A letter, on how I design

Hi. If you’ve landed here, you’ve probably seen my work. This page is about the thinking underneath it.

I believe good design replaces uncertainty with confidence.

Every product asks people to make decisions. Some are as small as what to tap next. Some carry real weight: sharing your bank data, trusting a glucose reading, believing an error message at the worst possible moment. My job is to make those decisions feel clear and safe, by putting the right information in front of someone at the right moment, so the next step feels obvious.

And obvious doesn’t mean familiar. Sometimes the best interface introduces a pattern nobody has seen before. What matters is how it feels after the first use. If someone walks away thinking “of course, that makes sense,” the design worked. Good design doesn’t remove thinking. It removes unnecessary thinking.

Most of what I’ve built sits between a screen and the real world: a sensor on someone’s arm, a support team on the phone, a coach’s nightly check-in. A beautiful interface fails if it ignores how things actually work outside it. So I try to understand how people behave before I design for their attention.

Which is why I lean on evidence over assumption. I look for where people pause, hesitate, or quietly leave, and then I go find out why: in the data, in the reviews, in conversations with the people closest to the problem. More often than not, the answer already exists with someone, a support agent, a coach, a salesperson. My work is listening well enough to find it, and then building it into the product.

I studied engineering before design, and it shows. Anyone can build a bridge that stands if you hand them unlimited steel and an unlimited budget. The craft is building one that is safe and lasting using only what’s necessary. I hold products to the same bar. Every interaction should earn its place. Every layer of complexity should exist because it helps someone, not because it can.

I also don’t treat beauty and clarity as rivals. Thoughtful visuals, honest motion, patterns that echo the real world: these are how a product becomes recognisable, then memorable, then trusted. Familiarity is built one small consistent moment at a time.

In the end, I’m not trying to demand attention. I’m trying to quietly earn trust. If someone moves through what I’ve made feeling relieved instead of overwhelmed, and remembers it after they’ve left, that’s the whole job.

Thanks for reading this far.