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Navigating Urban Exposome Futures
October 24, 2025
As a designer and design scholar, one of the most rewarding moments is engaging in conversations with people who share a similar vision and mission—and exchanging their doctoral work. I was fortunate to have a virtual coffee with Dr. Tabea Simone Sonnenschein and to read her recent book Navigating Urban Exposome Futures (Utrecht University).
The exposome refers to the totality of environmental exposures an individual experiences from conception to death and how these exposures influence health and well-being (Wild, 2005). The human exposome encompasses “the totality of exposure we face through our lives and includes the food we ingest, the air we breathe, the objects we touch, the psychological stress we face, and the activities in which we engage” that shape our health (Miller, 2014).
Sonnenschein’s research makes a valuable contribution by experimenting with agent based modeling (ABM) to explore, measure, and map the notion of the urban exposome. She emphasizes that accessible and reliable scenario-based ABMs can only be achieved through interdisciplinary collaboration and the collective development of an open-science toolbox (P13).
I am particularly inspired to extend this discussion by examining how the exposome concept evolves across scales—from the human exposome to the urban exposome and, ultimately, to the service exposome—and how these perspectives intersect with the Design for Longevity (D4L) Unclock Framework. Cities, in particular, bear immense responsibility and have the potential to address intertwined environmental, health, and social challenges, serving as dynamic hubs of population, mobility, economic activity, and resource use (P6).
As Sonnenschein insightfully notes, urban models will always remain incomplete. Many dimensions of urban life, such as the subjective experience of the city, cannot be fully captured through parameters or data. Cities are more than systems; they are living places imbued with memories, cultural meaning, and identity (P290).
Urban exposome is like an invisible fingerprint that shapes our daily lives.
As a designer and design scholar, one of the most rewarding moments is engaging in conversations with people who share a similar vision and mission—and exchanging their doctoral work. I was fortunate to have a virtual coffee with Dr. Tabea Simone Sonnenschein and to read her recent book Navigating Urban Exposome Futures (Utrecht University).
The exposome refers to the totality of environmental exposures an individual experiences from conception to death and how these exposures influence health and well-being (Wild, 2005). The human exposome encompasses “the totality of exposure we face through our lives and includes the food we ingest, the air we breathe, the objects we touch, the psychological stress we face, and the activities in which we engage” that shape our health (Miller, 2014).
Sonnenschein’s research makes a valuable contribution by experimenting with agent based modeling (ABM) to explore, measure, and map the notion of the urban exposome. She emphasizes that accessible and reliable scenario-based ABMs can only be achieved through interdisciplinary collaboration and the collective development of an open-science toolbox (P13).
I am particularly inspired to extend this discussion by examining how the exposome concept evolves across scales—from the human exposome to the urban exposome and, ultimately, to the service exposome—and how these perspectives intersect with the Design for Longevity (D4L) Unclock Framework. Cities, in particular, bear immense responsibility and have the potential to address intertwined environmental, health, and social challenges, serving as dynamic hubs of population, mobility, economic activity, and resource use (P6).
As Sonnenschein insightfully notes, urban models will always remain incomplete. Many dimensions of urban life, such as the subjective experience of the city, cannot be fully captured through parameters or data. Cities are more than systems; they are living places imbued with memories, cultural meaning, and identity (P290).
Urban exposome is like an invisible fingerprint that shapes our daily lives.
Planning for Greying Cities: Age-Friendly City Planning and Design Research and Practice
October 18, 2025
Enjoy and seize the final moments of warmth before winter descends on MIT campus, while I’m immersed in building my d-mix lab at the University of Michigan (https://d-mixlab.tcaup.umich.edu/). Recently, I found Planning for Greying Cities: Age-Friendly City Planning and Design Research and Practice (Routledge) by Prof. Tzu-Yuan Stessa Chao to be a deeply inspiring and intellectually grounding resource. It has shaped my thinking around the concept of the LongevityTech City and the future direction of my research.
I was particularly drawn to the notion of “balanced development” (P77), especially in the context of multi-generational environments and workforces. Chao’s call to transform greying cities into silver cities, through a shift from urban planning to urban governance. She advocates for a proactive, win-win approach that integrates both place-making and people-making (P165). Looking ahead, the idea that “old can be so new and grey can turn into silver” captures the transformative power of reframing, executing, and adapting (P171).
A space, as Molotch (1993) and Su et al. (2016) remind us, is not a neutral container but rather “an interlinkage of geographic form, built environment, symbolic meanings, and routines of life.” Within the age-friendly city (AFC) context, Chao identifies four spatial scales, including community/street, city, regional/rural, and national, each aligned with specific planning instruments (P34). This multiscalar framework offers a constructive lens for understanding the complex, systemic challenges that span disciplines and domains.
As noted in the United Nations’ International Guidelines on Urban and Territorial Planning (2015), urban planning today needs to extend beyond a technical exercise to become an integrative and participatory process that reconciles competing interests and aligns them toward a shared vision for the future (P171). While integration and co-creation are essential elements of this process-driven approach, Chao reminds us of an even deeper truth: “Knowledge without care or love would be dangerous, and urban life we create without love is meaningless” (P172).
Enjoy and seize the final moments of warmth before winter descends on MIT campus, while I’m immersed in building my d-mix lab at the University of Michigan (https://d-mixlab.tcaup.umich.edu/). Recently, I found Planning for Greying Cities: Age-Friendly City Planning and Design Research and Practice (Routledge) by Prof. Tzu-Yuan Stessa Chao to be a deeply inspiring and intellectually grounding resource. It has shaped my thinking around the concept of the LongevityTech City and the future direction of my research.
I was particularly drawn to the notion of “balanced development” (P77), especially in the context of multi-generational environments and workforces. Chao’s call to transform greying cities into silver cities, through a shift from urban planning to urban governance. She advocates for a proactive, win-win approach that integrates both place-making and people-making (P165). Looking ahead, the idea that “old can be so new and grey can turn into silver” captures the transformative power of reframing, executing, and adapting (P171).
A space, as Molotch (1993) and Su et al. (2016) remind us, is not a neutral container but rather “an interlinkage of geographic form, built environment, symbolic meanings, and routines of life.” Within the age-friendly city (AFC) context, Chao identifies four spatial scales, including community/street, city, regional/rural, and national, each aligned with specific planning instruments (P34). This multiscalar framework offers a constructive lens for understanding the complex, systemic challenges that span disciplines and domains.
As noted in the United Nations’ International Guidelines on Urban and Territorial Planning (2015), urban planning today needs to extend beyond a technical exercise to become an integrative and participatory process that reconciles competing interests and aligns them toward a shared vision for the future (P171). While integration and co-creation are essential elements of this process-driven approach, Chao reminds us of an even deeper truth: “Knowledge without care or love would be dangerous, and urban life we create without love is meaningless” (P172).
What It Means to Be a Designer Today: Reflections, Questions, and Ideas from AIGA’s Eye on Design
October 4, 2025
Three weeks ago, I came across What It Means to Be a Designer Today: Reflections, Questions, and Ideas from AIGA’s Eye on Design (Princeton Architectural Press) at the MIT Press Bookstore. The title immediately caught my attention, as I’ve been seeking inspiration beyond the lab, especially amid the growing intensity of my current in-person controlled experiment study.
One chapter that particularly resonated with me was Meg Miller’s “On Visual Sustainability with Benedetta Crippa” (P215). Crippa introduces the term "visual sustainability" to illustrate how graphic design can embody sustainability not only through its message or materiality, but also through its very form (P218). As she insightfully notes, “When we shift the narrative from ‘not designing’ to ‘designing within boundaries,’ we are empowered rather than suppressed” (P218).
Elizabeth Goodspeed offers another powerful reflection: “There isn’t anything new. Everything is remix” (P214). This idea underscores the importance of structural change (P220) and reminds us that meaningful, transformative design requires deliberate intention (P222) as well as considering design and design challenges as part of social infrastructure.
These perspectives led me to reflect on a question: What is the true value of design? Ric Grefé, former Executive Director of AIGA, offers a compelling response, suggesting that designers, and design itself, can be positioned as strategic thinkers and vital tools higher along the value chain within organizational structures. In doing so, they become capable of shaping concepts, strategies, and multidisciplinary collaborations that profoundly influence stakeholders and culture (P193).
I’m grateful to editors Liz Stinson and Jarrett Fuller for curating and organizing this thoughtful volume for a wide audience. As an industrial designer and electrical engineer by training, I found the book both relevant and grounding—much like my black Peu Camper, essential companions in my daily life.
Three weeks ago, I came across What It Means to Be a Designer Today: Reflections, Questions, and Ideas from AIGA’s Eye on Design (Princeton Architectural Press) at the MIT Press Bookstore. The title immediately caught my attention, as I’ve been seeking inspiration beyond the lab, especially amid the growing intensity of my current in-person controlled experiment study.
One chapter that particularly resonated with me was Meg Miller’s “On Visual Sustainability with Benedetta Crippa” (P215). Crippa introduces the term "visual sustainability" to illustrate how graphic design can embody sustainability not only through its message or materiality, but also through its very form (P218). As she insightfully notes, “When we shift the narrative from ‘not designing’ to ‘designing within boundaries,’ we are empowered rather than suppressed” (P218).
Elizabeth Goodspeed offers another powerful reflection: “There isn’t anything new. Everything is remix” (P214). This idea underscores the importance of structural change (P220) and reminds us that meaningful, transformative design requires deliberate intention (P222) as well as considering design and design challenges as part of social infrastructure.
These perspectives led me to reflect on a question: What is the true value of design? Ric Grefé, former Executive Director of AIGA, offers a compelling response, suggesting that designers, and design itself, can be positioned as strategic thinkers and vital tools higher along the value chain within organizational structures. In doing so, they become capable of shaping concepts, strategies, and multidisciplinary collaborations that profoundly influence stakeholders and culture (P193).
I’m grateful to editors Liz Stinson and Jarrett Fuller for curating and organizing this thoughtful volume for a wide audience. As an industrial designer and electrical engineer by training, I found the book both relevant and grounding—much like my black Peu Camper, essential companions in my daily life.
Design, Empathy, Interpretation: Toward Interpretive Design Research
September 24, 2025
On my way to IDC in Detroit last week, I was reading Design, Empathy, Interpretation: Toward Interpretive Design Research by Ilpo Koskinen (MIT Press). Koskinen shares a vivid story of empathic design, a research programme at Aalto University in Helsinki, Finland, which has developed an interpretive approach to design over the past two decades. The narrative is rich in contextual information and reflective moments, providing me with deeper insights into the evolution of design studies.
What struck me was the discussion about viewing users and stakeholders as sources of authority, with designers acting as interpreters (P130). Rather than treating people as subjects of instrumental value (P53), designers are called to engage with them as human beings. Codesign, for instance, redistributes authority away from the designer, enabling a more equitable and transparent process in which the designer facilitates change rather than devising solutions (P63).
Still, designers bear the responsibility of envisioning and creating. Their instruments are products, graphics, interactive devices, spaces, and systems—not just descriptions or explanations (Buchanan, 2001; P102). Human beings act on meanings (P1). The meaning of design can emerge from how we define our built environment and describe homes (P46).
These reflections push me to think more critically about timeless design, sustainable solutions, and design for longevity. As Koskinen suggests, open-ended designs should remain flexible, capable of evolving and adapting over the course of decades (P47). This resonates with my own interest in shaping design education and practice to endure, serving people and society over time.
On my way to IDC in Detroit last week, I was reading Design, Empathy, Interpretation: Toward Interpretive Design Research by Ilpo Koskinen (MIT Press). Koskinen shares a vivid story of empathic design, a research programme at Aalto University in Helsinki, Finland, which has developed an interpretive approach to design over the past two decades. The narrative is rich in contextual information and reflective moments, providing me with deeper insights into the evolution of design studies.
What struck me was the discussion about viewing users and stakeholders as sources of authority, with designers acting as interpreters (P130). Rather than treating people as subjects of instrumental value (P53), designers are called to engage with them as human beings. Codesign, for instance, redistributes authority away from the designer, enabling a more equitable and transparent process in which the designer facilitates change rather than devising solutions (P63).
Still, designers bear the responsibility of envisioning and creating. Their instruments are products, graphics, interactive devices, spaces, and systems—not just descriptions or explanations (Buchanan, 2001; P102). Human beings act on meanings (P1). The meaning of design can emerge from how we define our built environment and describe homes (P46).
These reflections push me to think more critically about timeless design, sustainable solutions, and design for longevity. As Koskinen suggests, open-ended designs should remain flexible, capable of evolving and adapting over the course of decades (P47). This resonates with my own interest in shaping design education and practice to endure, serving people and society over time.
Live Longer with AI: How artificial intelligence is helping us extend our healthspan and live better too
September 17, 2025
The fall semester has just begun, and students are once again filling the college towns of Boston and Cambridge. As I prepare to teach my Interaction Design course at Northeastern University, I am exploring the intersection of the urban exposome and the emerging concept of the LongevityTech City. In this process, I came across an insightful resource: Live Longer with AI: How Artificial Intelligence Is Helping Us Extend Our Healthspan and Live Better Too by Tina Woods (Packt).
The exposome refers to the totality of environmental exposures we experience across our lifetimes, from diet, lifestyle, and social influences on the body’s biological responses (P176). It encompasses both external factors, such as chemicals, air, water, food, and internal physiological reactions, including inflammation, stress, and infections (P193). Building on this, the urban exposome employs a spatiotemporal lens to monitor quantitative and qualitative indicators across both external and internal urban domains, thereby shaping population health and quality of life (Andrianou & Makris, 2018).
I am especially intrigued by Woods’s discussion of “life” data. Genetic, biological, behavioral, environmental, and even financial data remain underutilized (P9). Yet AI and multimodal learning present opportunities to harness this “life” data to predict disease risks, support healthier lifestyles, and reframe perceptions—from “aging as a burden” to “longevity as an opportunity” (P448).
What resonates most in Woods’s book is her reminder that AI is only a tool. The true breakthrough lies in the unprecedented cross- and transdisciplinary collaborations among scientists, businesses, and civic organizations that drive this field forward: “This is the power of the people behind the technology” (P558).
The fall semester has just begun, and students are once again filling the college towns of Boston and Cambridge. As I prepare to teach my Interaction Design course at Northeastern University, I am exploring the intersection of the urban exposome and the emerging concept of the LongevityTech City. In this process, I came across an insightful resource: Live Longer with AI: How Artificial Intelligence Is Helping Us Extend Our Healthspan and Live Better Too by Tina Woods (Packt).
The exposome refers to the totality of environmental exposures we experience across our lifetimes, from diet, lifestyle, and social influences on the body’s biological responses (P176). It encompasses both external factors, such as chemicals, air, water, food, and internal physiological reactions, including inflammation, stress, and infections (P193). Building on this, the urban exposome employs a spatiotemporal lens to monitor quantitative and qualitative indicators across both external and internal urban domains, thereby shaping population health and quality of life (Andrianou & Makris, 2018).
I am especially intrigued by Woods’s discussion of “life” data. Genetic, biological, behavioral, environmental, and even financial data remain underutilized (P9). Yet AI and multimodal learning present opportunities to harness this “life” data to predict disease risks, support healthier lifestyles, and reframe perceptions—from “aging as a burden” to “longevity as an opportunity” (P448).
What resonates most in Woods’s book is her reminder that AI is only a tool. The true breakthrough lies in the unprecedented cross- and transdisciplinary collaborations among scientists, businesses, and civic organizations that drive this field forward: “This is the power of the people behind the technology” (P558).
Modes of Criticism 4: Radical Pedagogy
September 6, 2025
Last Friday, after a long day of uninspiring meetings, I ducked into the MIT Press bookstore in search of some intellectual nourishment to recharge my creative energy. On the shelf, Modes of Criticism 4: Radical Pedagogy, edited by Francisco Laranjo (published by Onomatopee), immediately caught my eye. Though pocket-sized, the book is packed with rich ideas and collective reflections at the intersection of design education and social critique.
Design educator Danah Abdulla notes that education is inherently oriented toward radical change, as it shapes individuals and equips them with the capacity for critical thinking (P6). She emphasizes that “designerly ways of thinking and knowing provide students with tools for imaginative problem posing, enabling them to consider multiple paths toward possible solutions and to be self-reflexive practitioners and thinkers” (P5). Design itself, however, often can be informed by non-explicit actions and embedded within social infrastructures that may only become visible through practice—a view that resonates with Donald Schön’s observation in Designing: Rules, Types and Worlds (1988) that “designing is a social process.”
Activist and designer Maya Ober adds another dimension, emphasizing the importance of unlearning and questioning. We need to continuously shed biases inherited from family, relationships, environments, norms, and personal worldviews. This process is gradual, step by step, much like teaching itself. I especially appreciate Ober’s metaphor of teaching as a river, fluid, ever-moving, and not bound by rigid prescriptions, rules, or methodologies (P60). The process of teaching or learning is like a gradual, context-dependent movement.
Across these perspectives, one principle emerges clearly: whether in design, education, teaching, or learning, respect and inclusivity must remain foundational. As Dori Tunstall, former Dean of the Faculty of Design at OCAD University, reminds us in Decolonizing Design (2019), “Respectful design means acknowledging different values, different manners of production, and different ways of knowing.”
Last Friday, after a long day of uninspiring meetings, I ducked into the MIT Press bookstore in search of some intellectual nourishment to recharge my creative energy. On the shelf, Modes of Criticism 4: Radical Pedagogy, edited by Francisco Laranjo (published by Onomatopee), immediately caught my eye. Though pocket-sized, the book is packed with rich ideas and collective reflections at the intersection of design education and social critique.
Design educator Danah Abdulla notes that education is inherently oriented toward radical change, as it shapes individuals and equips them with the capacity for critical thinking (P6). She emphasizes that “designerly ways of thinking and knowing provide students with tools for imaginative problem posing, enabling them to consider multiple paths toward possible solutions and to be self-reflexive practitioners and thinkers” (P5). Design itself, however, often can be informed by non-explicit actions and embedded within social infrastructures that may only become visible through practice—a view that resonates with Donald Schön’s observation in Designing: Rules, Types and Worlds (1988) that “designing is a social process.”
Activist and designer Maya Ober adds another dimension, emphasizing the importance of unlearning and questioning. We need to continuously shed biases inherited from family, relationships, environments, norms, and personal worldviews. This process is gradual, step by step, much like teaching itself. I especially appreciate Ober’s metaphor of teaching as a river, fluid, ever-moving, and not bound by rigid prescriptions, rules, or methodologies (P60). The process of teaching or learning is like a gradual, context-dependent movement.
Across these perspectives, one principle emerges clearly: whether in design, education, teaching, or learning, respect and inclusivity must remain foundational. As Dori Tunstall, former Dean of the Faculty of Design at OCAD University, reminds us in Decolonizing Design (2019), “Respectful design means acknowledging different values, different manners of production, and different ways of knowing.”
The Clock of the Long Now: Time and Responsibility
August 30, 2025
Almost every day, I pass by Alicja Kwade’s Against the Run (2019) on my way to the lab. The freestanding clock, with its sleek modern design, blends seamlessly into the MIT campus. Recently, I discovered the perfect moment to photograph it alongside Stewart Brand’s “The Clock of the Long Now: Time and Responsibility” (Basic Books)—a pairing that captures both the inspirational power and mysterious magic of time.
In my forthcoming chapter on building LongevityTech Cities, I draw on Brand’s Pace Layers Framework (P37) to illustrate the critical time–space relationships that shape the cityscape, landscape, and servicescape. This framework opened a new dimension for me in thinking about time: “the future is purchased by the present” (P122). As lifespans extend, nearly every aspect of society is being tested, including social infrastructure, politics, economics, religion, culture, and everything that once defined the human condition (P151).
The past, Brand reminds us, carries both comfort and warning. It must contain both. If it is only comfort, we risk becoming tranquilized, turning away from the future. If it is only a warning, we may overlearn its lessons and attempt a radical break from history—an effort bound to fail. True wisdom lies in embracing both. He referred to it as “tragic optimism” (P129).
The future, by contrast, must be understood as continuous and inclusive, though often unimaginable (P164). In the face of uncertainty, scenario planning becomes essential. Designers, in particular, can move beyond prediction to embrace imaginative foresight, crafting strategies resilient in their breadth of awareness and adaptability. We don’t plan for a single, certain future, but embrace multiple possible futures (P118, 123).
I also reflect on Brand’s notion of time as both density and length. Time can be seen as “everything-happening-now-and-last-week-and-next-week” (wide), or as “a deep-flowing process in which centuries are minor events” (long) (P107). The wide view anchors us in the immediacy of events and the long view situates us in the weight of history.
Time itself, however, is asymmetrical. We can see the past but cannot change it. We can shape the future, but we cannot see it. Its invisibility, paired with its malleability, is what propels us forward, alert to challenges and opportunities, yet empowered by the blankness of its page (P119).
Almost every day, I pass by Alicja Kwade’s Against the Run (2019) on my way to the lab. The freestanding clock, with its sleek modern design, blends seamlessly into the MIT campus. Recently, I discovered the perfect moment to photograph it alongside Stewart Brand’s “The Clock of the Long Now: Time and Responsibility” (Basic Books)—a pairing that captures both the inspirational power and mysterious magic of time.
In my forthcoming chapter on building LongevityTech Cities, I draw on Brand’s Pace Layers Framework (P37) to illustrate the critical time–space relationships that shape the cityscape, landscape, and servicescape. This framework opened a new dimension for me in thinking about time: “the future is purchased by the present” (P122). As lifespans extend, nearly every aspect of society is being tested, including social infrastructure, politics, economics, religion, culture, and everything that once defined the human condition (P151).
The past, Brand reminds us, carries both comfort and warning. It must contain both. If it is only comfort, we risk becoming tranquilized, turning away from the future. If it is only a warning, we may overlearn its lessons and attempt a radical break from history—an effort bound to fail. True wisdom lies in embracing both. He referred to it as “tragic optimism” (P129).
The future, by contrast, must be understood as continuous and inclusive, though often unimaginable (P164). In the face of uncertainty, scenario planning becomes essential. Designers, in particular, can move beyond prediction to embrace imaginative foresight, crafting strategies resilient in their breadth of awareness and adaptability. We don’t plan for a single, certain future, but embrace multiple possible futures (P118, 123).
I also reflect on Brand’s notion of time as both density and length. Time can be seen as “everything-happening-now-and-last-week-and-next-week” (wide), or as “a deep-flowing process in which centuries are minor events” (long) (P107). The wide view anchors us in the immediacy of events and the long view situates us in the weight of history.
Time itself, however, is asymmetrical. We can see the past but cannot change it. We can shape the future, but we cannot see it. Its invisibility, paired with its malleability, is what propels us forward, alert to challenges and opportunities, yet empowered by the blankness of its page (P119).
Atlas of the Senseable City
August 20, 2025
On my way from MIT to the University of Michigan for new faculty orientation, I carried Atlas of the Senseable City by Prof. Antoine Picon and Prof. Carlo Ratti (Yale University Press). My anticipation for faculty training parallels the excitement of reading this book. The authors frame their work around four themes—motion, connection, circulation, and experience—used to categorize experimental and market-ready projects from MIT’s Senseable City Lab.
Maps function not only as infrastructure for the future (P8) but also as evidence of human behavior, event trajectories, and actions that weave together the fabric of everyday life (P9). Maps remain a privileged tool for visualizing and communicating information to broad audiences (P14). Enabled by emerging technologies and global connectivity, maps and sensors form a symbiotic (or solidarity) relationship (P9), allowing us to measure dimensions ranging from spatial, temporal, social, and more.
Data-informed maps, in particular, can reveal how humans collectively think and feel about the environment (P165), transforming big data into a medium for mapping subjective experiences at individual and team levels. These collective behaviors and consciousness, once visualized, help give tangible meaning to the idea of a “smart city”—one capable of thought, deliberation, and action (P219).
As the authors note, “From the right to the city to the right to see.” Maps—whether traditional, virtual, or cloud-based—are inextricably linked to this transformation in how we perceive urban democracy and civic design. They remind us that beyond the technology-enabled city, the future of the urban system is, above all, a political question driven by human values (P15).
On my way from MIT to the University of Michigan for new faculty orientation, I carried Atlas of the Senseable City by Prof. Antoine Picon and Prof. Carlo Ratti (Yale University Press). My anticipation for faculty training parallels the excitement of reading this book. The authors frame their work around four themes—motion, connection, circulation, and experience—used to categorize experimental and market-ready projects from MIT’s Senseable City Lab.
Maps function not only as infrastructure for the future (P8) but also as evidence of human behavior, event trajectories, and actions that weave together the fabric of everyday life (P9). Maps remain a privileged tool for visualizing and communicating information to broad audiences (P14). Enabled by emerging technologies and global connectivity, maps and sensors form a symbiotic (or solidarity) relationship (P9), allowing us to measure dimensions ranging from spatial, temporal, social, and more.
Data-informed maps, in particular, can reveal how humans collectively think and feel about the environment (P165), transforming big data into a medium for mapping subjective experiences at individual and team levels. These collective behaviors and consciousness, once visualized, help give tangible meaning to the idea of a “smart city”—one capable of thought, deliberation, and action (P219).
As the authors note, “From the right to the city to the right to see.” Maps—whether traditional, virtual, or cloud-based—are inextricably linked to this transformation in how we perceive urban democracy and civic design. They remind us that beyond the technology-enabled city, the future of the urban system is, above all, a political question driven by human values (P15).
101 Things I Learnd in Urban Design School
August 14, 2025
It’s always a delight to flip through the 101 Things I Learned series. The compact size fits perfectly in my palm when I travel, and each book combines rich visualizations with relatable, everyday examples that make its ideas accessible and understandable. 101 Things I Learned in Urban Design School by Matthew Frederick and Vikas Mehta is no exception.
I was particularly inspired by their view that a design scheme can be framed as four types of arguments (P93): Physical (practical, functional, logical, and unified), humanistic (response to individual, social, and cultural needs and values), aethetic (beautiful, harmonious, inspiring, enjoyable) and natural (responsive to and accommodating of ecosystem)
This model is particularly relevant to the complexities of urban design, which encompass both space and place. A space is a physical environment; a place is a space infused with personal attachment (P95). Our “third places,” beyond home and work, are shaped by many interconnected personal, public, and social factors and consequences.
On a broader scale, we can see urbanism itself as an artifact of life—an embodiment of human birth, growth, endeavor, success, failure, and death (P97). The challenges of urban contexts are never fully resolved; they remain a dynamic, ongoing process.
It’s always a delight to flip through the 101 Things I Learned series. The compact size fits perfectly in my palm when I travel, and each book combines rich visualizations with relatable, everyday examples that make its ideas accessible and understandable. 101 Things I Learned in Urban Design School by Matthew Frederick and Vikas Mehta is no exception.
I was particularly inspired by their view that a design scheme can be framed as four types of arguments (P93): Physical (practical, functional, logical, and unified), humanistic (response to individual, social, and cultural needs and values), aethetic (beautiful, harmonious, inspiring, enjoyable) and natural (responsive to and accommodating of ecosystem)
This model is particularly relevant to the complexities of urban design, which encompass both space and place. A space is a physical environment; a place is a space infused with personal attachment (P95). Our “third places,” beyond home and work, are shaped by many interconnected personal, public, and social factors and consequences.
On a broader scale, we can see urbanism itself as an artifact of life—an embodiment of human birth, growth, endeavor, success, failure, and death (P97). The challenges of urban contexts are never fully resolved; they remain a dynamic, ongoing process.
Designing Designing
August 3, 2025
Before heading to the 11th Nordic Design Research Society (NORDES) Conference in Norway, I took a quiet moment—mid-packing—to finish Designing Designing by John Chris Jones (Bloomsbury Visual Arts). I was especially struck by his distinction between two types of purpose: 1. the purpose of achieving a result, and 2. the purpose of carrying on or continuing the process, like breathing to keep breathing (P339). The latter aligns with Simon Sinek’s notion of the “infinite game” and resonates with my research in Design for Longevity (D4L).
In today’s complex socioeconomic and technological landscape, the boundaries between design and designing, problem and solution are increasingly blurred (P52). Design methods and process, therefore, should not follow a fixed track to a fixed destination, but remain open-ended, conversational, and adaptive. Designing the design process means tuning the metaprocess to respond to what is learned during the act of designing itself. It calls for embracing human adaptability and prioritizing process fluidity over fixity (P212).
Jones initially framed design as the intention to change man-made things—rooted in participation and creativity, considering design as a bridge between art and science, and ultimately as a discipline that goes beyond both. The language of design can connect past and future without constraining the range of futures we can imagine (P246). In comparison, the notion of designing has expanded to discuss the process of devising not individual objects but whole systems and environments. Designing might enable us to think of a way of ordering life ritual, or reshape culture while living it (P285).
Which leads us to wonder: Is designing, then, a response to the whole of life? (P243)
Before heading to the 11th Nordic Design Research Society (NORDES) Conference in Norway, I took a quiet moment—mid-packing—to finish Designing Designing by John Chris Jones (Bloomsbury Visual Arts). I was especially struck by his distinction between two types of purpose: 1. the purpose of achieving a result, and 2. the purpose of carrying on or continuing the process, like breathing to keep breathing (P339). The latter aligns with Simon Sinek’s notion of the “infinite game” and resonates with my research in Design for Longevity (D4L).
In today’s complex socioeconomic and technological landscape, the boundaries between design and designing, problem and solution are increasingly blurred (P52). Design methods and process, therefore, should not follow a fixed track to a fixed destination, but remain open-ended, conversational, and adaptive. Designing the design process means tuning the metaprocess to respond to what is learned during the act of designing itself. It calls for embracing human adaptability and prioritizing process fluidity over fixity (P212).
Jones initially framed design as the intention to change man-made things—rooted in participation and creativity, considering design as a bridge between art and science, and ultimately as a discipline that goes beyond both. The language of design can connect past and future without constraining the range of futures we can imagine (P246). In comparison, the notion of designing has expanded to discuss the process of devising not individual objects but whole systems and environments. Designing might enable us to think of a way of ordering life ritual, or reshape culture while living it (P285).
Which leads us to wonder: Is designing, then, a response to the whole of life? (P243)
Soft City: Building Density for Everyday Life
July 25, 2025
Sitting on the grass at Kendall/MIT Open Space, soaking in the midsummer vibe, I can’t help but notice how alive the campus feels—full of high school students, curious visitors, and that unique energy summer brings to MIT. As I flip through my notes from Soft City: Building Density for Everyday Life by David Sim (Island Press), the book feels especially timely and relevant.
Sim’s idea of a “soft city” is about moving closer, connecting with others, and designing more human, livable environments (P3). As a designer, it reminds me to embrace opportunities to engage with planet, people, and place (P5)—to create spaces that welcome density and diversity in a way that feels natural, inclusive, and alive.
In the face of pressing challenges—climate change, congestion, segregation, and rapid urbanization (P3)—the concept of a soft city feels more important than ever. Sim outlines nine criteria for achieving livable urban density (P213): diversity of built form, diversity of outdoor spaces, flexibility, human scale, walkability, sense of control and identity, a pleasant microclimate, a smaller carbon footprint, and greater biodiversity. It makes me pause and ask: how do we soften our relationship with the street (P60), with our neighbors, and with the broader community?
Rather than placing high expectations in emerging technologies, maybe we need more small, simple, human-centered solutions—gentle interventions that make urban life more respectful, connected, and enjoyable. “Softer may be smarter,” as Sim mentioned (P4). This approach echoes the thinking of Jeff Speck in Walkable City, Anthony Townsend’s ideas on slow data, and Jane Fulton Suri’s work in design ethnography. Together, they advocate for designing places—whether streetscapes (P121), townscales (P45), cityscapes, or servicescapes—that foster everyday comfort, convenience, conviviality, and community (P4).
Sitting on the grass at Kendall/MIT Open Space, soaking in the midsummer vibe, I can’t help but notice how alive the campus feels—full of high school students, curious visitors, and that unique energy summer brings to MIT. As I flip through my notes from Soft City: Building Density for Everyday Life by David Sim (Island Press), the book feels especially timely and relevant.
Sim’s idea of a “soft city” is about moving closer, connecting with others, and designing more human, livable environments (P3). As a designer, it reminds me to embrace opportunities to engage with planet, people, and place (P5)—to create spaces that welcome density and diversity in a way that feels natural, inclusive, and alive.
In the face of pressing challenges—climate change, congestion, segregation, and rapid urbanization (P3)—the concept of a soft city feels more important than ever. Sim outlines nine criteria for achieving livable urban density (P213): diversity of built form, diversity of outdoor spaces, flexibility, human scale, walkability, sense of control and identity, a pleasant microclimate, a smaller carbon footprint, and greater biodiversity. It makes me pause and ask: how do we soften our relationship with the street (P60), with our neighbors, and with the broader community?
Rather than placing high expectations in emerging technologies, maybe we need more small, simple, human-centered solutions—gentle interventions that make urban life more respectful, connected, and enjoyable. “Softer may be smarter,” as Sim mentioned (P4). This approach echoes the thinking of Jeff Speck in Walkable City, Anthony Townsend’s ideas on slow data, and Jane Fulton Suri’s work in design ethnography. Together, they advocate for designing places—whether streetscapes (P121), townscales (P45), cityscapes, or servicescapes—that foster everyday comfort, convenience, conviviality, and community (P4).
Smart Cities: Big Data, Civic Hackers, and the Quest for a New Utopia
July 18, 2025
While crafting another book chapter about building a LongevityTech city and community at the lab late into the night, I found myself reading and taking notes on Smart Cities: Big Data, Civic Hackers, and the Quest for a New Utopia by Anthony M. Townsend (W. W. Norton & Company).
I was particularly fascinated by Townsend’s response to the enduring and context-dependent question: What is a smart city? He defines a smart city as “places where information technology is combined with infrastructure, architecture, everyday objects, and even our bodies to address social, economic, and environmental problems” (P15). John Geraci, founder of DIYcity.org, offers a complementary perspective, describing a city as “like the Internet in its openness, participation, distributed nature, and rapid, organic evolution” (P135).
The technology within smart cities is often invisible and hidden (P321), embedded within a wide array of technology-enabled infrastructures (P27). Importantly, the development of a smart city is not immediate—it is, by necessity, a long, messy, and incremental process (P11). Smart cities can be considered as places where information technologies are leveraged to solve both enduring and emerging challenges. City data, in this view, becomes a raw material for innovation and business (P294).
The concept of slow data (P316) had particularly intrigued me. Townsend highlights, “Big data may make us lean and mean. Slow data will speak our souls” (P319). While big data can streamline inefficiencies, it is slow data, collected intentionally and thoughtfully, not opportunistically from digital exhaust (P318). Slow data can drive deeper behavioral change. When paired elegantly, slow data can complement big data: where big data enhances efficiency, slow data helps us confront the social trade-offs, sparking reflection and transformation in our daily lives.
While crafting another book chapter about building a LongevityTech city and community at the lab late into the night, I found myself reading and taking notes on Smart Cities: Big Data, Civic Hackers, and the Quest for a New Utopia by Anthony M. Townsend (W. W. Norton & Company).
I was particularly fascinated by Townsend’s response to the enduring and context-dependent question: What is a smart city? He defines a smart city as “places where information technology is combined with infrastructure, architecture, everyday objects, and even our bodies to address social, economic, and environmental problems” (P15). John Geraci, founder of DIYcity.org, offers a complementary perspective, describing a city as “like the Internet in its openness, participation, distributed nature, and rapid, organic evolution” (P135).
The technology within smart cities is often invisible and hidden (P321), embedded within a wide array of technology-enabled infrastructures (P27). Importantly, the development of a smart city is not immediate—it is, by necessity, a long, messy, and incremental process (P11). Smart cities can be considered as places where information technologies are leveraged to solve both enduring and emerging challenges. City data, in this view, becomes a raw material for innovation and business (P294).
The concept of slow data (P316) had particularly intrigued me. Townsend highlights, “Big data may make us lean and mean. Slow data will speak our souls” (P319). While big data can streamline inefficiencies, it is slow data, collected intentionally and thoughtfully, not opportunistically from digital exhaust (P318). Slow data can drive deeper behavioral change. When paired elegantly, slow data can complement big data: where big data enhances efficiency, slow data helps us confront the social trade-offs, sparking reflection and transformation in our daily lives.
Design Methods: Seeds of Human Futures
July 8, 2025
I came across a second-hand copy of Design Methods: Seeds of Human Futures by John Christopher Jones (published by Wiley) last month while packing. The book itself is a classic—solid, with that nostalgic scent of an old book—but its ideas remain remarkably relevant.
Jones presents 35 enduring creative approaches, such as man-machine system design (P123), strategy switching (P170), investigating user behavior (P235), morphological charts (P294), boundary shifting (P329), the Fundamental Design Method (F.D.M.) (P178), and value analysis (P109). I admire his ability to distill complex concepts with clarity, especially in how he distinguishes between developing the design process and applying design methods in action.
While design is often framed as a linear process: analysis, synthesis, and evaluation, he introduces an alternative model: divergence, transformation, and convergence (P64). His interpretation of the transformation phase especially resonates with me: “Transformation is the stage of pattern-making, fun, high-level creativity, flashes of insight, changes of the set, inspired guesswork; everything that makes designing a delight.” (P66)
During the design process, we inevitably encounter numerous thresholds, much like driving through evolutionary plateaus between existing systems and more complex systems (P33). These moments of friction have catalyzed a transformational shift from designing as a practice to designing as a research-based approach (P22). Designing not just as a profession but as an emergent inter-, cross-, or trans-discipline with a comprehensive worldview (P24). Grounded in the idea of design as a holistic endeavor, our society needs more for “multi-professional” designers and planners—those equipped to navigate systemic change, from grassroots interventions to technical component design (P42).
Design Methods is more than just a textbook or a collection of different theoretical frameworks—it can inspire and unlock a new principle of designing and planning: not for what is currently feasible, but for what is likely to become feasible (P324).
I came across a second-hand copy of Design Methods: Seeds of Human Futures by John Christopher Jones (published by Wiley) last month while packing. The book itself is a classic—solid, with that nostalgic scent of an old book—but its ideas remain remarkably relevant.
Jones presents 35 enduring creative approaches, such as man-machine system design (P123), strategy switching (P170), investigating user behavior (P235), morphological charts (P294), boundary shifting (P329), the Fundamental Design Method (F.D.M.) (P178), and value analysis (P109). I admire his ability to distill complex concepts with clarity, especially in how he distinguishes between developing the design process and applying design methods in action.
While design is often framed as a linear process: analysis, synthesis, and evaluation, he introduces an alternative model: divergence, transformation, and convergence (P64). His interpretation of the transformation phase especially resonates with me: “Transformation is the stage of pattern-making, fun, high-level creativity, flashes of insight, changes of the set, inspired guesswork; everything that makes designing a delight.” (P66)
During the design process, we inevitably encounter numerous thresholds, much like driving through evolutionary plateaus between existing systems and more complex systems (P33). These moments of friction have catalyzed a transformational shift from designing as a practice to designing as a research-based approach (P22). Designing not just as a profession but as an emergent inter-, cross-, or trans-discipline with a comprehensive worldview (P24). Grounded in the idea of design as a holistic endeavor, our society needs more for “multi-professional” designers and planners—those equipped to navigate systemic change, from grassroots interventions to technical component design (P42).
Design Methods is more than just a textbook or a collection of different theoretical frameworks—it can inspire and unlock a new principle of designing and planning: not for what is currently feasible, but for what is likely to become feasible (P324).
The Smart Enough City: Putting Technology in Its Place to Reclaim Our Urban Future
June 28, 2025
The beginning of summer has been filled with travel, conferences, board meetings, and social engagements. During a week-long trip, I found spare time to read “The Smart Enough City: Putting Technology in Its Place to Reclaim Our Urban Future” by Prof. Ben Green (MIT Press). The book has been a valuable resource as I reflect on writing an article about building a LongevityTech city and services.
Jane Jacobs, in The Death and Life of Great American Cities (1961), described the city as an ecosystem of “organized complexity” (P152). Managing complexity at multiple scales using technology can foster urban innovation (P117). While technology can enhance efficiency, it is not a solution in itself. Cities are not fundamentally technological problems; instead, they require the right questions, a deep understanding of residents’ lived experiences, needs, and creative problem-solving (P141).
He outlines three key paradigm shifts in moving from “smart cities” to “smart enough cities”: 1. From assuming technological neutrality to recognizing the political dimensions of technology. 2. From technological solutionism to technological agnosticism. 3. From evaluating based on technical capabilities to focusing on real-world outcomes.
These shifts align with Green’s five guiding principles for building smart enough cities (P158): 1. Address complex problems rather than solve artificially simple ones. 2. Implement technology to address social needs and advance policy, rather than adapting goals and values to align with technology. 3. Prioritize innovative policy and program reforms above innovative technology. 4. Ensure that the technology’s design and implementation promote democratic values. 5. Develop capacities and processes for using data within municipal departments.
These insights resonate with my evolving thinking on how LongevityTech can be meaningfully integrated into urban environments.
The beginning of summer has been filled with travel, conferences, board meetings, and social engagements. During a week-long trip, I found spare time to read “The Smart Enough City: Putting Technology in Its Place to Reclaim Our Urban Future” by Prof. Ben Green (MIT Press). The book has been a valuable resource as I reflect on writing an article about building a LongevityTech city and services.
Jane Jacobs, in The Death and Life of Great American Cities (1961), described the city as an ecosystem of “organized complexity” (P152). Managing complexity at multiple scales using technology can foster urban innovation (P117). While technology can enhance efficiency, it is not a solution in itself. Cities are not fundamentally technological problems; instead, they require the right questions, a deep understanding of residents’ lived experiences, needs, and creative problem-solving (P141).
He outlines three key paradigm shifts in moving from “smart cities” to “smart enough cities”: 1. From assuming technological neutrality to recognizing the political dimensions of technology. 2. From technological solutionism to technological agnosticism. 3. From evaluating based on technical capabilities to focusing on real-world outcomes.
These shifts align with Green’s five guiding principles for building smart enough cities (P158): 1. Address complex problems rather than solve artificially simple ones. 2. Implement technology to address social needs and advance policy, rather than adapting goals and values to align with technology. 3. Prioritize innovative policy and program reforms above innovative technology. 4. Ensure that the technology’s design and implementation promote democratic values. 5. Develop capacities and processes for using data within municipal departments.
These insights resonate with my evolving thinking on how LongevityTech can be meaningfully integrated into urban environments.
Life Between Buildings: Using Public Space
June 20, 2025
As the weather shifts into T-shirt season on the MIT campus, a light jacket is still a handy addition. During this transitional period, both in weather and life, I read Jan Gehl’s “Life Between Buildings: Using Public Space” (Island Press), a book that compellingly connects urban form with social life. Through ethnographic observations, Gehl reads the city, interprets landscapes, and senses the pulse of public life. His sketches, frameworks, and grayscale photographs evoke a visual dialogue with Kevin Lynch’s The Image of the City (1964), offering a grounded yet poetic lens on urban environments.
Gehl’s discussion of the four customary distances (P69)—intimate, personal, social, and public—prompted me to consider how physical space shapes human communication. These spatial norms, initially proposed by Edward T. Hall in The Hidden Dimension (1966), reveal how cultural contexts, particularly within Western European and American contexts, influence our perception of interpersonal distance.
Life between buildings is not merely accidental but a self-reinforcing process (P73). The physical environment cultivates an invisible social infrastructure that subtly governs our behavior and interaction. This interaction between landscape, cityscape, streetscape, and servicescape both fosters innovation and reveals friction. The act of planning was often a collaborative effort between architects and future residents, reflecting a vision of the desired social order and norm (P57).
In Scandinavia, a proverb encapsulates this dynamic: “People come where people are” (P25). I think we, after all, are inspired by seeing others in motion (P21). Therefore, to support vibrant public life and diverse urban culture, we can intentionally design spaces for walking, build places for staying (P128), and offer not only spaces to occupy but also meaningful and respectful services that integrate and sustain human presence.
As the weather shifts into T-shirt season on the MIT campus, a light jacket is still a handy addition. During this transitional period, both in weather and life, I read Jan Gehl’s “Life Between Buildings: Using Public Space” (Island Press), a book that compellingly connects urban form with social life. Through ethnographic observations, Gehl reads the city, interprets landscapes, and senses the pulse of public life. His sketches, frameworks, and grayscale photographs evoke a visual dialogue with Kevin Lynch’s The Image of the City (1964), offering a grounded yet poetic lens on urban environments.
Gehl’s discussion of the four customary distances (P69)—intimate, personal, social, and public—prompted me to consider how physical space shapes human communication. These spatial norms, initially proposed by Edward T. Hall in The Hidden Dimension (1966), reveal how cultural contexts, particularly within Western European and American contexts, influence our perception of interpersonal distance.
Life between buildings is not merely accidental but a self-reinforcing process (P73). The physical environment cultivates an invisible social infrastructure that subtly governs our behavior and interaction. This interaction between landscape, cityscape, streetscape, and servicescape both fosters innovation and reveals friction. The act of planning was often a collaborative effort between architects and future residents, reflecting a vision of the desired social order and norm (P57).
In Scandinavia, a proverb encapsulates this dynamic: “People come where people are” (P25). I think we, after all, are inspired by seeing others in motion (P21). Therefore, to support vibrant public life and diverse urban culture, we can intentionally design spaces for walking, build places for staying (P128), and offer not only spaces to occupy but also meaningful and respectful services that integrate and sustain human presence.
Design Thinking
June 14, 2025
On a cloudy weekend, I found myself immersed in the physical act of moving, cleaning, and packing my belongings. Yet, this transition was not merely logistical. It marked a more profound professional shift: from student to scholar, and from academic training to the strategic preparation for my upcoming faculty role in Urban Technology at the University of Michigan.
Amidst these transitions, I carved out moments during the week to enjoy Design Thinking by Peter G. Rowe (MIT Press), seeking to infuse fresh creative energy into my evolving perspective. Rowe’s analysis, rooted in architecture and urban planning, offers a valuable complement to my training in industrial design, expanding and deepening my understanding of design thinking.
Rowe conceptualizes design as a series of stages characterized by dominant forms of activity, ranging from analysis to synthesis and evaluation (P46). This staged view helped me reflect on how knowledge and experience become correlated (P91), and how meaning is grounded through heuristic reasoning (P154). Design is a form of heuristic reasoning, a problem-solving way wherein the effectiveness of a chosen path is not always apparent in advance (P75). This notion resonates with the inherent ambiguity and creativity embedded in design practice, particularly in the early fuzz-front end (FFE) design phase.
Furthermore, Rowe breaks down problem-solving behavior into three interrelated forms (P56): 1. Problem representation problem, where the designer defines and reframes the problem space; 2. Solution generation problem, the development of possible responses; and 3. Solution evaluation problem, the assessment of alternatives. Three categories can align with the recursive nature of design inquiry and reinforce its diagnostic and generative capacities.
The notion of problem-solving behavior can be linked to Morris Asimow’s Introduction to Design (1962), whose systems-oriented perspective continues to shape design thinking. Asimow proposed a dual-structure model of the design process (P47), distinguishing between a vertical structure—a sequential progression from abstract to concrete (e.g., feasibility study to production)—and a horizontal structure, which involves a decision-making cycle comprising analysis, synthesis, evaluation, and communication. These two structures operate in tandem across design phases, offering a systemic lens through which I now reconsider my design process as I prepare for my new academic chapter.
On a cloudy weekend, I found myself immersed in the physical act of moving, cleaning, and packing my belongings. Yet, this transition was not merely logistical. It marked a more profound professional shift: from student to scholar, and from academic training to the strategic preparation for my upcoming faculty role in Urban Technology at the University of Michigan.
Amidst these transitions, I carved out moments during the week to enjoy Design Thinking by Peter G. Rowe (MIT Press), seeking to infuse fresh creative energy into my evolving perspective. Rowe’s analysis, rooted in architecture and urban planning, offers a valuable complement to my training in industrial design, expanding and deepening my understanding of design thinking.
Rowe conceptualizes design as a series of stages characterized by dominant forms of activity, ranging from analysis to synthesis and evaluation (P46). This staged view helped me reflect on how knowledge and experience become correlated (P91), and how meaning is grounded through heuristic reasoning (P154). Design is a form of heuristic reasoning, a problem-solving way wherein the effectiveness of a chosen path is not always apparent in advance (P75). This notion resonates with the inherent ambiguity and creativity embedded in design practice, particularly in the early fuzz-front end (FFE) design phase.
Furthermore, Rowe breaks down problem-solving behavior into three interrelated forms (P56): 1. Problem representation problem, where the designer defines and reframes the problem space; 2. Solution generation problem, the development of possible responses; and 3. Solution evaluation problem, the assessment of alternatives. Three categories can align with the recursive nature of design inquiry and reinforce its diagnostic and generative capacities.
The notion of problem-solving behavior can be linked to Morris Asimow’s Introduction to Design (1962), whose systems-oriented perspective continues to shape design thinking. Asimow proposed a dual-structure model of the design process (P47), distinguishing between a vertical structure—a sequential progression from abstract to concrete (e.g., feasibility study to production)—and a horizontal structure, which involves a decision-making cycle comprising analysis, synthesis, evaluation, and communication. These two structures operate in tandem across design phases, offering a systemic lens through which I now reconsider my design process as I prepare for my new academic chapter.
The Smart Growth Manual
June 11, 2025
Commencement, job transitions, and moving plans have all intensified, mirroring the early warmth of summer settling over Cambridge. Reading has become a soothing antidote, a welcome escape, and a means of recovery from stress.
After reading Jeff Speck’s Walkable City, my interest in design ethnography was reignited, prompting a search for related research. I subsequently came across The Smart Growth Manual by Andres Duany, Jeff Speck, and Mike Lydon (McGraw-Hill), which broadened my perspective on service design by situating it within urban and systemic scales.
This text invites reflection on how design can navigate between free-flow, slow-flow, and yield-flow geometries, particularly by revisiting the concept of universal design and fostering inclusive design communities that serve people of all ages and abilities (Sec. 14.5). It also emphasizes how designers and planners can support mixed-use environments (Sec. 5.1) by integrating essential services such as daycare and recreation within neighborhoods (Sec. 5.8), and by engaging communities in the early stages of planning (Sec. 1.3). The rural-to-urban transect framework (Sec. 1.4) further aids in preparing transit-ready cities that support diverse services (Sec. 6.6).
This aligns with one of my research interests: designing for a LongevityTech city. The authors’ concept of the 24-Hour City (Sec. 5.2), which proposes rebalancing urban life through diversified and continuous activities, resonates with the shift from aging-friendly to longevity-friendly environments. The government strategically supports more life-centered activities with flexibility, care, and responsiveness. Such a transition necessitates a broader perspective on infrastructure, services, and inclusion throughout the lifespan.
Commencement, job transitions, and moving plans have all intensified, mirroring the early warmth of summer settling over Cambridge. Reading has become a soothing antidote, a welcome escape, and a means of recovery from stress.
After reading Jeff Speck’s Walkable City, my interest in design ethnography was reignited, prompting a search for related research. I subsequently came across The Smart Growth Manual by Andres Duany, Jeff Speck, and Mike Lydon (McGraw-Hill), which broadened my perspective on service design by situating it within urban and systemic scales.
This text invites reflection on how design can navigate between free-flow, slow-flow, and yield-flow geometries, particularly by revisiting the concept of universal design and fostering inclusive design communities that serve people of all ages and abilities (Sec. 14.5). It also emphasizes how designers and planners can support mixed-use environments (Sec. 5.1) by integrating essential services such as daycare and recreation within neighborhoods (Sec. 5.8), and by engaging communities in the early stages of planning (Sec. 1.3). The rural-to-urban transect framework (Sec. 1.4) further aids in preparing transit-ready cities that support diverse services (Sec. 6.6).
This aligns with one of my research interests: designing for a LongevityTech city. The authors’ concept of the 24-Hour City (Sec. 5.2), which proposes rebalancing urban life through diversified and continuous activities, resonates with the shift from aging-friendly to longevity-friendly environments. The government strategically supports more life-centered activities with flexibility, care, and responsiveness. Such a transition necessitates a broader perspective on infrastructure, services, and inclusion throughout the lifespan.
Design and Solidarity: Conversations on Collective Futures
June 1, 2025
After the whirlwind of MIT’s commencement, a cloudy, slightly rainy day offered a peaceful moment to read Design and Solidarity: Conversations on Collective Futures by Rafi Segal and Marisa Morán Jahn (Columbia University Press). I was especially drawn to their concept of design as dialogue (P22), which they frame as a lens for interpreting the relationship between design and solidarity. As they suggest, designing solidarity can unfold as an ongoing exchange between form and (collective) self-transformation (P23).
Architecture and urban planning can give form to social patterns (P127), which resonates deeply with my broader understanding of design. While we often attempt to address socioeconomic challenges through technological innovation (P103), their work can serve as a reminder to remain grounded in people's lived experiences, such as our behaviors, communities, cultures, and political dynamics. In this light, design carries a critical responsibility: to reimagine our spatial environments and cultural imaginaries in ways that reflect what economic geographers J.K. Gibson-Graham call community-centered economies (P17).
Segal and Jahn’s Carehaus project particularly inspires me—the first intergenerational, care-based co-housing initiative in the United States (P20). This case study vividly illustrates how architecture and urban planning can embody social values, integrating landscape, streetscape, and servicescape into a holistic user experience of care (P198).
Segal’s reflections on how architecture and urbanism can support cohabitation, coproduction, and coexistence also resonated with me. One intuitive idea that stands out is the notion that designing for the future begins with crafting alternatives in the present (P23).
After the whirlwind of MIT’s commencement, a cloudy, slightly rainy day offered a peaceful moment to read Design and Solidarity: Conversations on Collective Futures by Rafi Segal and Marisa Morán Jahn (Columbia University Press). I was especially drawn to their concept of design as dialogue (P22), which they frame as a lens for interpreting the relationship between design and solidarity. As they suggest, designing solidarity can unfold as an ongoing exchange between form and (collective) self-transformation (P23).
Architecture and urban planning can give form to social patterns (P127), which resonates deeply with my broader understanding of design. While we often attempt to address socioeconomic challenges through technological innovation (P103), their work can serve as a reminder to remain grounded in people's lived experiences, such as our behaviors, communities, cultures, and political dynamics. In this light, design carries a critical responsibility: to reimagine our spatial environments and cultural imaginaries in ways that reflect what economic geographers J.K. Gibson-Graham call community-centered economies (P17).
Segal and Jahn’s Carehaus project particularly inspires me—the first intergenerational, care-based co-housing initiative in the United States (P20). This case study vividly illustrates how architecture and urban planning can embody social values, integrating landscape, streetscape, and servicescape into a holistic user experience of care (P198).
Segal’s reflections on how architecture and urbanism can support cohabitation, coproduction, and coexistence also resonated with me. One intuitive idea that stands out is the notion that designing for the future begins with crafting alternatives in the present (P23).
Design Thinking Pedagogy: Facilitating Innovation and Impact in Tertiary Education
May 27, 2025
While wrapping up and revising my journal paper, I came across the new book by Prof. Cara Wrigley and Genevieve Mosely, Design Thinking Pedagogy: Facilitating Innovation and Impact in Tertiary Education, published by Routledge. It’s been a great read and very timely.
One point that stuck with me was from Prof. Lorraine Justice (P182), who describes design pedagogy as sitting between the arts and sciences, highlighting how it deals with the fuzzy front-end thinking that’s so valuable in creative problem-solving. It made me reflect: What creative capabilities should designers cultivate for the future?
I resonate with the book’s call to nurture interdisciplinarity and support education for the “design generalist.” Designers need a solid general education to thrive in today’s complex landscape (P182). The idea of a design generalist (P58) also reminds me of Meredith Davis (2015), who emphasizes their importance in driving interdisciplinary collaboration.
Another concept I found meaningful was epistemic fluency—the ability to understand, integrate, and shift between different kinds of knowledge and ways of thinking. It’s especially relevant when working on complex, cross-domain challenges. That brings me back to one of the book’s core questions: how can design thinking help us build epistemic fluency? (P4)
The idea of boundary objects might offer one answer. Initially introduced by Susan Leigh Star and James R. Griesemer in 1989, boundary objects include tools, notes, and concepts that can be interpreted in multiple ways across different disciplines. Prof. Lina Markauskaite and Prof. Peter Goodyear (2017) describe them as “translational devices” that help bridge disciplinary gaps (P37)—a powerful idea for anyone working across fields.
Lastly, I enjoyed the sidebar interviews with design experts. Prof. Cees de Bont discusses how design education integrates studio work, theory, and reflection (P24), while Justice emphasizes that design reasoning should prioritize the depth of a problem over its breadth (P181). Lots of insights to take forward.
While wrapping up and revising my journal paper, I came across the new book by Prof. Cara Wrigley and Genevieve Mosely, Design Thinking Pedagogy: Facilitating Innovation and Impact in Tertiary Education, published by Routledge. It’s been a great read and very timely.
One point that stuck with me was from Prof. Lorraine Justice (P182), who describes design pedagogy as sitting between the arts and sciences, highlighting how it deals with the fuzzy front-end thinking that’s so valuable in creative problem-solving. It made me reflect: What creative capabilities should designers cultivate for the future?
I resonate with the book’s call to nurture interdisciplinarity and support education for the “design generalist.” Designers need a solid general education to thrive in today’s complex landscape (P182). The idea of a design generalist (P58) also reminds me of Meredith Davis (2015), who emphasizes their importance in driving interdisciplinary collaboration.
Another concept I found meaningful was epistemic fluency—the ability to understand, integrate, and shift between different kinds of knowledge and ways of thinking. It’s especially relevant when working on complex, cross-domain challenges. That brings me back to one of the book’s core questions: how can design thinking help us build epistemic fluency? (P4)
The idea of boundary objects might offer one answer. Initially introduced by Susan Leigh Star and James R. Griesemer in 1989, boundary objects include tools, notes, and concepts that can be interpreted in multiple ways across different disciplines. Prof. Lina Markauskaite and Prof. Peter Goodyear (2017) describe them as “translational devices” that help bridge disciplinary gaps (P37)—a powerful idea for anyone working across fields.
Lastly, I enjoyed the sidebar interviews with design experts. Prof. Cees de Bont discusses how design education integrates studio work, theory, and reflection (P24), while Justice emphasizes that design reasoning should prioritize the depth of a problem over its breadth (P181). Lots of insights to take forward.
Walkable City: How Downtown Can Save America, One Step at a Time
May 21, 2025
While revisiting Walkable City: How Downtown Can Save America, One Step at a Time by Jeff Speck, I found a yellowed Amazon receipt tucked inside—an unintentional bookmark from when I first purchased the book on February 22, 2016. Only recently did I finally have the chance to read it thoroughly, and it has since offered valuable insights for my draft on designing longevity communities. I’m grateful I brought the book to the U.S. and rediscovered it on my small dorm bookshelf.
What I find most compelling about Speck’s work is his ethnographic eye to human behavior and his consideration of the complex intentions behind decisions made by various key stakeholders. His use of the “level of service” lens to analyze walkability challenges mirrors context-sensitive design principles (P88).
Speck reminds us that cities exist to bring things together (P105). Further, service design facilitates interconnections, enhancing user experience through products and environments. Elevating walking to an “art form” (P70) becomes central to his argument. He identifies three core reasons to prioritize walkability: wealth, health, and sustainability (P16).
Speck also outlines four essential types of walks (P71): the useful walk, the safe walk, the comfortable walk, and the interesting walk. These are supported by ten tactical steps toward walkability: 1. put cars in their place, 2. mix the use, 3. get the parking right, 4. let transit work, 5. protect the pedestrian, 6. welcome bike, 7. shape the space, 8. plant trees, 9. make friendly and unique faces, and 10. pick your winners.
A quote by David Byrne in Bicycle Diaries resonates deeply with my current research: “If we can build a successful city for children, we can build a successful city for all people” (P283). This idea aligns with the vision of cultivating a longevity community, where the built environment is only one layer. Equally vital are the invisible social infrastructures, such as inclusive culture, perceived safety, and universal design principles, that enable people of all ages to thrive.
While revisiting Walkable City: How Downtown Can Save America, One Step at a Time by Jeff Speck, I found a yellowed Amazon receipt tucked inside—an unintentional bookmark from when I first purchased the book on February 22, 2016. Only recently did I finally have the chance to read it thoroughly, and it has since offered valuable insights for my draft on designing longevity communities. I’m grateful I brought the book to the U.S. and rediscovered it on my small dorm bookshelf.
What I find most compelling about Speck’s work is his ethnographic eye to human behavior and his consideration of the complex intentions behind decisions made by various key stakeholders. His use of the “level of service” lens to analyze walkability challenges mirrors context-sensitive design principles (P88).
Speck reminds us that cities exist to bring things together (P105). Further, service design facilitates interconnections, enhancing user experience through products and environments. Elevating walking to an “art form” (P70) becomes central to his argument. He identifies three core reasons to prioritize walkability: wealth, health, and sustainability (P16).
Speck also outlines four essential types of walks (P71): the useful walk, the safe walk, the comfortable walk, and the interesting walk. These are supported by ten tactical steps toward walkability: 1. put cars in their place, 2. mix the use, 3. get the parking right, 4. let transit work, 5. protect the pedestrian, 6. welcome bike, 7. shape the space, 8. plant trees, 9. make friendly and unique faces, and 10. pick your winners.
A quote by David Byrne in Bicycle Diaries resonates deeply with my current research: “If we can build a successful city for children, we can build a successful city for all people” (P283). This idea aligns with the vision of cultivating a longevity community, where the built environment is only one layer. Equally vital are the invisible social infrastructures, such as inclusive culture, perceived safety, and universal design principles, that enable people of all ages to thrive.
Designing for Service: Key Issues and New Directions
May 12, 2025
I recently came across an insightful resource: Designing for Service: Key Issues and New Directions, edited by Daniela Sangiorgi and Alison Prendiville (Bloomsbury). Recommended via my Amazon shopping list, this book is especially timely as I prepare my forthcoming book, which connects the Design for Longevity (D4L) concept with service innovation to explore design-led approaches to complex problem-solving (P201).
Robert Young (2009) introduced a content model outlining three design impact levels: products, systems, and policy, spanning from the tangible to the intangible and from micro to macro scales (P141). I see service design as occupying the interstitial space between product–system and system–policy. In the context of New Service Development (NSD), Stefan Holmlid, Katarina Wetter-Edman, and Bo Edvardsson note that “service design can thus embrace advanced views of service as configurations of resource integration” (P95).
NSD is further elaborated through the concept of “serviceability,” as presented in Chapter 14 (P205) by Tracy Bhamra, Andrew T. Walters, and James Moultrie. They decomposed the characteristics of services, including accessibility, modularity, potential failure modes, and others, to explore service-oriented business and product serviceability (P204).
I was particularly drawn to Lucy Kimbell and Jeanette Blomberg’s The Object of Service Design in Chapter 6, which offers a distinct lens from the concept of boundary objects (Star and Griesemer, 1989). They propose three ways to frame the object of service design: the service encounter, the value co-creating system, and the socio-material configuration (Figure 6.1, P82). These are thoughtfully connected to Richard Buchanan’s (2001) framework, which includes an external view of product elements (materials, manner, function, and form), an internal view of product experience (useful, usable, and desirable), and a systems view that considers natural, social, and cultural environments.
I recently came across an insightful resource: Designing for Service: Key Issues and New Directions, edited by Daniela Sangiorgi and Alison Prendiville (Bloomsbury). Recommended via my Amazon shopping list, this book is especially timely as I prepare my forthcoming book, which connects the Design for Longevity (D4L) concept with service innovation to explore design-led approaches to complex problem-solving (P201).
Robert Young (2009) introduced a content model outlining three design impact levels: products, systems, and policy, spanning from the tangible to the intangible and from micro to macro scales (P141). I see service design as occupying the interstitial space between product–system and system–policy. In the context of New Service Development (NSD), Stefan Holmlid, Katarina Wetter-Edman, and Bo Edvardsson note that “service design can thus embrace advanced views of service as configurations of resource integration” (P95).
NSD is further elaborated through the concept of “serviceability,” as presented in Chapter 14 (P205) by Tracy Bhamra, Andrew T. Walters, and James Moultrie. They decomposed the characteristics of services, including accessibility, modularity, potential failure modes, and others, to explore service-oriented business and product serviceability (P204).
I was particularly drawn to Lucy Kimbell and Jeanette Blomberg’s The Object of Service Design in Chapter 6, which offers a distinct lens from the concept of boundary objects (Star and Griesemer, 1989). They propose three ways to frame the object of service design: the service encounter, the value co-creating system, and the socio-material configuration (Figure 6.1, P82). These are thoughtfully connected to Richard Buchanan’s (2001) framework, which includes an external view of product elements (materials, manner, function, and form), an internal view of product experience (useful, usable, and desirable), and a systems view that considers natural, social, and cultural environments.
Design without Project
May 3, 2025
I discovered Design without Project (DwP) by Octavi Rofes (published by Corraini Edizioni) in 2023 at the Venice Biennale bookstore while preparing my speech and exhibition for Venice Innovation Design (VID). The book immediately caught my eye, and I purchased it as a potential “commute read,” something lightweight yet intellectually provocative.
Spanish designer Martí Guixé (2020) described DwP not as a prescriptive design tool but “a monolith, whose functions are unknown and yet to be explored. There is no handbook, no step-by-step process to follow.” This characterization raised my curiosity: what if we conceive of our design works not through conventional project-based structures but as open-ended, evolving practices? When the scope and constraints of a project dissolve into the creative process itself, does design become more advanced, complex, or simply more systemic?
DwP includes a manifesto that challenges traditional notions of design, social change, and politics. A few compelling excerpts (P13) include: 1. DP processes end up with new forms, while DwP set up cognitive traps. 2. DP aimed to transform the whole world, DwP wishes to be entirely transformed by it. 3. DP identity was a noun related to “what you are,” DwP identity is an action, “the who you are in the process of becoming.” 4. DP battled against uncertainty, DwP only expands in a volatile environment. 5. DP was to coexistence what DwP has become to survival. 6. DP political acts were based on matters of fact. DwP politics are about matters of concern.
As Guixé (2020) puts it, “DwP is not a tool held between us and the world; it is we who stand between DwP and the world. DwP and its unknown possibilities, abilities, and powers await the challenges our new century is beginning to reveal.” These DwP manifestos prompted me, as a designer, to reflect on a transformational shift—from being a project-driven problem solver to becoming a purpose-driven culture shaper. Perhaps DwP can be understood as an artifact of latent, unexplored creative potential, an invitation to rethink design as an open-ended, evolving practice.
I discovered Design without Project (DwP) by Octavi Rofes (published by Corraini Edizioni) in 2023 at the Venice Biennale bookstore while preparing my speech and exhibition for Venice Innovation Design (VID). The book immediately caught my eye, and I purchased it as a potential “commute read,” something lightweight yet intellectually provocative.
Spanish designer Martí Guixé (2020) described DwP not as a prescriptive design tool but “a monolith, whose functions are unknown and yet to be explored. There is no handbook, no step-by-step process to follow.” This characterization raised my curiosity: what if we conceive of our design works not through conventional project-based structures but as open-ended, evolving practices? When the scope and constraints of a project dissolve into the creative process itself, does design become more advanced, complex, or simply more systemic?
DwP includes a manifesto that challenges traditional notions of design, social change, and politics. A few compelling excerpts (P13) include: 1. DP processes end up with new forms, while DwP set up cognitive traps. 2. DP aimed to transform the whole world, DwP wishes to be entirely transformed by it. 3. DP identity was a noun related to “what you are,” DwP identity is an action, “the who you are in the process of becoming.” 4. DP battled against uncertainty, DwP only expands in a volatile environment. 5. DP was to coexistence what DwP has become to survival. 6. DP political acts were based on matters of fact. DwP politics are about matters of concern.
As Guixé (2020) puts it, “DwP is not a tool held between us and the world; it is we who stand between DwP and the world. DwP and its unknown possibilities, abilities, and powers await the challenges our new century is beginning to reveal.” These DwP manifestos prompted me, as a designer, to reflect on a transformational shift—from being a project-driven problem solver to becoming a purpose-driven culture shaper. Perhaps DwP can be understood as an artifact of latent, unexplored creative potential, an invitation to rethink design as an open-ended, evolving practice.
Urban Experience and Design: Contemporary Perspectives on Improving the Public Realm
April 28, 2025
Right after my defense, another short trip awaited me. Luckily, I had grabbed a book for the flight: Urban Experience and Design, edited by Justin Hollander and Ann Sussman. Although I haven’t finished it yet, Chapter 6—“Exploring Eye-Tracking Technology” by Frank Suurenbroek and Gideon Spanjar—caught my attention. I was particularly intrigued by their discussion on how urban design impacts human well-being across multiple dimensions (P91).
They identified three key design principles to discuss human-scale streetscapes: 1. Active Ground Floor: Transparent windows, doors, and functions on the first floor create a strong connection between interior and exterior spaces, fostering openness and ownership. 2. Ornate Façades: Variations in building height, width, and rhythm enrich the streetscape, offering visual interest, enclosure, and pedestrian guidance. 3. Tactility: Textured surfaces in building skins, pavements, and street design enhance detail and scale, encouraging engagement between people and their environment.
Through case studies and visual analyses, the chapter prompted me to reflect on the physical-behavioral relationships embedded in streetscapes (P102), and how we develop cognitive maps—mental representations of spatial information such as identity, location, distance, and direction (Downs & Stea, 1973). Cognitive maps serve as internalized expressions of the spaces individuals experience (P124). This also reminded me of Charles and Ray Eames’ film Powers of Ten (1977), which explores the relationship between scale, perception, and design.
Right after my defense, another short trip awaited me. Luckily, I had grabbed a book for the flight: Urban Experience and Design, edited by Justin Hollander and Ann Sussman. Although I haven’t finished it yet, Chapter 6—“Exploring Eye-Tracking Technology” by Frank Suurenbroek and Gideon Spanjar—caught my attention. I was particularly intrigued by their discussion on how urban design impacts human well-being across multiple dimensions (P91).
They identified three key design principles to discuss human-scale streetscapes: 1. Active Ground Floor: Transparent windows, doors, and functions on the first floor create a strong connection between interior and exterior spaces, fostering openness and ownership. 2. Ornate Façades: Variations in building height, width, and rhythm enrich the streetscape, offering visual interest, enclosure, and pedestrian guidance. 3. Tactility: Textured surfaces in building skins, pavements, and street design enhance detail and scale, encouraging engagement between people and their environment.
Through case studies and visual analyses, the chapter prompted me to reflect on the physical-behavioral relationships embedded in streetscapes (P102), and how we develop cognitive maps—mental representations of spatial information such as identity, location, distance, and direction (Downs & Stea, 1973). Cognitive maps serve as internalized expressions of the spaces individuals experience (P124). This also reminded me of Charles and Ray Eames’ film Powers of Ten (1977), which explores the relationship between scale, perception, and design.
Urban Code: 100 Lessons for Understanding the City
April 22, 2025
I am honored to have been invited by Professor Matthew Wizinsky to serve as a guest critic for the course "Design and Urban Inquiries" at the University of Michigan. During the two-hour short flight, I read “Urban Code: 100 Lessons for Understanding the City” by Anne Mikoleit and Moritz Pürckhauer (MIT Press), an insightful ethnographic-style book that offers thumbnail sketches and anecdotes based on field studies of Manhattan’s SoHo neighborhood.
This compact volume presents an alternative lens for perceiving urban environments, revealing patterns of individuals' behavior and spatial dynamics. For instance, hot dog stands are strategically located at crossroads (P66), food vendors act as magnets for pedestrian flow (P67), and trash serves as a critical prop in the active theater of street life (P73). Street vendors, as visual representatives of vibrant urbanity (P28), position themselves in relation to the sun’s path and the crowd (P10).
The book highlights that cities are structured by both scientific principles and distinct areas that contribute to spatial orientation (P74). Human-centered urban spaces can foster intergenerational and socially interdependent relationships (P62), with streets acting as melting pots where diverse lives converge—for example, a taxi driver’s existence blending into the fabric of street life (P54). Locals and tourists navigate the streets at different rhythms (P48), each forming a unique mental map of their surroundings (P17) and possibly reshaping their unique servicescapes (Bitner, 1992). At times, passersby might also lose themselves in reflections, reawakened by an enticing display (P43).
The authors emphasize that well-designed cities need to accommodate older adults through thoughtful street configurations, including accessible sidewalks, traffic signals, pedestrian crossings, resting niches, playground-adjacent benches, scenic viewpoints, and communal seating in public squares (P59). Beyond functionality, urban design need not continuously pursue purposeful outcomes; sometimes, the objective is simply leisure, playfulness, or even idleness (P98).
I am honored to have been invited by Professor Matthew Wizinsky to serve as a guest critic for the course "Design and Urban Inquiries" at the University of Michigan. During the two-hour short flight, I read “Urban Code: 100 Lessons for Understanding the City” by Anne Mikoleit and Moritz Pürckhauer (MIT Press), an insightful ethnographic-style book that offers thumbnail sketches and anecdotes based on field studies of Manhattan’s SoHo neighborhood.
This compact volume presents an alternative lens for perceiving urban environments, revealing patterns of individuals' behavior and spatial dynamics. For instance, hot dog stands are strategically located at crossroads (P66), food vendors act as magnets for pedestrian flow (P67), and trash serves as a critical prop in the active theater of street life (P73). Street vendors, as visual representatives of vibrant urbanity (P28), position themselves in relation to the sun’s path and the crowd (P10).
The book highlights that cities are structured by both scientific principles and distinct areas that contribute to spatial orientation (P74). Human-centered urban spaces can foster intergenerational and socially interdependent relationships (P62), with streets acting as melting pots where diverse lives converge—for example, a taxi driver’s existence blending into the fabric of street life (P54). Locals and tourists navigate the streets at different rhythms (P48), each forming a unique mental map of their surroundings (P17) and possibly reshaping their unique servicescapes (Bitner, 1992). At times, passersby might also lose themselves in reflections, reawakened by an enticing display (P43).
The authors emphasize that well-designed cities need to accommodate older adults through thoughtful street configurations, including accessible sidewalks, traffic signals, pedestrian crossings, resting niches, playground-adjacent benches, scenic viewpoints, and communal seating in public squares (P59). Beyond functionality, urban design need not continuously pursue purposeful outcomes; sometimes, the objective is simply leisure, playfulness, or even idleness (P98).
Convivial Toolbox: Generative Research for the Front End of Design
April 8, 2025
I am grateful to the journal paper reviewers for recommending Convivial Toolbox: Generative Research for the Front End of Design by Prof. Liz Sanders and Prof. Pieter Jan Stappers (published by BIS Publishing). Reading this work significantly helped me refine my manuscript.
Co-creation, co-design, and design research are foundational to generative research. Actively involving users in the design process has become increasingly crucial for fostering more diverse and inclusive ideas. As Sleeswijk Visser et al. (2005) note, users can be seen as “experts of their experience,” making them valuable contributors to the design team (P24).
The growing complexity of contemporary design challenges calls for a reexamination of the role and boundaries of design disciplines. We are witnessing a shift from a traditional focus on the objects of design to a more purposeful approach centered on the intent behind designing. Conventional disciplines—visual communication, industrial design, interior design, architecture, and interaction design—are typically delineated by their domain. In contrast, emerging disciplines are defined by motivation, such as designing for experience, service, innovation, transformation, and sustainability (P17).
Sanders and Stappers’s insights on experience and service design are especially compelling (P29): “In experience design, the focus lies on creating meaning or affect in the user, rather than simply producing a physical artifact that serves a functional purpose. In service design, the emphasis is on creating complex systems that deliver value to people through both material and organizational means.”
These disciplines are deeply connected to the notion of everyday creativity (P38), which encompasses four levels: doing, adapting, making, and creating. This concept aligns with Koestler’s (1964) method of bisociation—the generation of new ideas through the intersection of previously unrelated concepts. This lens offers a practical approach for understanding how service and experience design can converge (P46), enabling the emergence of innovative solutions through unexpected connections.
I am grateful to the journal paper reviewers for recommending Convivial Toolbox: Generative Research for the Front End of Design by Prof. Liz Sanders and Prof. Pieter Jan Stappers (published by BIS Publishing). Reading this work significantly helped me refine my manuscript.
Co-creation, co-design, and design research are foundational to generative research. Actively involving users in the design process has become increasingly crucial for fostering more diverse and inclusive ideas. As Sleeswijk Visser et al. (2005) note, users can be seen as “experts of their experience,” making them valuable contributors to the design team (P24).
The growing complexity of contemporary design challenges calls for a reexamination of the role and boundaries of design disciplines. We are witnessing a shift from a traditional focus on the objects of design to a more purposeful approach centered on the intent behind designing. Conventional disciplines—visual communication, industrial design, interior design, architecture, and interaction design—are typically delineated by their domain. In contrast, emerging disciplines are defined by motivation, such as designing for experience, service, innovation, transformation, and sustainability (P17).
Sanders and Stappers’s insights on experience and service design are especially compelling (P29): “In experience design, the focus lies on creating meaning or affect in the user, rather than simply producing a physical artifact that serves a functional purpose. In service design, the emphasis is on creating complex systems that deliver value to people through both material and organizational means.”
These disciplines are deeply connected to the notion of everyday creativity (P38), which encompasses four levels: doing, adapting, making, and creating. This concept aligns with Koestler’s (1964) method of bisociation—the generation of new ideas through the intersection of previously unrelated concepts. This lens offers a practical approach for understanding how service and experience design can converge (P46), enabling the emergence of innovative solutions through unexpected connections.
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