MENGHAI XIA

I majored in Industrial Design at the Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD) in Savannah, Georgia, USA. My education included industrial design, interaction design, user experience, and system design. After graduating, I began working professionally as both a designer and an educator. This dual path allowed me to grow as a practitioner while also shaping future designers.

It is not a studio in the traditional sense but a designer collective called Functional Form Block Allies. It is a gathering of friends, peers, and professionals who collaborate on diverse projects. The “Allies” highlights our approach—supportive, flexible, and cooperative.

Design has become a way of living. It is about observing what already exists, questioning it, and then creating something new that fits harmoniously into life. At its core, design is about improving human life, whether through incremental adjustments or groundbreaking innovation.

I prefer projects where there is both freedom and responsibility. The more freedom a project allows, the greater the pressure to deliver something meaningful. That balance excites me most.

Among my works, Horizpec, the horizontally opening speculum, stands out as my favorite. It addresses a century-old problem in medical tools by offering greater comfort for patients and safer usability for doctors. It represents a clear, direct improvement for both sides of medical practice.

My first professional design was a sponsored project during my time in the United States. It involved a complete design solution, from research to strategic planning, to a full implementation proposal. It showed me how design can anticipate needs and provide holistic solutions.

For medical products, transparent plastics are my favorite, because they are safe, manufacturable, and provide clear visibility. For personal care, titanium offers biocompatibility and lightness. I also enjoy working with interactive electronics platforms that bridge devices and human interaction.

Travel inspires me most. Encountering different cultures, observing everyday habits, and meeting people outside my field opens up new perspectives that feed my creativity.

For me, the key is to identify the real problem. Sometimes design must solve a problem, but sometimes, if we reframe the situation, the problem itself may disappear. Innovation is therefore central—how new, how harmonious, and how well the design can express good intentions. That is where I focus most

I feel engaged, curious, and responsible. Designing brings both excitement and pressure, because I know the result must be meaningful and reliable.

I feel pride but also humility. A finished design no longer belongs to me—it belongs to the users. My main emotion is responsibility toward them.

Success means the design blends into life so naturally that people no longer notice it as a product. It simply supports their lives.

The very first impression is aesthetic, because humans are visual animals. But then I ask: is this design based on good intentions? Did the designer put effort, kindness, and thoughtful civilization into it? A truly good design reflects that.

Designers must first do no harm. Beyond that, they must enhance life quality, reduce environmental impact, and provide access to dignity, comfort, and safety.

Design is evolving alongside technology, biology, and artificial intelligence. But I disagree that the future of design is only invisible systems. Our bodies remain physical, so visible, tangible, physical designs will always be crucial. Humanity still aims to go further, higher, and deeper into exploration, which requires physical forms and new applications of technology.

My last exhibitions were award showcases in Europe and Asia. My next goal is to hold exhibitions that show not only the finished products but also the design journey—process, research, and development—especially in medical design.

Inspiration comes from many places: users, patients, and target groups for sure, but also travel, science fiction, pop culture, and everyday life. I love niche communities where individuals create ingenious solutions. Discovering why no one recognized their brilliance earlier can be a dramatic spark for my own ideas.

My style is root-driven innovation combined with fun-driven emotion. I want to see what is happening behind the surface—why problems exist—and at the same time bring joy, passion, and brightness into solutions. It is about solving problems with a touch of delight.

Having lived in both China and the USA, my work is influenced by both contexts. From China I learned scale, efficiency, and speed. From the USA, individuality and user-centered creativity. Together, these perspectives shape my hybrid design approach.

I collaborate as a partner, not just a supplier. I bring research, creativity, and strategy while respecting the company’s practical needs.

Select designers who question assumptions, not just beautify surfaces. Treat them as collaborators, because good design grows from shared responsibility.

My process begins with finding the elephant in the room—the hidden or ignored issue behind the problem. I ask: can we remove it, or must we address it directly? From there, I push research to its limits to uncover deep insights. Only then do I move to ideation, prototyping, and iteration. This “under-the-table” exploration often generates the most innovative directions.

Montblanc M Fountain Pen by Mark Newson: a modern touch on a traditional tool. Philippe Starck Juicer: displayed on my bookshelf as a piece of playful design, not as a kitchen tool. Japanese Chef’s Knives: both for their precision and personal emotional connection to a past friend. My Silver Tape Measure Prototype: a hexagon-form, leather-pouched object I designed years ago; small but filled with craft. My Camera: a constant companion to capture moments that inspire design.

On a non-working day, I still wake up early. I enjoy cooking breakfast and experimenting with new recipes—cooking is very much like design: understanding ingredients, creating new outcomes. I exercise, sometimes cardio, sometimes weight training. I watch films or science fiction series, cook again for lunch and dinner, and always enjoy making a good cup of coffee. A highlight of any day is a meaningful conversation with friends, where ideas and knowledge are exchanged. I also dedicate time to learning, such as continuing my study of Japanese. The day ends with another short workout and rest.

Be patient and humble, but also bold. Learn from other fields, think systematically, and always be ready to fight for your ideas with good reasoning. Youth is the time to try, fail, and try again. Take risks when you can, and be courageous enough to defend your work.

The positive is the passion to innovate, to create, and to explore. But design is not for everyone. If someone prefers a peaceful, routine life without conflict or debate, then design may feel negative. For me personally, it is not negative, but I recognize it can be demanding.

Always ask: is this design based on good intentions? If yes, everything else follows. Good intentions should guide design.

Beyond empathy and technical skills, the most important is courage and clarity in communication. Designers must push their ideas into reality, defend them with reason, and bring others along.

I use CAD software, prototyping equipment, and 3D printing. But beyond that, my greatest tool is engaging with real people, experiencing real contexts, and observing how designs actually work in the world.

I divide creative blocks from administrative tasks. Protecting long hours for deep design work helps maintain focus, while structured project management keeps deadlines on track.

Simple designs may take weeks. Complex medical devices can take years due to research, testing, and refinement.

“How do you balance aesthetics with function?” My response: they are never separate—function without aesthetics fails, and aesthetics without function is empty.

Leading award-winning design education programs. Teaching sharpened my own practice and gave me a broader sense of responsibility toward society.

Healthcare organizations, consumer electronics companies, and universities.

I enjoy work that combines functionality with fun. Even the most serious designs should empower people emotionally. A design should not only be safe and effective but also make life brighter.

To continue advancing product innovation, expand Functional Form Block Allies, and engage in international teaching to foster cross-cultural design thinking.

It depends on the project. Functional Form Block Allies is a collective, so sometimes I work with diverse designers, and sometimes I work alone. The project’s needs decide the approach.

Most of my projects are under NDA, so I cannot reveal details. But works like Horizpec and Twispex are in progress, and I hope they will help many people.

Simply Google my name—you will find my LinkedIn. Send me a message there.

My LinkedIn profile summarizes me well. I am open to collaborations of all kinds, and I am easy to work with as long as we share energy and goals. I enjoy helping others, and I see collaboration as the essence of progress.

I have been working in the design field for nearly a decade, blending hands-on industry practice with design education. While earning my Master’s degree in Industrial Design from the Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD) in the United States, I had the chance to experience a real industry working process as a graduate student, collaborating directly with clients such as GE and JCB. It was an invaluable opportunity to work on real-life projects while still in school, bridging academic learning with professional practice. After graduate school, I became Chief Design Officer at ELVAINE, a startup focused on wearable fashion, custom-made jewelry, and early-stage UX/UI projects. This role expanded my perspective on integrating technology, craftsmanship, and user experience into cohesive product solutions. Later, I joined SCAD’s Industrial Design Department as a professor, where my students’ very first class project went on to win some of the most prestigious design awards in the world. That experience solidified my career in what I call a “design and design-education hybrid” mode—working fluidly between creating award-winning products and mentoring the next generation of designers. This dual approach continues to shape my work today.

My path to becoming a designer happened almost seamlessly. When choosing my college major, I decided on Industrial Design even before my freshman year began. I wasn’t a top student in the traditional academic system—the repetitive, standardized way of learning never quite suited me. But I had a deep passion for building things, especially plastic model kits. I loved crafting, working with my hands, and seeing an idea take shape in the real world. That curiosity naturally led me to industrial design, which I quickly fell in love with. There wasn’t a single moment or person who “made” me a designer, but there were many who shaped my journey. During my graduate studies, my department chair, Mr. Owen Foster, was a profound influence—pushing me to see design not just as a profession, but as a way to do good. I’m also grateful for professors such as John McCain, Craig Smith, John Warnage, John Sheffield, and Benjamin Bush, all of whom encouraged me to look beyond the negative or purely commercial aspects of design. They taught me to focus on design’s ability to improve lives, to treat every individual as important, and to seek solutions that benefit both people and society. I wouldn’t call myself an artist, and I’m certainly not an art collector. My passion has always been firmly in design—industrial, product, and user experience design—where creativity meets function, and where ideas can become real, tangible, and useful.

When I begin a new design project, my first priority is to understand the true cause of the problem. Many problems are not just about obvious flaws—they can come from hesitation, confusion, or discomfort in the user experience. The most exciting part of industrial design, for me, is that if you design something truly well, the problem simply disappears. History gives us countless examples: once we invented instant digital messaging, the challenges of sending letters, finding a messenger, or dealing with lost packages simply vanished. That’s the magic of great design—it doesn’t just fix problems; it makes them irrelevant. The second priority is respect for the user. I always ask myself: Are we treating the user as a real human being, or just as a source of revenue? This mindset changes everything—from how we choose materials to how we shape the product’s interaction flow. Good design is not about selling more; it’s about caring more. The third is seamlessly combining digital tools with hands-on craftsmanship. In my process, these two worlds are never separate. I might start with a quick hand sketch, then model it in 3D software, 3D print it, reshape it by hand, and put it back into the computer for refinement—often repeating the cycle many times. Sometimes I start digitally, sometimes physically—it depends on the scenario—but both approaches must work together to achieve the best result. For me, design is not just about delivering a product; it’s about creating an experience where the user feels understood, respected, and empowered—without even realizing a problem ever existed.

If I had to choose one word to describe how I feel when designing, it would be thrilled—because the process is a mix of so many emotions: excitement, joy, uncertainty, hesitation, even a little fear. That combination keeps the work alive and energizing. The phase I enjoy the most is the moment when, after all the research, testing, and brainstorming, the team agrees: this is the direction we should take. That “aha” moment is a designer’s privilege—we get to experience it before anyone else sees the result. It’s the spark that tells you something great is about to happen. What I love most about design is that it’s never about simply repeating the same formula. It’s exploration. It’s a challenge. It’s making a problem disappear entirely instead of just confronting it. That process doesn’t just satisfy my professional drive—it fulfills my personality and, yes, even my ego. There’s a special satisfaction in solving a problem in a way that feels innovative and clever, almost like discovering a secret before the rest of the world. For me, design is pure joy wrapped in curiosity and courage—and the thrill of knowing you’ve made something better than it was before.

Some of the most valuable skills that shaped me as a designer are actually not design-specific at all. The first is courage—the courage to speak up, challenge ideas, and even engage in heated debate when necessary. I believe that healthy argument, when based on logic, solid research, and real evidence, is an essential problem-solving tool. It sharpens your thinking, forces you to articulate your ideas clearly, and trains you to defend them. New ideas are fragile when they first appear—raw, clumsy, and unpolished. They are like seeds that need to be protected, nurtured, and given the chance to grow. Courage allows you to stand up for these ideas in the face of doubt or resistance. Without that, even the best concepts can be lost before they have the chance to take root. The second skill is taking action. After all the debate, analysis, and emotion, you have to make a move. Ideas mean nothing unless they are acted upon. Sometimes they work, sometimes they fail—but failure simply becomes a starting point for the next approach. If I had to sum it up: have the courage, fight for the idea, and then make it happen. Those traits have carried me through my design journey and allowed me to turn fragile beginnings into award-winning results.

My growth path has taken me across cultures. I spent most of my early years in China, then moved to the United States for graduate school, where I lived and worked for about five years before returning to China. It was in college that my understanding of design truly crystallized—when “design” stopped being just a vague human practice and became a discipline, a way of thinking, and a tool for real change. I can’t say I have a fixed vision of exactly who I want to be in the future, because design is a process of exploration—discovering new places, ideas, and possibilities before others, or sometimes even in unexpected directions. But I do know how I’d like to be remembered: as a designer who truly cares, whose work is meaningful, and who designs as a citizen of the world—not defined by a single nationality, but as a human being first. Looking ahead, I plan to continue my “design and design-education hybrid” approach, combining hands-on creation with mentorship. While most of my past projects have focused on tools, devices, and problem-solving products, I’ve always had a passion for designing toys or playful, purely joyful objects. One of my future goals is to create something that exists simply to bring happiness—design for fun’s sake, with no other agenda. That’s the kind of project I’d love to explore next.

If I could give one piece of advice to young designers, it would be this: have the courage to create. New ideas are always fragile at the beginning—they look raw, unpolished, and sometimes even impossible. People will challenge them. That’s normal. Your job as a designer is to stand by those ideas, protect them, and fight for them until they have the chance to grow. When I was younger, I believed courage alone was enough—just be brave and defend your ideas. Today, I would add something equally important: good intentions. Don’t fight for design just because it’s yours—fight for it because it has the potential to make life better, to be a positive contribution. If you truly believe your idea is the right way forward, that it can help more people and create real value, then stand behind it with everything you have. Of course, courage also means being willing to face failure. Sometimes ideas don’t work out—but failure is part of the process, not the end of it. Each setback pushes you to think smarter and try again. So my advice is simple: be brave, have good intentions, and don’t be afraid to fight for the design that you know can make a difference.

Am I truly successful? I’m not sure I’d say that yet—there’s always more to learn and more to do. But if I were to share something with fellow designers, artists, and architects, it would be this: don’t let yourself be dominated by either extreme—beauty without depth, or function without taste. One common mistake early in a career is being overly guided by the idea of beauty. A bigger mistake, though, is believing that “taste doesn’t matter.” In reality, taste is a foundation. There is good taste and bad taste—just as we can tell the difference between a symphony by Bach and a catchy piece of pop music. Both can be enjoyable, both can be valid—but we must recognize their differences. The same applies to design. A project can be kitsch, pop, cartoonish, or avant-garde—that’s fine. What matters is that you know why, and that you can clearly distinguish what you’re doing and what you’re not. So my suggestion is: develop your sensitivity. Train your eye and your judgment so that you know what “good” looks like, even if you choose not to pursue it in a particular project. This awareness gives you control, not limitation. At the same time, remember to stay flexible. Be brave enough to fight for your ideas, but not so attached that you can’t improve them. Great design often comes from being willing to protect an idea when it’s fragile, and then letting it evolve when it needs to. In short: respect taste, stay open, fight for your ideas, and always be ready to make them stronger.

My day-to-day routine usually begins with catching up on design news. I read many of the major platforms, but I don’t focus too much on what everyone else is already seeing. What matters more to me is discussing upcoming projects with my colleagues—those conversations often spark the best ideas and help align us on execution. Design is never a solo activity; communication is vital. Of course, not every day is exciting. On long, uneventful business days, I make it a point to step away and recharge. I like to use my lunch break—or after work—for training at the gym. A good workout clears my mind, sharpens my thinking, and keeps my energy high. It’s amazing how much physical health translates into mental clarity and creative sensitivity. As for the little things that make me happy during a workday: a good cup of coffee, meaningful discussions, and the occasional after-work gathering with friends or colleagues always bring energy and balance back into the routine.

I would say my relationship with design trends is both yes and no. I like to keep an eye on what’s new—emerging products, fresh approaches, bold experiments—but the moment something is labeled a “trend,” it’s often already on its way to becoming mainstream. That doesn’t mean it has no value; trends can be very successful in business. But to me, true design is about creating what feels brave, innovative, and inspiring, not simply repeating what’s fashionable this season. Do trends matter? It depends entirely on the project and its mission. Sometimes the goal is to build a consistent product family, where alignment with broader design languages is important. Other times, the challenge is to break away completely and deliver something dramatically new. Industrial design is not black and white—it’s about context and intention. When it comes to inspiration, I often look outside the design world altogether. For me, cinema—especially science fiction films—has always been a huge source of ideas. The scale, creativity, and sheer imagination behind those productions are extraordinary. The design teams behind blockbuster sci-fi films create entire worlds filled with futuristic objects, environments, and technologies. Even if some of it is illusion, it represents the collective imagination of some of the most creative people working together. I like to take that vision and ask: how can we make a piece of this more real? That kind of translation—from big, imaginative visions to tangible, practical products—is one of my favorite parts of the design process.

Who am I to say what is good design? Maybe none of us can define it perfectly—but we can feel it. A well-designed product carries the effort, the heart, and the devotion of the people who created it. You can sense when something has been made with real thought and care. For me, there are a few criteria: Clarity: Can the product explain itself? If you can pick it up and intuitively understand how it works, that’s already a sign of good design. Function & Fit: Does it fulfill its intended purpose in the real context it was designed for? A product should not just work—it should work in the right way for the people and scenarios it was made for. Consistency + Surprise: The design should feel seamless and coherent, but also offer a little moment of delight—an “aha!” moment where you realize it does something better or smarter than expected. That pleasant surprise is often what makes a design memorable. Emotional & Human Value: The best designs connect to a deeper human story. When you hold or use them, you don’t just interact with an object—you touch a piece of human intelligence and creativity, a fragment of civilization itself. Common mistakes to avoid? Designing only for looks, or only for function. Both extremes miss the point. Good design balances logic and emotion, clarity and surprise, utility and delight. When all of those come together, you don’t just have a product—you have a human experience in your hands.

For me, a design is “ready” when it achieves the correct aha! moment—when all the different perspectives and needs align, and the solution feels natural, seamless, and balanced. Take my award-winning project Horizpec as an example. At first, we thought we had the design solved—it looked clever and clear on paper. But when we shared it with doctors and other stakeholders, their feedback opened our eyes. We realized we had been thinking mainly about the patient experience. Of course, patients matter, but in reality, a medical device is also a tool for the doctor. If a doctor has to perform dozens or even hundreds of exams in a day, their comfort, efficiency, and mental focus are just as critical. Otherwise, burnout happens—and patients suffer as a result. That realization shifted our design from being single-layered (focused only on patients) to multi-level user-centered design: caring for both patients and doctors equally. When we reached a point where both groups—patients and doctors—were satisfied, when the device felt foolproof, balanced, and sustainable for real-world use, that’s when I knew it was ready. I don’t think any design is ever truly “complete”—there’s always room for improvement. But there is a moment where the design meets its mission and serves all its users well. That’s when I decide it’s time to stop iterating and move forward.

If I had to choose one project that stands out as my biggest design work so far, it would be Horizpec. Of course, I believe the “biggest” work is always the next one, but Horizpec represents a meaningful milestone in my career. It was a very time-consuming project that went through many iterations. What looks now like a simple, elegant solution was the result of countless prototypes, explorations, and debates. We tried multiple directions, and even some of the variations—though not the final solution—went on to win awards on their own. The process was not always easy; it was sometimes frustrating, sometimes exciting, but always deeply engaging. What makes Horizpec so special is not only the final design but the teamwork and dialogue that brought it to life. We had heated but constructive debates with doctors, fellow designers, investors, and friends. Everyone contributed insights generously, and those inputs shaped the product into something that balanced the needs of multiple stakeholders. In the end, it wasn’t just about solving a design problem—it was about creating a foolproof tool that respected both patients and doctors, and making an experience safer and more humane. I’m proud of Horizpec because it embodies both my philosophy and my process: persistence, openness to feedback, and a commitment to making something truly better for people. At the same time, many of the projects I’m currently developing—several of which are still under NDA—are equally exciting. They’re moving forward from concept to refinement, and I look forward to seeing them evolve into their best forms in the future.

There are so many great designers that it’s almost impossible to choose a single favorite. I admire names like Dieter Rams, Jacob Jensen, Naoto Fukasawa, Marc Newson, Luigi Colani, and the entire Sony design team, which has created some of the most inspiring products of our time. But if I had to pick one individual who has influenced me the most, it would be Jony Ive. His ability to explain complex design ideas in such simple, human terms has always inspired me. I still remember watching Apple’s design videos where he spoke about products not in abstract theory, but in ways that made everything suddenly make sense. His philosophy—that if the user doesn’t need it, it shouldn’t exist—captures the essence of simplicity, clarity, and purpose in design. I believe he pushed Dieter Rams’ principles of “good design” into the modern era, elevating them for today’s technologies and human needs. If I had the chance to talk with a designer from the past, I would choose Raymond Loewy and Victor Papanek. They represent two dramatically different poles of design—Loewy with his belief that “ugly products don’t sell,” and Papanek with his call to design for the real world and for practicality. The conversation between those two mindsets would be fascinating. In a way, I think Jony Ive managed to bridge both approaches—combining practicality with beauty in a way that feels timeless. So while I admire many designers and design teams, I would say that Jony Ive is, for me, the most iconic designer of our time, both for his work and for how he has influenced the way we all think about design.

At the moment, my favorite city is Kyoto, Japan. Over the years, it has become more and more inspiring to me. Kyoto is a unique blend of past and present—a city where tradition and modern life coexist seamlessly. It has the density of a Japanese city, but without the overwhelming pace of Tokyo, New York, London, or even Beijing and Shanghai. That balance feels very meaningful to me as a designer. Music is also a constant part of my lifestyle and creative process. It shapes my energy and sometimes even guides the rhythm of my work. I believe that everything we absorb from culture—music, film, art, daily life—finds its way back into design. My cultural background is quite complex: rooted in Chinese traditions, influenced by American and Japanese culture, and deeply inspired by science fiction, animation, and robotics. I grew up loving stories about machines, superheroes, and futuristic worlds—ideas of stepping into a cockpit, using tools to extend human ability, and exploring beyond human limits. That mindset has stayed with me: industrial designers, at heart, are tool-makers who give humanity new ways to go further and do more. Today, I’m based in Beijing, traveling frequently and working on various design projects (many under NDA). But no matter the project, my belief remains the same: good design is essential for the advancement of society. Our bodies haven’t changed for thousands of years, yet with each new tool, we’ve extended our reach, our power, and our imagination. Like the opening line of Star Trek—“to boldly go where no one has gone before”—we need the right tools, the “Enterprise,” to get us there. For me, design is a way of life. If the tools around us aren’t right, then we must design new ones. Even small, incremental improvements can change a lifestyle, shift a mindset, or open a new possibility. That’s why design isn’t just my profession—it’s my fundamental motivation.

I believe it’s easy to work with me—if you meet the bar. Once people share the same standards of integrity and effort, I’m very easygoing and collaborative. Most of the colleagues and people I’ve hired would probably describe me as straightforward and supportive. But I do hold to certain qualities when selecting partners, teammates, or hires: honesty, integrity, and good intentions. Design should never come from bad faith or purely opportunistic motives. My business philosophy is simple: we don’t design only for money—we design for people. Of course, financial sustainability matters, but if profit is the only goal, it changes the entire spirit of the work. I believe in asking the fundamental question: How does this help anyone? If the answer is unclear, then the project is already heading in the wrong direction. In my work culture, I value open dialogue. I want people who can stand up for their ideas, defend them with logic, and tell a meaningful story about why their solution matters. I welcome argument, as long as it is constructive and based on reasoning. Some of the best outcomes I’ve seen come from these kinds of conversations—where ideas are challenged, refined, and ultimately made stronger. The biggest challenge in our profession is resisting the temptation to take shortcuts or to design things that may be profitable but harmful in the long run. That’s why I always return to integrity as the baseline. A good designer must be honest, courageous, curious, and able to communicate their ideas clearly. Those are the personal traits that build trust, foster collaboration, and drive design forward.

I don’t know if I would call what I do “philanthropy” in the traditional sense, because most of my projects are business-related. But I approach every design with good intentions—always asking how it can make life better for someone. For example, with Horizpec, our goal was to replace the outdated V-shaped speculum with something safer, easier, and more humane. In the process, we discovered it could also be produced with less material, potentially at a lower cost. That means more accessibility for patients and healthcare providers—something that, in its own way, is a contribution back to society. I have great respect for designers who dedicate themselves fully to humanitarian projects. Even if design only improves one small corner of someone’s life, that improvement matters. If the timing is right, I would gladly contribute to such efforts myself, because design has real power to support dignity and human well-being. Another way I give back is through supporting young designers. As an educator and mentor, I’ve always believed in giving the next generation opportunities to shine. Many times, I’ve worked alongside younger colleagues, encouraged them to push their work forward internationally, and given them the platform to be recognized. That, for me, is one of the most rewarding contributions I can make—helping others grow, and ensuring that design as a profession continues to evolve in positive directions.

Being named Designer of the Day is truly an honor, and participating in the A’ Design Award has been an amazing experience. Like many competitions, the process comes with a mix of emotions—excitement, nervousness, and anticipation. Sometimes the evaluations boost your confidence; other times they challenge you. But in the end, it’s a powerful way to reflect on your own work and push yourself forward. For me, there are three main benefits of design awards and competitions: Visibility & Voice – Awards provide a platform where your work can be seen, shared, and talked about internationally. They give designers a voice to express not only their designs, but also the values behind them. Reflection & Growth – Preparing submissions forces you to step back and analyze your own work more critically—why it matters, how it works, and where it stands among others. This self-reflection is invaluable for growth. Learning & Community – Awards connect you with other designers’ ideas, projects, and innovations. It’s not only about recognition—it’s also about discovering fresh concepts, exchanging perspectives, and leveling up together as a global design community. I believe design competitions remain highly relevant because they celebrate innovation while encouraging designers to constantly raise their standards. They remind us that design is not static—it evolves every day with new insights and solutions. So yes, I am grateful to the A’ Design Award for the recognition and opportunity. It motivates me to keep working harder, to explore new directions, and to continue designing with the intention of making things better.

I studied Industrial Design at the Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD) in Savannah, Georgia, USA. My training included not only industrial design but also interaction, UX, and system design. After graduation, I developed a dual career as a designer and educator, leading award-winning programs while continuing my own practice across different products.

I became a designer because I saw design as a way to make life better. I am motivated by the ability to take a complex or unnoticed problem, reshape it, and create a solution that is humane, simple, effective and more fun.

I chose it naturally. Since my early years, I was curious about how objects were made and how systems worked. Design was not an obligation but an inevitable path.

I design across fields: medical tools, personal care products, lighting systems, and interactive electronics. I wish the design product that more fun driven later.

Be humble, patient, and bold. Learn from other disciplines, broaden your view beyond aesthetics, and fight for your ideas with courage. Legends are not made overnight; they are built by persistence.

A good designer solves the brief. A great designer reframes the problem, finds the hidden “elephant in the room,” and creates something meaningful that lasts beyond trends.

A really good design reflects not only functionality and beauty but also intention—kindness, thought, and effort put into it. It must serve humanity, not just efficiency.

Good design improves lives, saves resources, prevents harm, and builds culture. Investing in design is investing in dignity and long-term sustainability.

I would design for underserved populations—tools that give access to healthcare, clean energy, or education. My goal would be to design for those who are often overlooked.

I dream of developing a fully integrated healthcare toolkit that can be used in rural areas with minimal infrastructure—something that combines diagnostics, treatment, and education in one platform.

Honesty. I insist on addressing the real issue, not decorating around it. Being honest about problems creates space for true innovation.

Dieter Rams for clarity, Naoto Fukasawa for simplicity rooted in human behavior.And Sir.Jony Ive for natural thinking.

The Montblanc M fountain pen by Marc Newson—because it marries tradition and modernity in one stroke. The Philippe Starck juicer—because it shows that design can be playful and poetic even without strict utility.

Horizpec is my greatest design so far. It rethinks a century-old tool with a simple horizontal opening mechanism. It is great because it solves a problem directly, helps both patients and doctors, and can be mass produced affordably.

Seek knowledge outside design. Learn science, culture, and systems. I pushed myself to understand not only form but also the hidden structures behind problems.

I would have become a photographer or a writer. Both also require observation, storytelling, and framing the world.

Design is the disciplined translation of reality into possibility. It is not art for self-expression but a structured act of improving life.

My family supported me through my education. Later, my students and collaborators became a source of strength—they pushed me to stay sharp and open.