The text prompted me to reflect deeply on the role of design in shaping not only products but also perceptions and identities- especially for those of us working in product design. The text challenges the traditional boundaries between medical necessity and mainstream desirability, and as a designer, I find both inspiration and discomfort in this tension.
One point that stands out is the way the Eameses’ leg splint for the U.S. Navy, originally a response to a medical brief, became a catalyst for innovations that transformed mainstream furniture design. The author’s admiration for the leg splint’s “organic form and geometric holes, the combination of subtle surfaces and crisp edges” resonates with me because it exemplifies how constraints can drive creativity. The evidence is clear: the technology and aesthetic language developed for a medical device directly influenced the iconic Eames furniture. This makes me think about how often, in design for disability, we excuse poor design because of the market or the context, rather than holding it to the same standards as mainstream products. It prompts me to question: why shouldn’t design for disability be as beautiful, as considered, and as desirable as anything else?
However, I am uneasy about the persistent bias towards discretion in assistive products. The text critiques the tradition of camouflaging medical devices- pink plastic hearing aids, for instance- in an attempt to make them invisible. The author argues that this approach can inadvertently reinforce the idea that disability is something to be hidden, rather than embraced. The evidence comes from the evolution of eyewear: glasses have transitioned from stigmatized medical appliances to fashion statements, even to the point where people without visual impairments wear them as accessories. This shift did not come from making glasses invisible, but from making them objects of desire. It makes me realise that, as a designer, I should challenge the default of discretion and instead explore how products can project positive identities.
The discussion of fashion’s role in design for disability is particularly provocative. The text points out that fashion and discretion are not true opposites, but there is a creative tension between them. Fashion’s embrace of diversity and its ability to make wearers feel good about themselves stands in stark contrast to the clinical, problem-solving culture that dominates medical design. The evidence is in the HearWear project, where inviting designers from outside the medical field led to radical new concepts for hearing aids- some playful, some overtly technological, and some drawing on jewellery and body adornment. This makes me reflect on my own practice: am I too quick to prioritise technical performance and problem-solving at the expense of self-expression and emotional value?
What I particularly like about the text is its insistence on keeping “the design in design for disability.” The author links the success of products like the iPod to a relentless focus on simplicity and attention to detail, arguing that these same sensibilities are often missing from assistive products because designers are not involved early enough in the process. The point is well made: design is not just about how something looks, but how it works and how it makes people feel. The evidence is in the contrast between the iPod’s iconic simplicity and the “flying submarine” syndrome of overburdened, over-complicated universal designs that try to be everything to everyone and end up pleasing no one. This reminds me that good design often means having the courage to say no to unnecessary features, and instead focusing on the essence of the product and the experience it creates.
Yet, I dislike the way the field of design for disability is still so often siloed and marginalised, both in practice and in perception. The text highlights how multidisciplinary teams developing prosthetics rarely include industrial or fashion designers, let alone sculptors or artists. The result is products that may function well but fail to resonate emotionally or culturally with their users. The evidence comes from the stories of Aimee Mullins and Hugh Herr, who both see their prostheses not just as tools but as extensions of their identity- sometimes even as sources of pride or advantage. This makes me think about the importance of diversity, not only among users but also among designers. We need to bring in more voices, more perspectives, and more creativity if we are to create products that are truly inclusive and empowering.
In conclusion, this text has challenged me to rethink my approach as a designer. It has made me more aware of the cultural and emotional dimensions of product design, especially in the context of disability. I am inspired to seek a healthier balance between problem-solving and playful exploration, between discretion and fashion, and between universality and simplicity. Most of all, I am reminded that design has the power to shape not only products but also identities and societies- and that this responsibility should never be taken lightly.
