Graham Pullin’s Design Meets Disability made me reflect on how design often operates in rigid categories, medical vs. fashionable, functional vs. expressive, and how these binaries fail people with disabilities. The reading’s core idea, that assistive tools deserve the same creative energy as mainstream products, feels both radical and obvious. Why shouldn’t a wheelchair or hearing aid reflect personal style? Glasses, after all, evolved from clunky necessities to fashion statements, proving that utility and aesthetics can coexist.
But I also doubted the practicality of this vision. While stylish prosthetics or colorful hearing aids could challenge stigma, design alone can’t dismantle systemic barriers like inaccessible infrastructure or costs. As one sample response noted, a sleek wheelchair might still be seen as “other” in a world built for stairs. And prioritizing aesthetics risks alienating those who need simplicity or affordability—like how designer eyewear can become unaffordable luxury. Still, Pullin isn’t arguing for style over function but for expanding what’s possible. His examples, like voice synthesizers with emotional nuance, show that “inclusive design” isn’t about trends but dignity: tools should empower users to feel seen, not hidden.
What sticks with me is the tension between individuality and universality. While choice is empowering, too many options can overwhelm. Yet Pullin’s call for diversity in design, discreet or bold, high-tech or minimalist, mirrors the broader disability experience: there’s no single “right” way to navigate the world. Maybe the goal isn’t to make assistive tools “mainstream” but to normalize their presence in design conversations. After all, glasses weren’t normalized by hiding them but by celebrating their versatility. Disability isn’t a niche market – it’s a lens (pun intended) through which we can rethink design for everyone.