Interviews with Menghai Xia

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.

Our main focus was to merge effectiveness, convenience, and sustainability in a single compact device. We wanted to achieve professional-grade cleaning while reducing plastic waste and unnecessary chemical processing. The goal was not only to create an oral care device that performs well but also to make oral hygiene easier, more intuitive, and more environmentally responsible for everyday users.

Future plans include further refinement of the hydrogen peroxide generator for speed and efficiency, and potentially developing different models tailored to various user groups — such as children, seniors, and frequent travelers. We are also exploring integration with mobile health apps for personalized oral care routines. In the long term, we envision Aquaclean becoming part of a larger family of sustainable personal care products.

The design process began in early 2024 and progressed through months of research, prototyping, and iteration. Altogether, the initial concept to refined prototype took nearly a year. The process included not just technical development, but also ergonomic testing and form factor adjustments to ensure the device was comfortable for a wide range of users.

The origin of Aquaclean Oral Care is really a combination of collaboration and inspiration. On one hand, we had the privilege of working with outstanding technical partners who developed and patented the hydrogen peroxide generator technology. Their innovation opened the door to new possibilities that we might not have reached on our own. On the other hand, our role as designers was to recognize the broader potential of that technology — to see beyond its original applications and imagine how it could transform oral care. In this sense, the project was neither purely commissioned nor purely self-driven; it was the synergy of cutting-edge technology and design vision that inspired us to pursue this concept.

At this stage, Aquaclean remains in the advanced prototyping stage. We are in discussion with potential partners who specialize in oral health products for future production. While we would like to oversee design integrity, we are open to licensing or collaborations that will allow the product to reach a wider audience quickly and responsibly.

We designed Aquaclean because oral hygiene is universal. Everyone has a mouth, and everyone faces the daily responsibility of keeping it healthy. By rethinking such a common activity, we saw an opportunity to make a significant positive impact — reducing waste, simplifying routines, and improving health outcomes. It’s the type of work that directly touches people’s lives.

We were influenced by two categories of products: consumer electronics that emphasize sleek, ergonomic interaction, and medical devices that emphasize precision and safety. Electric toothbrushes and water flossers provided some reference points, but we aimed to go further by blending multiple functionalities into one. In terms of design philosophy, we were also influenced by the idea of “fewer but better” products that reduce clutter and simplify life.

The target customers are individuals who value both effectiveness and sustainability in their personal care routines. That includes eco-conscious consumers, frequent travelers who need compact solutions, and families who want safe, child-friendly devices. Aquaclean is designed to serve a global audience — oral hygiene is universal, and so is the need for simpler, smarter solutions.

What sets Aquaclean apart is its all-in-one approach. While traditional products focus on one aspect — brushing, flossing, or rinsing — Aquaclean unites them through water-based cleaning enhanced by hydrogen peroxide generation. The titanium nozzle with three modes and the intuitive dual-slider system also differentiate it, offering flexibility without complexity. It’s not just a tool; it’s a complete oral care ecosystem in one device.

The name Aquaclean emphasizes the essence of the product: using water as the universal medium for cleanliness. “Aqua” represents the core element, while “clean” conveys both hygiene and simplicity. Together, the name highlights the vision of a product that makes oral care as straightforward and natural as water itself.

We used CAD software such as Rhino for 3D modeling and KeyShot for rendering. Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop were applied for visualization and interface mockups. For validation, 3D printing was critical to testing form, ergonomics, and nozzle configurations. These tools enabled us to move fluidly between conceptual design, technical engineering, and real-world prototyping.

The most unique aspect is the hydrogen peroxide generator, which allows the device to transform plain water into an antibacterial cleaning solution. This innovation eliminates the need for separate mouthwash and chemical products. Combined with the modular titanium nozzle and dual-slider interface, it delivers a truly holistic solution that has never been offered in one compact device before.

Yes, collaboration was key. We worked closely with technology partners specializing in hydrogen peroxide generation, as well as dental professionals who provided feedback on usability and effectiveness. Engineers helped us refine the internal mechanisms, while industrial designers shaped the ergonomic and visual aspects. The final product reflects this multidisciplinary effort.

Technology is at the core of Aquaclean. The hydrogen peroxide generator is its most critical feature, turning water into an antibacterial cleaning agent. The dual-slider interface is another technological innovation, simplifying complex functions into intuitive gestures. The role of technology here is to amplify natural resources — in this case, water — into a complete oral care solution without overwhelming the user.

Yes, the design was informed by both professional and consumer research. We conducted interviews with dentists and healthcare providers to understand the effectiveness of various cleaning methods, as well as surveys with everyday users to assess pain points in their routines. We also analyzed environmental data on plastic waste from toothbrushes, floss, and mouthwash packaging. This combination of medical, behavioral, and environmental research shaped the design direction.

One of the greatest challenges was balancing advanced technology with ease of use. The hydrogen peroxide generator had to be safe for children and adults alike. Another challenge was designing a form factor that was compact yet capable of housing multiple components — the pump, generator, and nozzle system. Finally, aligning sustainability goals with manufacturing realities required careful selection of materials and modular design strategies.

We chose to submit to the A’ Design Award because it emphasizes both innovation and impact. Aquaclean represents a significant shift in how we approach oral care, and we wanted it to be part of an international dialogue about design for health and sustainability. The competition provides not only recognition but also a platform to inspire others in the industry to rethink established practices.

This project reinforced the importance of designing holistically. We learned that oral care is not just about cleaning teeth, but about addressing health, behavior, sustainability, and emotional experience together. Personally, I improved my ability to merge technological complexity with user-centered simplicity, ensuring that innovation does not overwhelm usability.

Perhaps the most important point is that Aquaclean represents a philosophy of reduction. By reducing the number of tools, the number of chemicals, and the amount of waste, we also reduce barriers to better health. It is a small device with the potential for large-scale impact — making oral care easier, cleaner, and more sustainable for everyone.

The main focus was to make advanced wound care lightweight, portable, and foolproof. Unlike traditional medical kits, which often rely on pre-packaged chemicals and limited supplies, Aquaventure focuses on flexibility. It can draw from nearly any water source, purify it, and generate an effective cleaning solution on demand. What we wanted to achieve was not just functionality, but also reassurance — a product that empowers users to act quickly and confidently in outdoor emergencies.

Future plans include refining the prototype for mass production and expanding its functionality. We see potential in disaster relief operations, humanitarian aid, and military field applications. The design could also evolve into a family of products — from compact personal units to larger models for field hospitals. Our long-term vision is to redefine portable medical care by showing how clean water and on-demand sterilization can save lives in unpredictable conditions.

The initial concept took shape over several months of research and interviews, but the journey has been longer. Early development involved exploring different purification methods and testing form factors for portability. While the first prototypes emerged relatively quickly, refining the design into its compact, efficient dimensions took close to a year, balancing usability, durability, and functionality.

The project was not commissioned. It was driven by inspiration and necessity. Our technology partners had been experimenting with hydrogen peroxide generation for hygiene and environmental products, but we saw an opportunity to apply it in a completely new context — outdoor wound care. By connecting with motorcyclists, campers, and rescue professionals, we recognized a gap and decided to pursue it independently.

Currently, Aquaventure Outdoor Woundcare is in the prototype stage. We are exploring partnerships with medical device companies and outdoor equipment brands that can help scale production. While we intend to maintain creative control over the design, we are open to licensing or collaboration to ensure the product reaches users who need it most.

The decision came from observing the outdoor community and recognizing a gap in medical preparedness. First aid kits often include antiseptic wipes or small bottles, but nothing that can adapt to different water sources in unpredictable conditions. Designing Aquaventure was about creating a new category of product — not just medical gear, not just purification equipment, but a hybrid tool that brings safety to those who live and work outdoors.

The design was influenced less by other medical products and more by outdoor gear and survival tools. We looked at how compact stoves, water filters, and multi-tools are designed for portability and ruggedness. These references inspired our approach: to create something durable, versatile, and intuitive, with a form factor that feels natural in an outdoor kit.

The primary target customers are outdoor adventurers — motorcyclists, hikers, campers, and explorers — as well as first responders who need portable wound care solutions. In the future, the design could also support humanitarian aid workers and disaster-relief organizations who operate in areas where medical infrastructure is limited.

What sets Aquaventure apart is its dual-technology system. It doesn’t just store antiseptic; it creates it from water, thanks to hydrogen peroxide generation. The silver ion stage ensures almost any water source can be purified before use. This two-step approach is unique, making it both safer and more versatile than single-purpose products.

The name Aquaventure reflects both the element and the spirit of the product. “Aqua” emphasizes its reliance on water, while “venture” highlights exploration, resilience, and survival. Together, the name suggests a tool designed to accompany people into the unknown, turning water into a lifeline.

We used CAD tools such as Rhino for modeling and KeyShot for rendering, as well as Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop for visualization. Prototyping was equally important, with 3D-printed models used to test dimensions, ergonomics, and durability. The design tools allowed us to refine both the technical layout and the visual identity simultaneously.

The most unique aspect is its adaptability. Unlike traditional wound care kits that rely on pre-packed antiseptics, Aquaventure transforms local water into a safe, antibacterial solution. This flexibility means the product is not limited by supply chains or storage life — it empowers users to generate what they need, when they need it.

Yes, collaboration was essential. We worked with technology partners who specialize in hydrogen peroxide generation, ensuring the process was safe and effective. We also consulted with outdoor enthusiasts, motorcyclists, and medical professionals to refine usability. Each collaboration helped balance the technical, functional, and human aspects of the design.

Technology is the heart of Aquaventure. The hydrogen peroxide generator and silver ion purification system transform a simple idea — cleaning wounds with water — into a sophisticated solution. However, the technology is deliberately hidden behind a simple user interface. The role of technology here is to empower without overwhelming, ensuring that anyone, even under stress, can use it effectively.

Yes, our design was shaped by interviews and field research. We spoke with motorcyclists, campers, and first responders to understand their needs and pain points. We also analyzed medical data on infection risks in outdoor injuries, which confirmed the importance of cleaning wounds effectively before applying care. This research validated our focus on purification and portability.

The first challenge was conceptual: realizing that water sources in the field could not be assumed to be clean. This shifted the design toward integrating purification as the first step. Another challenge was form factor — balancing durability with portability. Finally, protecting sensitive components while maintaining a lightweight, compact body required several iterations.

We decided to submit Aquaventure to the A’ Design Award because we wanted the conversation around this product to extend beyond outdoor gear into the broader design community. The competition emphasizes innovation, usability, and cultural relevance — all qualities that define Aquaventure. It was the right platform to showcase the idea and inspire broader thinking about portable medical solutions.

This project reinforced the importance of designing for real scenarios rather than idealized conditions. It reminded us to consider human behavior in emergencies — stress, limited supplies, and the need for intuitive use. Personally, I learned how powerful cross-disciplinary collaboration can be, merging medical technology with outdoor product design in ways that neither field could achieve alone.

Perhaps the key point is that Aquaventure is more than a device — it’s a philosophy of design for survival. By rethinking how basic resources like water can be harnessed, we can create tools that empower people far beyond conventional medical kits. It represents a step toward a future where essential care is always within reach, no matter how remote the journey.

Our main focus was to merge emotional design with safe, intuitive interaction. We wanted Luxblade to feel futuristic yet natural, combining romance with everyday usability. The goal was to eliminate the outdated socket system and replace it with a safer, magnetic docking interface, while giving users new ways to interact with light — carrying it, rotating it, dimming it with simple gestures. Ultimately, we wanted to create a lamp that balances imagination with practicality.

We envision developing Luxblade into a fully market-ready smart lighting product. Future iterations could explore stronger magnetic charging systems, broader smart home integration, and variations in scale — from desk lamps to larger architectural installations. Our aim is not only to produce Luxblade, but also to inspire a new category of lighting where interaction and emotion are at the center of design.

The core idea dates back nearly a decade. At that time, the concept was clear — a cylindrical, tangible light source — but the technology wasn’t mature enough. Over the years, as sensors, chips, and magnetic charging systems became smaller and more reliable, the design evolved. In its most recent iteration, the refinement process took several months of prototyping and debating details, but in truth, this lamp has been in the making for many years.

Luxblade was not commissioned — it was driven by inspiration. The concept emerged from a mix of childhood fascination with sci-fi, combined with frustration at how little the interface of lighting had changed. The traditional socket-bulb system is outdated and unsafe. Luxblade was born from the idea: what if light could be reimagined as an object of interaction and emotion, rather than just a source of illumination?

At this stage, Luxblade is in the development and prototyping phase. We are open to collaboration with lighting or smart home companies to bring it to mass production, but the design was developed to stand as an independent project. Whether through partnerships or independent production, our goal is to preserve the design’s integrity and unique interaction model.

Lighting is both functional and symbolic. Unlike many consumer products, light carries emotional and cultural resonance — it shapes how we feel in a space. I wanted to challenge the most basic convention: that light must come from a static fixture. Luxblade grew from the desire to reinvent not just how light looks, but how it is experienced.

Yes — the influence is a combination of cultural and design inspirations. Sci-fi, particularly Star Wars, sparked the idea of light as a tangible object. Architecturally, the base dome design was inspired by organic structures, such as the wooden dwellings of the Wookiee’s homeworld, reinterpreted in anodized aluminum. Philosophically, I was inspired by designers who talk about “capturing the soul of technology,” creating products that merge utility with emotion.

Luxblade is aimed at design-conscious users who value both innovation and emotional connection in their living spaces. This includes tech-savvy smart home adopters, design enthusiasts, and anyone drawn to the romance of futuristic objects. At the same time, because of its intuitive interface, it’s accessible to everyday users who simply want safe, elegant, and interactive lighting.

What makes Luxblade unique is its complete rethinking of the light-object relationship. It eliminates the screw socket, replacing it with a magnetic, sealed interface. It turns light into a handheld, portable object. And it layers light sources — main beam, ambient dome, and subtle ring — to create emotional depth. While many lamps emphasize form or technology, Luxblade unites safety, interaction, and storytelling into one cohesive design.

The name Luxblade combines “Lux,” meaning light, with “Blade,” a direct nod to its cylindrical, lightsaber-inspired form. The name reflects both its technical nature and its cultural resonance — it’s light you can hold, direct, and interact with like a blade of illumination.

The design process involved both digital and physical tools. We used CAD software such as Rhino and KeyShot for modeling and rendering, alongside Adobe Creative Suite for visualization. Physical prototyping was also crucial to refine the touch interface and docking system, ensuring the gestures and magnetic alignment felt intuitive in real-world use.

The most unique aspect is the way Luxblade makes light tangible. It’s not just a lamp — it’s a piece of light you can carry, turn, and interact with through intuitive gestures. This changes the emotional relationship with lighting, making it less about utility and more about ritual and experience.

The design was led by our team, but it also benefited from conversations with engineers and smart home specialists. While the core form and interaction design came from our studio, input from technical experts helped ensure that the gesture controls, magnetic docking, and component layout could be feasible with current technology.

Technology is what made Luxblade possible. Ten years ago, the chips, sensors, and magnetic charging systems were too large or expensive. Today, miniaturized capacitive touch sensors, compact power modules, and Bluetooth connectivity enable us to build a lamp that feels futuristic but practical. Still, the role of technology here is subtle — it disappears into the background, leaving the user with a simple, natural interaction.

Yes, our research included observing user behavior with traditional lamps and smart home products. We noted how many interfaces felt overcomplicated or unintuitive, requiring apps or confusing buttons. We also considered cultural references, comparing responses to sci-fi-inspired objects in the U.S. (Savannah) and the growing appetite for smart home integration in Beijing. This combination of user research and cultural analysis strongly shaped the final design.

The biggest challenge was timing. A decade ago, the idea was already alive, but the technology wasn’t ready. Waiting for components to mature, while keeping the vision intact, required patience. Another challenge was balancing the sci-fi inspiration with a refined aesthetic — ensuring it didn’t feel like a prop, but like a credible product for contemporary homes.

Submitting Luxblade to the A’ Design Award felt natural because the competition values both creativity and cultural relevance. Luxblade is not just a lamp — it’s a design statement about rethinking interaction with light. We wanted to share that vision with a global audience, and the A’ Design Award offered the perfect platform for recognition and dialogue.

This project reinforced the importance of patience and timing in design. Sometimes the concept is ready long before the technology is. I also learned the value of cultural blending — how insights from Savannah and Beijing, with their different emotional and technological contexts, could merge into a richer design. Above all, I was reminded that design is about more than solving problems — it’s about creating meaning.

Perhaps the most important point is that Luxblade is not just about the product itself — it’s about shifting how we think about lighting as a whole. By removing the old socket, by letting people hold and carry light, by layering illumination into emotional experiences, we hope Luxblade serves as a spark for future innovations. It’s both a lamp and a design philosophy: that everyday objects can still surprise us, inspire us, and bring a little bit of romance back into daily life.

NostalX draws heavily from retro aesthetics, striving to convey a nostalgic atmosphere through its form, color palette, materials, and interaction style. I wanted it to be a product that blends aesthetics with functionality—an expression of personal taste and identity. Simply put, I wanted it to be the kind of object that catches your friends' attention the moment they visit your home, making them say, “Wow, this is so cool—I want one too!”

We conducted extensive user research in the early stages of design and gathered consumer feedback after the concept was completed. The design has been well-received and highly anticipated. I sincerely hope to bring it to music lovers someday in the future.

It took about two months from concept development to building the full-scale prototype.

This project stemmed from my personal interest in music. I’m passionate about listening to music and collecting related products. Through in-depth user research and historical analysis, I identified a unique design opportunity and created NostalX.

It’s an honor to receive this award. As for production plans, we are still in the process of discussion and consideration.

My sensitivity to market trends and understanding of various interest-based communities inspired this project.

It’s hard to name one specific designer, but I’d say my work is significantly influenced by the Bauhaus design philosophy.

Music lovers with refined taste, who are willing to invest time and money in music-related collectibles and products.

While most modern electronics shift toward touchscreen interfaces, NostalX goes in the opposite direction. It emphasizes physical interaction—knobs, dials, and tactile feedback—which brings a sense of security and satisfaction in our fast-paced digital world.

As the name suggests, “NostalX” comes from “nostalgia.” The “X” hints at the diversity of its color and CMF (color, material, finish) configurations.

I primarily used Rhino for 3D modeling and KeyShot for rendering.

NostalX completely abandons digital displays and interactions, opting instead for engaging tactile and visual experiences. The interactive elements—like knobs and buttons—are seamlessly integrated into the design language, embodying both functional and aesthetic value.

I was fortunate to collaborate with teammates from FFBA who supported me during concept exploration and prototyping. I also received valuable input on circuit design from a friend with electrical engineering knowledge.

Based on initial concept sketches, we carefully redesigned the circuitry and interaction layout when creating the full-scale functional prototype. This ensured the internal components supported functionality while remaining visually harmonious with the overall form.

Yes, our design was informed by both user research and historical research. We reviewed academic papers and historical documentation, and collected qualitative data via surveys and one-on-one interviews to gain insights into user needs and market trends.

The most challenging part was building a 1:1 prototype that met both aesthetic and functional expectations. But completing it brought an immense sense of accomplishment.

As a designer, I’m eager to participate in competitions to test and improve my skills. A' Design Award is one of the most prestigious platforms in the field, which made it an ideal choice.

This project sharpened my skills in historical research and prototyping. It also broadened my design language, enabling me to work more confidently across different visual styles.

As an industrial designer, I’m excited to see the resurgence of interest in physical products driven by the retro trend. I’m honored that my design has been recognized by industry experts and appreciated by its intended audience. I hope NostalX can make its way into people’s lives in the near future.

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.

Persistence, curiosity, and courage to face criticism.

Resource constraints, cultural misunderstandings, and the tension between vision and practicality. Overcoming them required patience and adaptability.

With clarity and honesty. Show the problem, the reasoning, and the human impact—not just the final form.

I am developing new medical devices, including the ongoing Horizpec and Twispex projects, and exploring interactive lighting systems that redefine how we experience light.

My goal is to help more people and create designs that make a real dent for good. I also want more people to realize the importance of design and join the practice. The more minds and good intentions contribute, the more powerful design becomes.

They expect honesty, innovation, and responsibility—designs that are not only elegant but also trustworthy.

Design structures behavior. If done well, it makes people safer, healthier, and more considerate of each other and the planet.

Right now, I am especially excited about Horizpec. It is still in the pushing phase, but I believe it has the potential to help many people.

Projects that directly help people—like Horizpec—give me the most satisfaction. It is meaningful to see design address human comfort and safety.

I would like to see less emphasis on quick trends and more on solving real, long-term issues.

It is moving toward integration with biotechnology, AI, and sustainability. But physical, tangible design will remain essential because our bodies are physical.

From weeks for small objects to years for medical devices. The timeline depends on testing and regulations.

I start by finding the hidden problem—the “elephant in the room.” Once that is defined, the process flows.

Design with good intentions first.

Design can set trends, but great design outlives them.

Technology is an enabler, but never the goal. It should empower human experience.

Rhino, Keyshot, Adobe Creative Suite, 3D printing, and traditional prototyping tools. Photography and writing also play important roles in my process.

They are emotional and sensory bridges. Color, material, and ambience carry as much meaning as form.

I wish they would ask: “What intention lies behind it?” rather than only “What does it look like?”

I wonder: “What hidden effort, kindness, or intelligence is inside this?”

My ideal partners are doctors, engineers, and everyday users. Yes, I strongly believe in co-design.

Doctors and patients influenced me most. Their experiences shaped my healthcare-focused projects.

I am not a heavy book reader. Films shaped me more. Star Wars and Tron influenced my imagination and design inspirations.

By combining teaching with practice. Explaining ideas to students sharpened my own.

I would love to talk with Raymond Loewy. He worked across industries—from trains to pen sharpeners—and showed that industrial designers can shape nearly anything.

Awards bring visibility, but fame is not my focus. I care more about whether the design actually works for people.

Color: Navy blue.

Place: Osaka or Kyoto, Japan.

Food: A good steak, or a beautifully prepared shichimi dish.

Season: Golden autumn—cool air, warm light.

Thing: Gundam plastic models, which I enjoy building and reconstructing.

Brand: Lamborghini—though I remain critical of all big brands.

When I first told some female friends about Horizpec, they were skeptical—a big guy like me working on such a delicate tool? They laughed. But when they saw the prototype, small and precise, the reaction flipped to admiration. That dramatic contrast was both funny and rewarding.

A great day comes from learning something new—whether from people, from a mistake, or from discovery. I motivate myself by curiosity.

Not obvious. Many people around me didn’t even know what an industrial designer was. But as a child I was a “rebel creator”—when parents said cartoons or comics were a waste of time, I thought: “Then I will create something of my own.” That inner push shaped me.

In a thousand years, design will still be the driving force of progress. Digital worlds are useful, but overrated. The true challenge will be expanding the physical world—space exploration, deeper oceans, new frontiers. Design will merge digital support with physical breakthroughs.

I am open to collaborations of all kinds. I believe design is a language of empathy, and I hope my work reflects that. My philosophy is simple: start with good intentions, and design will follow.

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.

As part of our early research, we studied the evolution of music storage and playback technologies—from phonograph cylinders to lossless digital formats like WAV, and from gramophones to modern streaming platforms. The trajectory of innovation had long favored smaller, faster, and more accessible formats. Convenience was king.But in recent years, an unexpected shift has emerged: the resurgence of vinyl records. Despite being bulky, fragile, and acoustically imperfect, vinyl has regained popularity. This reversal fascinated us. It revealed that users are no longer solely prioritizing efficiency—instead, they are seeking emotional resonance and the tactile comfort that only physical objects can offer.This insight sparked a key question for our team: could a similar shift happen in music playback devices? Could we bring emotional value back to audio hardware?NostalX was born from this line of thinking. We wanted to explore how interaction itself could become part of the emotional experience. That’s why we deliberately chose to design with tactile controls—not just as a nod to the past, but as a way to invite users to slow down, reconnect, and enjoy music with intention.

The visual design of NostalX was heavily inspired by one of the most iconic music storage formats in history: the cassette tape. Its introduction marked a major shift—people could finally access high-quality music anytime, anywhere. That era also gave birth to some of the most beloved industrial designs of all time. I mean, who didn’t love the Walkman? (laughs)By incorporating instantly recognizable visual cues from that period, NostalX taps into a shared sense of nostalgia and emotional safety. At the same time, its unique interactive interface offers something fresh and unexpected. That’s the experience we aimed to create—a product that feels both familiar and exciting, grounded in memory but designed for the present.

maintaining the product's cohesive aesthetic?As industrial designers, it’s easy for us to get carried away with beautiful renderings and forget that a product only creates real value once it reaches the user's hands. In this project, the most challenging part was balancing the interface design with the hardware layout—creating a prototype that was both functional and true to the intended aesthetic.At times, it felt like a constant tug-of-war between design and engineering. We wanted a button placed in a specific position for the best user experience, but the circuit board simply wouldn’t fit. So what do you do? You negotiate, you iterate—and sometimes, you break a few components along the way (laughs).Thankfully, we had support from some great engineers during this phase. After several rounds of trial and error, the final prototype turned out to be incredibly satisfying. Everyone who has held it in their hands asks the same question: “When can I buy one?”

This part of the project was particularly challenging. We spent a significant amount of time calculating the relationship between the rotation angles of the knobs and the corresponding movement on the dashboard display. Using CAD software, we simulated the motion and fabricated test parts using laser cutting and 3D printing to validate the mechanism.Although we encountered some issues during the final assembly—something that’s almost inevitable in physical prototyping—the result turned out very well. The mechanical response was smooth, accurate, and visually satisfying. Seeing the components move in harmony after so much iteration was incredibly rewarding.

As industrial designers, we’ve always been fascinated by CMF design. Different materials evoke different emotional responses, and we believe that a product’s surface treatment can communicate just as much as its form.During the research phase, we curated a mood board of vintage products to guide the material direction. We also explored a wide range of possibilities through rendering experiments, visualizing how various textures, colors, and finishes could shape the personality of the speaker. While time constraints meant we could only prototype one CMF variation with high feasibility, the renderings allowed us to communicate a broader vision for the product line.One detail we especially enjoyed was naming each CMF direction after a famous music genre—like “House,” “Synthwave,” or “Rock & Roll.” It added a layer of narrative and made it easier for music lovers to choose a version of NostalX that reflected their personal taste and style. After all, music and design are both deeply emotional, and we wanted NostalX to celebrate that connection.

In a world where everything is optimized for speed and convenience, we’ve observed a growing counter-movement among consumers—especially in the realm of music. People aren’t just looking to play music quickly; they’re seeking moments of pause, presence, and personal connection. They miss the ritual.NostalX was our response to that shift. We wanted to bring back the small but meaningful physical gestures that once made listening to music a richer experience—turning a knob, pressing a button, waiting for the sound to warm up. These actions may seem minor, but they invite users to slow down and engage more deeply. They create a rhythm between the person and the product.

Savannah, Georgia is a city known for its slow pace, rich history, and unmistakable Southern charm. Living and designing there—far from the fast-paced energy of tech-driven cities—naturally inspired us to infuse more warmth and emotional depth into our work.One of the most vibrant cultural moments in Savannah is the annual Jazz Festival, which fills the streets with music and celebration. Even on ordinary nights, you can walk into a karaoke bar and be surprised by an incredible live performance. In fact, some of the CMF directions for NostalX were directly inspired by those experiences—the colors, the textures, the mood of music echoing through the city.

The emotional power of music doesn’t come solely from portability, affordability, or even sound quality. The resurgence of vinyl has already proven that. We believe the future of audio device design will move beyond minimalism and pure functionality. As consumers become more emotionally attuned and design-literate, they are seeking products that offer not just convenience, but also character, texture, and a sense of connection.With NostalX, we explored how physical interaction, rich sensory engagement, and emotional storytelling can coexist with modern technology. We hope this approach inspires future designers to rethink what “innovation” truly means—not just smarter features or slimmer forms, but deeper, more meaningful, and memorable experiences.

We believe what resonated most with the jury was NostalX’s ability to bridge modern technology with a deeply human, emotionally rich user experience. Rather than treating innovation as a pursuit of more features or digital complexity, we focused on redefining how people feel when they interact with an audio device. From the tactile controls to the nostalgic form language and curated material choices, every detail was designed to evoke memory, warmth, and presence.We think the jury recognized that innovation doesn’t always mean futuristic aesthetics or cutting-edge tech. Sometimes, true innovation lies in reintroducing forgotten values—slowness, tangibility, and emotional connection—back into everyday experiences. That’s the kind of user-centered design we strive to create.

Portability was not just a design preference for Aquaventure Outdoor Woundcare—it was a fundamental requirement from day one. We envisioned a product for explorers, motorcyclists, field researchers, and emergency responders who are constantly on the move, often carrying only what’s absolutely essential. The final dimensions (63mm x 64mm x 216mm) reflect a careful balance between functionality and discretion: compact enough to slide into a side bag or cargo pants pocket, but substantial enough to perform as a reliable wound-care device.Rather than being designed to hang on the outside of a backpack or clip to a belt—where it would be exposed to dirt, dust, and impact—the product is meant to travel inside a bag. Despite its rugged design, Aquaventure is still a medical product, and we wanted to ensure that users could maintain a basic level of hygiene simply by keeping it isolated from the elements. This discreet carry model aligns with the real-life habits of outdoor users, who often rely on inner compartments, dry sacks, or padded pouches to protect critical tools.Internally, the compactness presented an engineering puzzle. We needed to house the electrolysis system, a water chamber, filtration components, and the dispensing mechanism—all in a form that’s as intuitive to hold as a flashlight but far more specialized. Vertical stacking and spatial efficiency were key. Every internal millimeter was optimized to reduce bulk while still offering meaningful utility. Special attention was given to surface finish and proportions so that it feels ergonomic even when accessed quickly in unpredictable conditions.In short, the efficient form factor of Aquaventure was shaped by real user behavior: it had to be easy to carry, quick to locate, and clean to deploy. Instead of demanding that users change their routines, we created something that fits into them—without compromise.

The insights we gained from interviewing motorcycle riders, campers, and first responders played a crucial role in shaping the functionality, scale, and usability of Aquaventure Outdoor Woundcare. These groups represent very different outdoor experiences—some focused on speed and endurance, others on long-term self-reliance, and others on fast, high-stakes decision-making in emergencies. Yet they all shared a common frustration: the lack of a compact, reliable, and self-sufficient way to manage hygiene or wound care in unpredictable environments.Motorcycle riders, for example, often have extremely limited space and weight tolerance for gear. They emphasized that anything larger than a water bottle—or anything fragile—would likely be left behind. This pushed us to prioritize a compact form that could slide into a saddlebag or a cargo pocket without demanding special handling. They also helped us understand the importance of quick usability: one hand on the device, one hand on the situation. That influenced our thinking around grip geometry and nozzle activation.Campers and backcountry users, on the other hand, stressed the unpredictability of water access. Their input made it clear that the device couldn’t rely on pre-filled liquid cartridges or factory-prepped consumables. That directly influenced the decision to use silver ion filtering to pre-clean user-supplied water and convert it into a sterilizing solution on demand. This gave Aquaventure a broader use case: it didn’t just store liquid—it created it from whatever was available.First responders added yet another layer. Their focus was on intuitive operation under stress—the device needed to be simple enough to use without instruction, even by someone with no medical training. Their feedback helped shape the product’s minimal interface and visual clarity, as well as reinforced our idea that the device should require no special storage or setup. It had to work right out of the bag.Ultimately, these conversations shifted the project from being just a “clever gadget” to something more holistic: a field-resilient medical tool shaped by real-world habits, limitations, and behaviors. Without the diversity of these user perspectives, the Aquaventure design would never have achieved its uniquely adaptable and functional form.

Yes, the dual-mode delivery system in Aquaventure Outdoor Woundcare—offering both a focused stream and a broad spray—was a highly intentional design decision driven by real-world use scenarios. Through our interviews with outdoor users, especially motorcyclists, campers, and emergency responders, we realized that wounds encountered in the wild are rarely predictable. Sometimes you’re dealing with a small abrasion that just needs quick disinfection. Other times, it’s a deeper cut contaminated with dust, mud, or even wood splinters that must be flushed out before any further care can be applied. These are not ideal clinical situations—these are messy, urgent, and often far from help.We understood that in outdoor and emergency environments, every drop of liquid counts. Users won’t have access to unlimited clean water, so rather than increase the volume, we focused on increasing the efficiency and adaptability of how that liquid could be used. The focused stream mode is ideal for targeted cleaning—delivering enough pressure to dislodge debris from a specific area. The broad spray mode, on the other hand, gently covers larger surface wounds, or can be used to pre-clean surrounding skin before dressing. Both modes are accessible through a simple, intuitive adjustment, requiring no complex settings.This flexibility in delivery is also a natural extension of our user-first design philosophy: rather than ask the user to carry different tools or make decisions under pressure, we designed one tool that adapts to their situation. It's the same logic behind our use of silver ion pre-filtration and hydrogen peroxide generation from any usable water source—we’re enabling resourceful medical care using minimal gear. The spray system, like the rest of Aquaventure, reflects our goal: empower users with simple, intelligent solutions when conditions are anything but.

While we cannot disclose the exact technical processes behind the hydrogen peroxide regulation system due to confidentiality agreements with our technology partner, we can confidently say that this component forms the heart of Aquaventure Outdoor Woundcare. The precision and reliability of the hydrogen peroxide output are entirely thanks to the incredible work of the company that developed and supplied this advanced electrochemical system. They brought deep expertise and rigorous quality control to the table—ensuring the liquid produced meets safety thresholds suitable for wound care use, especially in unpredictable outdoor settings.Our role, as the product design team, was to translate this reliable backend technology into a form that people could actually use—simply, intuitively, and confidently. We focused on how to house this tech in a compact, portable, and ergonomic format, and how to create an experience that doesn’t overwhelm or confuse the user. We wanted to explore how great technology, when embedded in thoughtful design, could become invisible—seamlessly integrated into people’s daily lives or emergency kits, without requiring them to understand the science behind it.This collaboration represents what we believe is the future of design: finding trustworthy, cutting-edge technology and building bridges between it and real human needs. Aquaventure is not just about disinfection—it’s about making advanced capabilities accessible, mobile, and meaningful for everyone from outdoor adventurers to first responders. We’re proud to be part of a larger ecosystem that’s asking, "How can innovation be more human?"

The choice of black aluminum alloy for the casing and dark orange transparent PVC for the fluid chamber of Aquaventure Outdoor Woundcare was absolutely intentional and carefully considered—not only from a technical standpoint but also from a visual and emotional perspective. We wanted to break away from the traditional, almost clinical design language often found in healthcare or emergency products—white, red, sterile. Instead, we asked: Why can’t essential gear also reflect identity, energy, and style?Black, in this case, communicates a sense of rugged confidence and seriousness. It visually aligns with outdoor gear and motorcycles—both of which have aesthetics deeply rooted in performance and personal expression. The aluminum alloy gives the casing structural integrity and resilience against shocks, drops, and rough handling, while the anodized matte black finish resists scratches and blends seamlessly into the outdoor environment without looking overly tactical or aggressive.On the other hand, we knew visibility was still key—especially in low-light or chaotic conditions. That’s where the dark orange transparent PVC comes in. It not only adds a high-contrast visual pop that improves findability in a crowded bag or natural environment, but it also serves a functional purpose. The water tank needed to be shielded from direct sunlight to avoid UV degradation or heating, which could alter the chemical stability of the liquid. The orange tint acts as a filter, reducing light penetration while still allowing users to monitor the fluid level at a glance.There’s also an emotional layer. Just like how sports motorcycles and performance gear use color and form to evoke energy, Aquaventure was designed to retain that sense of excitement and empowerment—even in moments of injury or stress. We didn’t want the product to feel sterile or depressing. We wanted users to feel like they were holding something purposeful, powerful, and personal—something they’d be proud to carry, even if they never need to use it.

The growing need for reliable medical care solutions in remote or off-grid locations can only be meaningfully addressed when products become portable, affordable, and self-sufficient. That was our guiding vision for Aquaventure Outdoor Woundcare. While the product is still in its pre-commercial stage, its compact form factor—just 63mm x 64mm x 216mm—was carefully designed with the long-term goal of mass accessibility in mind. It’s small enough to fit into a backpack, side pouch, or emergency kit, but powerful enough to generate medical-grade wound disinfectant from virtually any water source.One of the key design decisions supporting this vision is the integration of a universal battery system. While Aquaventure includes a pre-charged, legally compliant rechargeable battery, we designed the casing to also accommodate standard AA batteries, which are globally available—even in rural stores or remote outposts. This allows users to stay operational in situations where power outlets or charging devices are unavailable. By simply packing a few extra AA batteries, users can ensure continued function, adding another layer of reliability and independence to the product’s use in the field.When we think about how innovation reaches remote communities, we look to past revolutions in accessibility. The early days of computing were limited to large, immobile machines—then laptops made them personal. And now, smartphones—compact, multifunctional, and relatively affordable—are ubiquitous even in the most rural villages and mountainous regions around the world. Why? Because they’re tangible, concentrated, and designed to do more with less. That’s the trajectory we imagine for Aquaventure as well.Its form factor isn’t just about convenience—it’s a deliberate strategy for distribution. When the device becomes easier to carry, easier to power, and potentially affordable through scaled manufacturing, it becomes viable for field medics, aid workers, rural clinics, and even individual households far from centralized care. And because it doesn’t rely on factory-filled cartridges or complex supply chains—just clean water, an internal generator, and a universal battery system—it can operate independently in places where infrastructure is minimal or nonexistent.Ultimately, we believe Aquaventure represents more than just a piece of camping gear or outdoor equipment—it’s a step toward democratizing wound care through design, enabling basic medical hygiene to reach further, travel lighter, and respond faster when it matters most.

When we first began developing Aquaventure Outdoor Woundcare, the biggest challenge wasn’t in purifying water itself—it was in realizing why we needed to.At the early stage of design, we assumed that users in most outdoor environments—hikers, campers, emergency responders—would likely have access to what appeared to be clean water. But the more we researched and tested, the more we recognized a hard truth: visually clean water doesn’t always mean safe water. It may contain bacteria, biological contaminants, or other unseen hazards that make it unusable for medical purposes. That realization fundamentally changed our design trajectory.Instead of assuming access to safe water, we made a key shift: what if we could make water safe—on demand, at the point of use?That was the idea behind integrating a first-stage purification system into the device. Before the electrochemical sterilization even begins, the water first passes through a purification step that reduces biological and particulate contaminants. This step transforms uncertain water sources—streams, lakes, even tap water of questionable quality—into something safe enough to serve as the base for a wound care treatment.It wasn’t about solving a technical problem from the start—it was about confronting a real-world condition we initially underestimated. And the answer wasn’t just about adding a filter—it was about creating a self-contained ecosystem inside the device, one that could confidently handle water from unpredictable sources.In essence, the purification system became not just a helpful feature, but a necessary foundation—the starting point for every healing function that follows.

Looking ahead, I see the Aquaventure Outdoor Woundcare system as more than just a single-use product—it’s a platform that hints at how future emergency medical tools can evolve.On the technology side, sure—improvements will come. We can expect faster liquid generation, more powerful electrochemical reactions, perhaps even smarter control over dosage and sterilization strength. But honestly, those are the kinds of refinements our technology partners are better suited to address.What excites me more is the conceptual direction—this idea that a compact device can transform raw, readily available resources—like water—into immediate, usable medical solutions on-site, without requiring centralized infrastructure or pre-assembled medical supplies.That’s powerful.It's similar to how a portable power generator turns fuel into electricity where it’s needed. Aquaventure is doing the same—turning a basic input (water) into a highly specific output (sterilization liquid), wherever and whenever it's needed. That idea could open the door for a whole ecosystem of field-ready medical generators: devices that don’t store pre-made products but create what’s needed on the spot.In disaster zones, conflict areas, or extremely remote regions where transportation is limited, the ability to generate critical medical treatments on demand—without the need for cold chains or bulky supplies—could radically change the game. It’s not just about AquaVenture; it’s about what this approach could inspire.If this product sparks new thinking around portable, resource-based medical care, I believe it’s already made a meaningful contribution to the future of humanitarian aid and emergency health support.

From a design education perspective, I think one of the most valuable lessons from Aquaventure Outdoor Woundcare—and really, from most of our work—is that great design always starts with being honest.Yes, we often categorize products into very different worlds: medical devices, cameras, farm equipment, sports gear, consumer electronics. But at the core, the design mindset shouldn’t change too much. Whether you’re working on a life-saving device or a lifestyle product, the real challenge is to stay grounded in the reality of your users and their environments.We like to joke in the studio—“just keep it real.” And that’s actually the serious part. That means:• Confronting the reality of the application scenario—not the idealized one, but the messy, unpredictable, sometimes chaotic environments your product will face.• Understanding human needs, not just on a functional level but also on an emotional one.In Aquaventure, we designed for motorcycle riders, campers, and first responders. People sometimes assume these groups are purely practical—but no, they’re humans first. They take risks, chase excitement, live with purpose. They want their gear to be functional, but also to reflect their identity. Even first responders—some of the most serious professionals out there—still want tools that feel empowering, sharp, reliable, maybe even a little heroic.That’s why we didn’t separate functionality and emotion. We worked hard to blend performance and style, to make the product not only useful in a crisis but also cool enough to feel proud of. Because yes—motorcyclists want to look cool. First responders are badass. Even in a medical device, that sense of confidence matters.So if I were speaking to aspiring designers, I’d say:• Don’t romanticize the “medical” part and forget the “design” part.• Don’t reduce users to their roles—respect their humanity.• Don’t aim for beauty alone—but never settle for function without soul.Your job is to create harmonious solutions that meet both real-world needs and emotional expectations. That’s the balance we tried to strike with Aquaventure, and that’s the lesson I hope young designers take forward: be honest, stay real—and design like it matters.

The development of the titanium nozzle and its three cleaning modes was the result of an iterative design process—full of debates, testing, and user scenario evaluations. Traditionally, water flossers were primarily designed to clean between teeth. But we wanted to go beyond that—to reimagine water-based oral care as a complete solution for full-mouth hygiene.So we stepped back and asked: how does effective cleaning actually happen in the mouth? Brushing works because it physically contacts plaque and debris. So we knew our water streams had to replicate that same level of contact and force—but using only water.That led us to develop three distinct stream modes:1. A narrow, high-pressure stream for precise cleaning between teeth.2. A wide-angle spray to sweep across larger surfaces like the gumline or cheeks.3. A 360-degree mist or rotating spray for general rinsing and refreshing.By allowing users to switch between these modes, the device provides a tailored and more complete oral care experience—replacing not just the floss, but potentially the brush and even toothpaste. With the hydrogen peroxide-enhanced water as the cleaning medium, users can achieve a high level of hygiene with minimal consumables. The nozzle’s titanium construction also ensures durability, safety, and excellent bacterial resistance.In short, the nozzle isn’t just a delivery mechanism—it’s a multifunctional tool that redefines how we clean our mouths.

Absolutely—sustainability was a core principle from the very beginning of AquaClean’s design. We asked ourselves a simple but powerful question: What if one tool could take care of the entire oral hygiene routine?In today’s typical oral care regimen, you need multiple products: a toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, floss, and often a water flosser. Most of these come in separate plastic containers, involve complex chemical production, and are meant to be replaced frequently—creating significant plastic waste and resource consumption.With AquaClean, we aimed to consolidate all of that into a single, reusable device. Thanks to the breakthrough technology from our partners—specifically the integrated hydrogen peroxide generator—we were able to transform regular water into a safe, antibacterial cleaning medium. That meant no need for toothpaste or mouthwash. By adjusting water pressure and flow direction through our titanium nozzle, users can clean every part of the mouth: teeth, gums, tongue, and cheeks, with just water.Environmentally, this is a major step forward. Not only does it drastically reduce plastic packaging waste, but the hydrogen peroxide generated (H₂O₂) breaks down naturally into water and oxygen—leaving no harmful residue behind.At first, even we wondered if it was too good to be true. But through design, testing, and collaboration, we realized it was entirely achievable: a product that delivers professional-grade oral care while dramatically reducing environmental impact.

The dual-slider control system actually emerged from both user behavior observation and feedback from dental professionals. One key insight was that most dental tools—especially those used by professionals—are designed for one-handed operation. Whether it's in clinical settings or at home, users typically need their other hand free to hold a mirror, adjust lighting, or manage other tools. So, enabling full control with just one hand became a top priority.We realized that with one-handed use, only one finger is truly available to make adjustments while the rest naturally grips the device. To support this, we placed two intuitive sliders—one on each side of the device—allowing users to control different functions using separate fingers without having to shift their grip.This arrangement minimizes accidental activation or mode switching. It's a kind of built-in foolproofing that makes the interface more intuitive and responsive. By separating functions across both sides, we enhance precision and comfort without sacrificing usability. This dual-control design reflects our commitment to ergonomic efficiency, ease of use, and real-world practicality in both professional and consumer contexts.

Interestingly, we didn’t face major technical obstacles in the traditional sense, thanks to the strength of our collaboration with our technology partners. They had already developed a remarkable hydrogen peroxide generator, and the core technology was mature and stable when we began the design process.What we did face was more of a design integration challenge. Their original model was closer to a standard water flosser—compact and streamlined, but not built for comprehensive oral care. To support the broader functionality we envisioned—replacing toothbrushes, toothpaste, mouthwash, and traditional water flossers—we actually decided to increase the casing size slightly.At first glance, expanding the size might seem counterintuitive, but it gave us a valuable opportunity. Rather than struggling to compress everything into a tighter space, we were able to design a form that felt stable, ergonomic, and practical, while still compact enough for everyday use. This slight increase in size allowed us to incorporate multiple features—including the hydrogen peroxide generation system, the water pump, the titanium nozzle, and internal storage—without compromising the user experience.Ultimately, this became a sort of "happy design rebound"—we gained more space to work with while still delivering a product that feels like a single, compact tool, and yet has the power and functionality to replace four or more traditional oral care products.

Yes, the ergonomic design of AquaClean was definitely a carefully considered aspect — though in many ways, it evolved in a counterintuitive direction. Rather than starting from scratch, we studied how other everyday tools — including oral care products — fit into the human hand and how users naturally bring those tools toward the face.We tested a wide range of form factors and dimensions, always keeping in mind the diverse range of users — from adults to older children who are just beginning to manage their own oral care. What we found was that a longer, slimmer design was more universally ergonomic than a shorter, wider one. It allows the product to sit comfortably in a range of hand sizes and offers better control, especially when reaching around the mouth.Children, in particular, were an interesting benchmark. We thought: If a child can hold and operate this device confidently, then most adults will be able to do so even more easily. That led us to shift the proportions — favoring length over width — which not only made it easier to hold, but also ensured that smaller fingers could reach the dual-slider controls without strain.We also designed the sliders to minimize the need for manual adjustments to the nozzle or grip. With just one hand, users of various ages and dexterities can easily adjust the water pressure or mode — making it more inclusive and intuitive.Through prototype testing, these decisions proved effective, and the form factor naturally settled into a shape that balances ergonomics, functionality, and adaptability across age groups.

First of all, it's a true honor to have received the Bronze A' Design Award — it validates not only the innovation behind AquaClean but also the direction we believe oral care should be heading. With this recognition, we hope to reach a broader audience — people who care about their oral health, their environment, or simply want a more convenient and effective daily routine.Thanks to opportunities like this interview, we can finally share the story behind AquaClean — how it's designed to consolidate multiple tools into one sustainable, intuitive device. Instead of buying and disposing of separate plastic toothbrushes, toothpaste tubes, mouthwash bottles, and floss containers, users now have one product that works with just water — and a bit of smart chemistry — to deliver professional-grade cleaning.We believe this could be a turning point — not just for users at home, but for the oral care industry as a whole. AquaClean offers a glimpse into a more sustainable, user-friendly, and low-waste future. If we can inspire even a small shift in how people think about daily hygiene — prioritizing both personal and planetary health — then we’ve already made a meaningful impact.

Absolutely — this international collaboration is one of our greatest strengths, and something that truly sets our design collective apart. Our team spans Beijing, London, and Huzhou, and our research even reached into user behaviors in the United States. This global perspective allowed us to cross-reference a wide range of consumer habits, design preferences, and oral care routines across cultures and demographics.Interestingly, we found that despite all the cultural differences, oral care — and the human mouth — is surprisingly universal. Regardless of where you're from, what you believe, or how your routine is shaped, everyone has the same fundamental need to care for their mouth. The differences often lie in the habits, product access, or preferred tools, not in the underlying goal.This realization helped us focus on designing for simplicity, accessibility, and adaptability. When one market offers a more streamlined behavior or tool, we ask: how can that be made even more efficient or intuitive for a broader audience? From there, we explore how technology and smart design can bring that idea to life.Our team thrives on this cross-cultural dialogue — and even on the occasional conflict. We see those friction points not as roadblocks, but as opportunities to uncover fresh insights. Every debate is a chance to refine our thinking, and it’s in those conversations that the real design breakthroughs happen.In short, the international nature of our team didn’t just influence the final design — it shaped its very core.

he technology behind our hydrogen peroxide generation system is already quite advanced, and I believe it will continue to evolve naturally as the field progresses. However, what’s particularly exciting is how our design supports and amplifies the potential of that technology.For example, we've designed the system to function as a quick and portable generator — one that doesn’t require any additional supply materials or cartridges. All users need is water. That simplicity reduces barriers to regular use and encourages a more frequent and consistent oral hygiene routine.And that’s where the antibacterial potential really comes into play. More frequent cleaning means fewer opportunities for bacteria to accumulate, which could lead to healthier gums, fresher breath, and even reduce the risk of oral infections or transmissible diseases.So in the future, as the hydrogen peroxide generation system improves in precision and efficiency, we believe the real impact will come from how seamlessly it fits into everyday life. It’s about making better hygiene effortless — and even invisible. Small changes like these can lead to a significant improvement in overall oral health.And let’s be honest — there's absolutely nothing wrong with having a cleaner mouth and fresher breath. In fact, we think it's something worth celebrating.

One of the earliest pieces of feedback — and perhaps the most surprising — was skepticism about whether water, even enhanced with our hydrogen peroxide generation, could be powerful enough to replace traditional brushing. Some professionals questioned if it could match the mechanical cleaning effectiveness of a toothbrush, especially given how ingrained those routines are in dental culture.At first, it felt like a major obstacle. But looking back, that resistance was actually a necessary challenge. Many innovative designs face this kind of doubt early on — the belief that “it can’t be done” simply because it hasn't been done yet.Instead of backing down, we used that feedback as fuel. We asked: What if we let the physics guide us rather than traditional thinking? And that mindset gave us the freedom to explore a new kind of oral care — one that’s not only effective but more convenient, sustainable, and accessible.Of course, we still respect expert input. But innovation often requires pushing past established norms, even professional skepticism. For future iterations, this feedback motivates us to further validate our technology with data, improve the pressure calibration, and fine-tune the nozzle design to meet both consumer comfort and clinical performance standards.Ultimately, that early challenge didn’t stop us — it sharpened our focus. It reminded us that meaningful innovation often begins by questioning the most accepted assumptions.

Absolutely. From the very beginning of designing Luxblade, we knew the main light source would be something special — not just static, but carried by the user. It’s meant to go with you, almost like holding a piece of light. But that naturally raised a practical question: what happens to the space you leave behind when you take the light with you?That’s where the idea of layered illumination came in. If you're moving through a dark room late at night, you don’t necessarily want the full intensity of a primary light, but you still want some subtle visibility — something calm and atmospheric. So, we designed the base of the lamp — the foundation dome — to gently glow after the main light is lifted. It’s a kind of visual placeholder, but also a poetic gesture, like leaving a trace of light in your path.The light ring adds another dimension — it softens the emotional tone of the space, functioning like ambient backlighting, almost like the quiet breath of the lamp when it’s idle.The inspiration for this multi-layered structure actually came from a mix of science fiction and real-world spatial design. One whimsical influence was the architecture of the Wookiee homes in Star Wars — elevated, warm, organic environments where light seems to live and breathe within the structure. That idea of space as a living companion really resonated with us.So ultimately, this multi-source approach isn’t just about lighting function — it’s about storytelling, comfort, and a small emotional ritual. Light becomes a layered experience: dynamic, emotional, and quietly intelligent.

Honestly, I think this is one of those cases where timing played a bigger role than brute force problem-solving. The original idea behind Luxblade actually dates back almost a decade. We had the vision — the form, the interaction, even the feeling of holding light like a lightsaber. But back then, the technology just wasn't there. The control chips were too bulky, the sensors weren’t responsive or refined enough, and smart home integration was far from seamless.So I wouldn’t say we "overcame" the technical challenges in a traditional sense. Rather, it was about patiently waiting — watching as the technology around us matured. Over the years, mass production of tiny components like capacitive touch sensors, compact logic boards, and reliable Bluetooth modules became much more accessible and affordable. At some point, we looked around and realized: hey, maybe the time is finally right.That’s when the Luxblade really came to life — not because the dream changed, but because the world finally caught up. So in a way, it was less about hacking the limitations and more about designing with the future in mind, then meeting it when it arrived.

Honestly, the core inspiration goes all the way back to childhood — to that unforgettable first moment seeing a lightsaber in Star Wars. There was something magical about the idea of holding light, about touching this beam of energy that wasn't just illumination — it was power, symbolism, elegance. As kids, we joked that a lightsaber was just a Jedi holding a glowing tube, maybe even a fluorescent lightbulb. That joke stuck with us for years.But behind the joke was a deep emotional hook — the dream of light becoming tangible, personal, almost alive. That idea stayed with us. And when we finally reached a point where the technology made it possible, we saw a real opportunity to bring that fantasy into everyday life.From an emotional design perspective, that’s what Luxblade is really about. It’s not just about illumination — it’s about interaction, about the relationship between the user and light. Being able to pick up the light, to walk with it, carry it like an artifact or a companion — that’s what makes it meaningful. It becomes more than a product. It becomes a gesture, a feeling, a ritual.So yes — it started as a joke, but it grew into something deeply romantic and symbolic. And in the end, that's the kind of emotional connection we always hope to design for.

Yes, of course. When we designed the Luxblade's interface, our goal was to make interacting with light feel as intuitive and effortless as possible — something that doesn’t require instruction.The touchpad works in a very straightforward way. You touch it once to turn the light on, and simply touch it again to turn it off. Then we introduced a circular motion on the same pad to adjust the direction of the light. Since the Luxblade is cylindrical and provides 360-degree lighting, it made perfect sense — you rotate your finger in a circle to rotate the beam around the cylinder. It just clicks in your mind, like turning a dial.Now, that leaves one more intuitive gesture: a swipe across the flat surface. But instead of a typical up-and-down swipe, this one works directionally — swipe toward the far end to increase brightness, and toward yourself to dim it down. It all happens on a single surface and feels like a direct, tactile conversation with the light.We weren’t trying to overload users with functions. We just wanted the lamp to feel like it responds to your instincts — touch, rotate, swipe. That’s it. Light should be simple, and with Luxblade, we designed it to behave like second nature.

Sure — the moment we decided that the main light source of the Luxblade would be detachable and portable, we realized something critical: when users take the light away, they might be leaving the room in total darkness. Or, perhaps even more likely, they might turn the light off while still holding it — and suddenly they’re in the dark with no sense of direction. That’s when the idea of a guiding light became essential.We believe good design should always provide feedback. When you interact with a product — especially one involving light — it should respond clearly and intuitively. So, when the main light is removed, the base softly illuminates to signal both its presence and the place where the light belongs. It’s like a quiet gesture from the product saying, “This is the way back.”As for the charging system, we chose a magnetic docking solution — something people today might call “Mag-Safe,” though we think of it simply as magnetic guidance. This technology has become quite mature and reliable. But more importantly, it gives users a physical cue when placing the light back. There’s no need for a screw or socket; the magnetic pull naturally aligns the device into place. Again, it’s all about feedback — a gentle snap that confirms: “Yes, you did it right.”So in both the guiding light and the docking mechanism, we focused on reducing friction in user interaction. The system doesn't just charge — it communicates.

Well, for this project, the Savannah and Beijing connection is actually very personal — because I was in both places during different stages of the design process. Of course, we had team members in both cities as well, but in many ways, the cross-cultural influence came from living and designing in both environments myself.In Savannah, I was deeply immersed in the atmosphere — a slower pace, a strong sense of storytelling, and a romanticized view of objects and experiences. That’s where the core inspiration — this idea of holding light — really started to feel magical. In the U.S., and especially in places like Savannah, there’s a cultural familiarity with Star Wars. The lightsaber is not just a sci-fi weapon — it's a cultural symbol, almost poetic. People connect with the idea of light as something personal, emotional, even heroic.Then, back in Beijing, the conversation shifts. The design culture is fast, responsive, and heavily focused on smart home integration. There’s a real appetite for innovation, connectivity, and practicality — things like Wi-Fi control, gesture recognition, and smart charging aren't just features; they're expectations.So Luxblade became a fusion of both worlds — the emotional storytelling and sci-fi romance from Savannah, and the technological momentum and precision of Beijing. I like to think of it as a cultural blender. And in many ways, that fusion reflects how we live today — emotionally connected, technologically enabled. That mix has influenced not just this lamp, but much of my work.

Right — so, as I mentioned earlier, the inspiration for the foundation dome comes from the wooden ceiling structures in the Wookiee’s homeworld — that kind of architectural softness and sense of shelter. But instead of choosing wood, we decided to go with metal, specifically anodized aluminum. Why? Because we wanted something that feels like a stable home base — grounded, reliable, and clean — both literally and metaphorically.Aluminum gives us that. It’s lightweight but solid, easy to clean, and naturally elegant. Think about a finely crafted timepiece — metal always carries a kind of allure, a timeless attraction. That material quality adds a certain weight and seriousness to the base, grounding the lamp as a physical object.Now, in contrast, the main light unit is made from white acrylic — because acrylic allows us to diffuse light evenly in 360 degrees. The goal was to create a beam of light you can actually hold. It’s not just a shell — it’s part of the experience. The light becomes tangible.So when you put the two together — the metal dome below and the glowing acrylic cylinder above — it creates a balance. The base provides soft ambient lighting and architectural support, while the main cylinder becomes this emotional, almost sci-fi-like centerpiece. Metaphorically, it's like energy rising from the earth into a beam you can grab — a romantic rebirth of form and function. The combination reflects our goal: to design something beautiful, grounded, and quietly powerful.

Yes — that’s a really interesting question, because while we love the final form of the Luxblade, we also believe it represents a starting point for something bigger. This project gave us a glimpse into what lighting could be if we reimagined the very foundation — how we interact with light not just digitally, but physically.Traditionally, most lighting products — even so-called smart bulbs — still rely on the same old screw-based sockets. That open, exposed interface comes with a set of risks. It’s unsafe around children, it's fragile, and it's definitely not waterproof. So with Luxblade, we asked: what if we could eliminate that outdated socket entirely?The magnetic charging base we developed shows one potential answer. It’s sealed, intuitive, and safe. If the magnets and charging systems become strong and efficient enough, there’s no reason a light source has to conform to the shape of a bulb anymore. Light could take on any form — sculptural, minimal, soft, modular — and still connect powerfully and safely via a magnetic, sealed interface.That changes everything. It opens the door to lighting designs that are safer, more expressive, and more adaptive to our environments. And it makes light interaction something you feel, not just something you switch on. We think that shift — toward touchable, holdable, form-independent light — is going to define the next generation of smart lighting.

First of all, it was truly an honor to have Luxblade recognized by the A’ Design Award. This idea actually began over a decade ago, but only recently has the technology — and perhaps the cultural timing — aligned to make it feel real and achievable.I believe what resonated most with the jury was the core concept: turning something as intangible as light into a tangible, interactive experience. We’re not just designing a lamp — we’re designing a moment where someone holds light in their hand. That poetic transition — from intangible to tactile — touches a very human, emotional nerve. It's more than just utility; it’s about meaning.Of course, Star Wars played a part in shaping that dream, but it also draws on deeper, more philosophical roots. I remember being inspired by an old hard drive design that had this beautiful organic blade form. There was a description saying it felt like "capturing the soul of technology." That stuck with me — the idea of distilling something powerful, almost untouchable, into a form you can actually hold. Luxblade carries that same spirit.And I think the jury saw that. Design, even when rooted in engineering and standards, is still ultimately a human practice. It’s about emotion, culture, and story. The romance of holding light, the merging of sci-fi and daily life, the fusion of cultural aesthetics — these are all parts of the design that speak beyond logic.At the end of the day, cool ideas resonate with people who feel deeply. And I think the Luxblade struck that emotional chord with the jury — not just as a product, but as a cultural and design gesture.