I just finished reading Design Meets Disability and, wow—what a refreshing shift in perspective. It challenges everything we’ve come to expect from “assistive design” by flipping the script. Instead of treating disability like a design problem that needs to be hidden, it shows how disability can be a source of creative inspiration. And honestly? It makes a pretty solid case for how mainstream design could learn a thing or two from the constraints imposed by disability.
Take that story about the Eames leg splint—can we talk about that for a second? The Eameses didn’t just design a medical device; they pioneered a new design language that ended up defining modern furniture. It’s wild to think that something as utilitarian as a leg splint could evolve into the iconic curves of a Herman Miller chair. That’s not a compromise—that’s a catalyst. It really gets you wondering: how many other innovations have quietly come out of necessity, only to reshape entire industries?
Another thing I loved was how the book dives into the tension between discretion and fashion. Like, who decided that disability needs to be hidden or minimized? Why can’t prosthetic limbs be fabulous? Why can’t hearing aids make a statement? Glasses managed to pull off that transformation—from stigmatized medical device to full-blown fashion accessory. So why are we still designing hearing aids in pink plastic that’s supposed to “blend in” but somehow stands out even more?
And then there’s Aimee Mullins. Her whole vibe completely shatters the binary between function and beauty. Carved wooden legs, eerie glass ones, high-performance carbon fiber? She’s not trying to pass as non-disabled. She’s owning her prosthetics as fashion, as identity, as self-expression. It’s empowering. And her attitude—“Discreet? I want off-the-chart glamorous”—is a mic-drop moment if I’ve ever seen one.
I think what stuck with me most is this: the book isn’t just saying “include disabled people in design.” It’s saying, redefine what design even means. Stop treating it as an afterthought. Don’t just add designers to the team—let them help write the brief. Start at the source, not the symptoms.
Because here’s the truth: we all want beautiful, functional, human-centered design. Whether we’re “disabled” or not, we benefit from objects that are thoughtfully made, intuitively used, and culturally resonant. That’s not niche—that’s universal.
So yeah, Design Meets Disability isn’t just about disability. It’s about dignity, diversity, and damn good design.