To Be Done (JTBD) framework—functional, social, emotional, and aspirational (p. 176). In a longevity society shaped by AI, emotional and aspirational JTBD may become increasingly central.
“While memorable experiences engage who you are, meaningful experiences connect with who you are, and transporting experiences move you beyond who you are, transformative experiences change who you are.” (Pine, 2026, p. 89)
I read Joseph Pine’s recent book, The Transformation Economy (Harvard Business Review Press), particularly because his earlier work, The Experience Economy, has been a significant source of design inspiration. The Progression of Economic Value (Figure 1-1, p. 3) outlines the societal shift from commodities to goods, services, experiences, and ultimately transformations. Customization can be viewed as the antidote to commoditization (p. 5). While mass-produced goods are largely standardized, services and experiences introduce differentiation through customization, as seen in hospitality and travel experiences. Pine proposes a succinct formulation of value:
Value created = functionally provided + net value of time (p. 16)
This perspective resonates strongly with my reflections on Design for Longevity (D4L). In particular, Pine’s Transformation Journey (Figure 5-4, p. 130) provides a useful aspect for examining the D4L Unlock Framework: longevity, service, system, design, technology, and society. The journey comprises twelve stages—living life, aspiration, hesitation, meeting the guide, commitment, preparation, starts—and fits, crucible, transformation, reflection, integration, and greater flourishing—organized into four broader phases: aspiration, experiences, transformation, and integration.
The ultimate goal of transformation is human flourishing (p. 169). Transformation can be unfolded through three critical phases: diagnosis, encapsulated experiences, and follow-through. Importantly, a transformation is not complete unless it is sustained over time. I particularly appreciate Pine’s use of the term “follow-through” rather than “follow-up.” Follow-through implies ensuring that transformation takes hold and endures, avoiding decline (p. 187).
Change, however, is never easy.
The transformation economy also invites reconsideration of Clayton Christensen’s Jobs To Be Done (JTBD) framework—functional, social, emotional, and aspirational (p. 176). In a longevity society shaped by AI, emotional and aspirational JTBD may become increasingly central.
Design Thinking and Other Approaches
February 6, 2026
One way to spend time during Ann Arbor’s winter is to settle onto the sofa with a good book and an admittedly ok-level capsule coffee. Recently, I’ve been reading Design Thinking and Other Approaches: How Different Disciplines See, Think and Act by Nathan Crilly (Cambridge University Press), and it has prompted me to reflect on how we frame and understand design thinking.
Kimbell (2011, p. 289) denotes that “design thinking is meant to encompass everything good about designerly practice.” She further characterizes design thinking in three ways: as a cognitive style, as a general theory of design, and as a resource for organizations (2011, p. 285). Similarly, Hassi and Laakso (2011) describe design thinking as comprising practice, thinking style, and mentality, each encompassing methods, values, and concepts.
There are, of course, many definitions and interpretations of design thinking, and it is by no means a new concept. As Boland and Collopy (2004, p. 11) aptly note, “The more ways of thinking we have available to us, the better our problem-solving outcomes can be.” Crilly’s research reinforces this idea by situating design thinking alongside other disciplinary approaches, such as systems thinking (M. C. Jackson, 2003), entrepreneurial thinking (Krueger, 2007), and related modes of inquiry. While non-exhaustive, his research methods and perspectives span professional practice, the sciences, the social sciences, and the arts and humanities.
I was reminded of this again while watching Nathan Crilly’s 2024 talk at the University of Cambridge, Exploring the Relationship between Design Thinking and Other Disciplinary Approaches. It echoed what I learned earlier at IDEO, Continuum, and MIT: design thinking is not the thinking. Perhaps a more precise framing is to speak of a design process—one that integrates thinking and action, ideation and implementation, while remaining open to learning from multiple disciplinary traditions.
One way to spend time during Ann Arbor’s winter is to settle onto the sofa with a good book and an admittedly ok-level capsule coffee. Recently, I’ve been reading Design Thinking and Other Approaches: How Different Disciplines See, Think and Act by Nathan Crilly (Cambridge University Press), and it has prompted me to reflect on how we frame and understand design thinking.
Kimbell (2011, p. 289) denotes that “design thinking is meant to encompass everything good about designerly practice.” She further characterizes design thinking in three ways: as a cognitive style, as a general theory of design, and as a resource for organizations (2011, p. 285). Similarly, Hassi and Laakso (2011) describe design thinking as comprising practice, thinking style, and mentality, each encompassing methods, values, and concepts.
There are, of course, many definitions and interpretations of design thinking, and it is by no means a new concept. As Boland and Collopy (2004, p. 11) aptly note, “The more ways of thinking we have available to us, the better our problem-solving outcomes can be.” Crilly’s research reinforces this idea by situating design thinking alongside other disciplinary approaches, such as systems thinking (M. C. Jackson, 2003), entrepreneurial thinking (Krueger, 2007), and related modes of inquiry. While non-exhaustive, his research methods and perspectives span professional practice, the sciences, the social sciences, and the arts and humanities.
I was reminded of this again while watching Nathan Crilly’s 2024 talk at the University of Cambridge, Exploring the Relationship between Design Thinking and Other Disciplinary Approaches. It echoed what I learned earlier at IDEO, Continuum, and MIT: design thinking is not the thinking. Perhaps a more precise framing is to speak of a design process—one that integrates thinking and action, ideation and implementation, while remaining open to learning from multiple disciplinary traditions.
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