Commonwealth Bank of Australia was interested in helping customers and businesses build close connections. They believed the way to do this would be by creating richer interactions around different forms of payment. The bank approached IDEO to explore these opportunities, and the result is a new retail business platform—Pi—and a portable payment device—Albert.

Pi brings a new level of flexibility, functionality, and customization to the face-to-face interaction between a cashier and a customer, improving everything from the process of splitting the bill in a restaurant to helping a guest find more personalized experiences at a hotel.

Insights

In the team’s research in Australia, the UK, and Germany, they found a few key insights that informed the design. First, they saw that an ideal platform should support the full spectrum of human behaviors around payment. Second, platforms can add value by improving the relationships among banks, merchants, and customers. And third, the payment experience should be customized to fit a specific setting, working one way in a luxury boutique and another in a gas station.

IDEO, CBA, and Wincor Nixdorf worked together closely to steward the design of Pi And Albert through product development and implementation, and to gather feedback from merchants during rapid, iterative cycles.

Results

The platform is flexible enough to benefit organizations of all sizes: Larger merchants can incorporate Pi as part of their existing network, while smaller merchants can grow their business using powerful business tools. And customers of all kinds can easily access a variety of payment methods and helpful applications.

Albert offers a large touchscreen that’s intuitive to use, the safety of virtually encrypted PIN entry, and a variety of ways to access data connections. A large battery provides power when retailers are on the go, and a modular housing means that Albert can be used in all kinds of situations. The device is built to handle current card payment methods but can also adapt to how cards might be accepted in the future, and even eliminates the need to swivel a screen from cashier to customer during the payment process.

Forty million Americans became newly eligible for health coverage when the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act (ACA) was fully implemented in 2014. Some enrolled in health insurance for the first time, while others were able to get better access to affordable health coverage.

In preparation for the millions of applications, states were required to develop ways for people to sign up for health insurance online for plans that were operated by state and federal governments under the ACA. To help public and private agencies to meet the requirements, a coalition of nine national and state-based foundations, led by the California Health Care Foundation (CHCF) developed a digital enrollment prototype, and hired IDEO to lead the consumer research and design effort.

After a yearlong collaborative process, the resulting 300-page design manual and design reference prototype illustrates a customizable approach to public and private health insurance enrollment.

The flexible set of design standards developed for Enroll UX 2014 aims to make online health insurance enrollment simple, intuitive, and easy to navigate at scale.

To encourage PhD candidates to think differently about how they tackle tough science problems, the University of California, San Francisco (UCSF) and IDEO embarked on a fruitful collaboration.

Three PhD candidates were tasked with the following challenge: Cultivate new audiences and uses for a microscope. Drawing inspiration from cell phone microscope CellScope, the trio arrived at a prototype that was less reliant on technology and easily disassembled and reassembled. How? By using the most basic building blocks: Legos.

Made of custom 3-D-printed parts and standard toy building blocks, the LegoScope, which functions as a microscope, can easily snap pieces in and out to hold different components. Both the device and the team-based process are now being used in various other campus projects to change how researchers think about conducting and advancing scientific research.

“The best work in the future is going to be done by teams of people with very different expertise, who know different things and think about things in different ways, who come together to focus on one big problem,” said Keith Yamamoto, vice chancellor of research at UCSF, who led the initiative.

Arye Barnehama and Laura Michelle Berman wanted to take their invention—a headband that measures brain wave activity, focus, and concentration—to the next level. As a part of IDEO’s startup-in-residence program, Barnehama and Berman collaborated with IDEO on the product’s rebranding, hoping to refine and emphasize the product’s promise: When people improve their focus, they feel more mindful, confident, and productive.

With IDEO’s help, the company changed its name from Axio to Melon, delineated their brand, refined its product, developed its user experience, and prepared a Kickstarter campaign that garnered considerable press coverage. The new name, Melon, reflected the friendly, scalable character of the company. The name also suggested the intent of the product—using neuroscience data to inform a personal activity.

To distinguish Melon as a standout in the crowded quantified-self category, IDEO designers made the logo a faceted orb that references the gear-shifting mind, with “Melon” written in a distinctive font born from that same logo. The team went with fruit colors—cantaloupe, honeydew, watermelon—to evoke the sweet, refreshing experience the Melon headband promises.

Together, the Melon and IDEO teams also developed an app that shows increases in concentration after performing certain tasks and features a game in which you “fold” origami through mental focus to hone concentration.

Melon’s new brand strategy and UI set it apart from your typical fitness tracker, engaging the user in an elegant, joyful, and customized experience with every interaction.

Melon: a headband and mobile app to help you measure focus.

First came the jolt of panic, followed by furious digging through my bag, and slapping my pockets, the whole time chanting, “Please say I didn’t forget my phone!” There I was, standing just past the airport security checkpoint on my way to catch my connecting flight home from Japan, totally empty-handed. Bye, phone.

Once I stopped hyperventilating, I had a few hours strapped to an airplane seat to consider the following: What would it feel like to live without a smartphone?

Since I was already stuck without one, I decided to turn my predicament into a personal experiment: one month, no smart devices of any kind. Here’s what those 30 days taught me—and how the experiment made me rethink the way I approach design.

Less might be more

My first observation was that I was suddenly fully engaged with everything—my surroundings, the people around me, even that TV show that I thought I liked, but really just glanced at between text messages. I was pleased to find that conversations suddenly became much more meaningful. When I had my phone in hand, I was always subconsciously waiting for a buzz, and partially disengaged from the people in front of me. And when the buzz happened, I stopped listening to them completely. Without the added distraction, interactions became much more fulfilling.

As an interaction designer, I spend a lot of time creating user-friendly interfaces, but this experience made me wonder exactly how accessible things should be. Now I ask myself, are there elements that are competing with instead of enhancing an experience? Would a user benefit from something just a little less sticky?

Lose the escape hatch

Some of you may remember a time when you couldn’t just text your friend to say that you’re running late or *cough*cough* aren’t feeling well and can’t make it. We’re all guilty of it. The beauty of not having a phone was that it forced me and my flaky friends and family to pre-plan and be on time*. By removing the option to be late or back out, there’s much less to think about besides showing up and enjoying each other’s company.

When we’re designing technology, do we always need a back or undo button? How does that affect outcome and behavior, and can we use it to our advantage? For instance, with questionnaires, how do answers vary if there’s no way to change them?

*side note: Do look up where you are going ahead of time, because no phone = no maps.

It really, truly can wait

At the beginning of the experiment, I had a few phantom limb moments where I went to grab my phone to check tomorrow’s weather, or look up the definition of apocryphal, or text that random gif to a friend. In most situations, my first instinct was to whip out my phone. Not having access to everything forced me to slow my pace, and made my world feel a whole lot smaller, and, in some ways, less overwhelming.

In an era where you can shop for a pair of pants online and have it delivered to you within the hour, are there moments that can be enhanced by building in pause? What can a little friendly friction do to help slow things down to enhance and experience?

Automation isn't always rewarding

There’s no question that the smartphone affords us many conveniences—I’ve undoubtedly plundered every mobile subscription, delivery, and transaction possible. But streamlining every aspect of my life left me longing for those small moments of accomplishment that I used to get from figuring it out on my own. For instance, without access to ridesharing services, I found myself walking or taking public transit everywhere. Great for my lungs, the environment, and my wallet. The same goes for social sharing: Much of the reason we share online, is for the reactions we get in return. And by moving from an asynchronous share to a synchronous share, you’re rewarded by actually seeing someone laugh instead of an emoji reply posted 34 minutes later. Mic drop.

Just because we can automate, doesn’t always mean we should. The unpredictability of human behaviors is what makes the mundane more interesting, after all. How can we integrate these real life moments into the designs we create?

Since the big experiment, I’ve rejoined the flock and am now wielding a shiny, new phone with a notch in it. But I haven’t forgotten the lessons I learned—or how important it is for designers to get out of their comfort zone. And next time I need a little inspiration, I may just leave it at home.

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As an interaction designer, I have a love-hate relationship with my phone. On one hand, my job requires instant access to apps, prototypes, Slack... the list goes on. On the other, tech addiction is real. Even if I might try to ignore the invisible handcuffs that tie me to my phone, I was always reaching for it.

Until, of course, I lost it.

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Moving trucks aren’t always built for convenience. After all, they’re meant for hauling cargo, not a luxurious drive. But they are chock full of packing tape. When I hopped in the front of our mover’s truck to pick up some furniture at the storage unit, I smiled to see this ingenious workaround. A cup holder for your soda pop using a roll of packing tape, secured with—what else—packing tape.

Human-centered design requires us to observe human behavior with beginner's eyes, so that we can spot the innate ways people interact with the world around them. We call these intuitive and unconscious reactions Thoughtless Acts, and IDEO designers collect photos of them to inspire their work.

The idea came to me on a Saturday in June, before I had told anyone I was pregnant. I was flopped out on a sandy couch with my niece and nephew after a day at the beach, their level of post-sun exhaustion matching my first trimester fatigue. Their mom, my sister-in-law, recognized an opportunity to steal away for a shower, and put on an early 80s episode of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. Both of these kids have been raised mostly screen-free, and their mom was just starting to let them watch what she called “slow TV”: mostly nature documentaries, the occasional Aquanauts episode, and of course, Mr. Rogers.

This particular episode began with Fred Rogers trying to fix a leaky faucet with a new rubber washer. But he didn’t have the right size washer, so he goes to visit a local handyman. Rogers asks some questions about a shovel the handyman is fixing, and then is shown a wide selection of washers, and takes his time picking out one of the correct size. This takes place over the course of roughly 10 minutes, in real time. It’s a prime example of “slow.”

My niece and nephew were transfixed, mouths open. Seeing Mr. Rogers select a piece of kitchen hardware appeared to be the most incredible thing they had ever witnessed.

I want the same thing for my son.

I’m a software designer with a background in web development and computer science. I grew up loving computers and the internet. We had an Apple IIE for as long as I can remember, and my engineer dad taught me BASIC as soon as I could read. My first introduction to the internet was when our family got a CompuServe subscription in 1994. I couldn’t do a whole lot on it, but I’d jump into chat rooms and talk about the X-Files and Monty Python. Technology was always a part of my life.

But when I look back on all this, I realize how lucky it was that I got to grow up in this particular moment of technological disruption. I wasn’t plopped into a world governed by technology—the internet’s control over the world grew right along with my own.

Now, though, I keep reading articles about the ways the internet is changing our brains. Social networking is making us more isolated and risk-averse. The current generation of teens growing up, digital natives all, are the safest and the most depressed yet. And I worry about what it will mean for my child, born into a world moving at the speed of Twitter. This anxiety has become more real and intense every week of the 39 I’ve been pregnant. I assume it will let up sometime in the next three or four decades.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about calm technology—a term coined by Mark Weiser and John Seely Brown of Xerox PARC in a 1995 white paper, researched further and developed into a book by Amber Case. Here are the Cliffs Notes: Calm technology should require the smallest amount of attention possible from the user; it stays at the periphery rather than being center stage; and it should “amplify the best of technology and the best of humanity.” It’s that last one that stuck with me.

I don’t have to be a luddite to protect my child—I can use my skills as a technologist, including basic hardware hacking, to moderate the world I want my child to live in. By creating this TV, I can give him the calm environment I was lucky to grow up in. While he’s small, his TV will be a 30-pound, wood-paneled monster that I found the on the street, with a dial and 12 channels he can flip between—no more, no less—all programmed by me. So far, none of the content goes above a PG-rating, and one channel is all Mr. Rogers, pleasantly chatting with his handyman neighbor, carefully choosing just the right washer.

Eventually, my son will know about Netflix and binge-watching. He will know about YouTube and those bizarre AI-generated children’s shows. He will know about games that have been designed by the best minds of our generation to be more addictive than the cigarettes I hope he’ll avoid when he’s older. He will know about so much more that I can’t begin to predict. But for a while, he’ll be blissfully unaware, able to grow and think and develop at a child’s pace.

I am making a TV for my future son. It’s nearly finished, though I’m still working out a few kinks in the scheduling API, and I need to solder the hardware channel switcher. It’s a side project that’s been simmering for several months now that I plan to release soon—not unlike my baby.

The Design on Aging booklets give entrepreneurs and organizations tools for designing human-centered products and services for older adults. The two publications, Connected Living and Independent Living, explore how design can help older adults stay socially connected and physically mobile as they age. Presented alongside 4 distinct profiles representing the behaviors and mindsets of people over 50 years old at high risk of isolation, the booklets provide practical frameworks and design exercises to help organizations generate impactful solutions.

IDEO developed the Design on Aging booklets with Project Catalyst—a pioneering research collaboration between AARP, UnitedHealthcare, Pfizer, and MedStar Health.

Download the books on Independent Living and Connected Living.

I help organizations cut through complexity by shaping how they show up, through brand strategy, identity, and storytelling.

Working at the intersection of brand and business, I bring an editorial eye and a bias toward making—turning ideas into tangible experiences that people can understand, trust, and believe in.

My work spans government, healthcare, financial services, media, and consumer goods, from launching Gen Z-focused ventures to building innovation labs and reimagining legacy brands. I relish moments of ambiguity and enjoy translating across teams, perspectives, and priorities to move ideas forward.

I started my career in editorial and digital design, shaping cross-platform experiences and identity systems in publishing and agency environments. That foundation still shapes how I work today: I’m detail-oriented, collaborative, and overreliant on the Oxford comma. I hold a BFA in Visual Communication from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.

For 25 years, I've asked the same question: Who does this design exclude—and what are we going to do about it?

My work spans human-centered strategy, inclusive design, and qualitative research, with clients ranging from Microsoft, Google, and Verizon to the National Science Foundation, and San Francisco Unified School District.

Before IDEO, I taught elementary school in East Palo Alto and spent a decade doing design work with social service organizations—where I learned firsthand what it costs people when systems are built without them in mind.

I am currently writing User Error, a nonfiction book about digital access and the design decisions behind it. I live in Oakland, California.

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My expertise spans brand, communication, and product design across tech, education, the arts, and social impact.

I believe great work demands both high-level vision and obsessive attention to detail, and only happens through collaboration.

I bring an inclusive, hands-on approach and a deep understanding of business, which enables me to consistently deliver excellence while always asking why.

Before joining IDEO, I worked at the brand firms Pentagram and VSA Partners. I began my career as a designer, leading teams at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago and the Milwaukee Art Museum. I hold an MFA in graphic design from Maryland Institute College of Art and a BFA in communication design from the Milwaukee Institute of Art & Design, and have taught at some of the best design schools in the US.

I am responsible for IDEO’s long-term success in China and working with clients to use design as a tool to enable growth. Specifically, I have helped Chinese companies design holistic brand solutions through the development of their products, communication, services, and innovation teams, and I have helped multinationals expand their presence and influence in China.

I advise global leaders on developing China-led innovation and capabilities.

In over 15 years in IDEO Shanghai, I have worked on projects that use design to elevate the quality of the experience of healthcare products and services, streamline processes that increase productivity, create spaces and programs that promote and enable inclusive communities, and build next generation mobility solutions that are planet-positive.

Before joining IDEO, I worked at Philips Electronics and the Electrolux Group in Italy, the Netherlands, and Singapore on a number of breakthrough commercial products. I am a member of the Young President Organization in Shanghai.

Most AI products today are built for work—a space with clear problems and established systems. One founder noticed a gap: personal life is messier, harder to systematize, and mostly left behind by the AI boom. So she built Cue, a personal AI that lives inside iMessage and group chats, to go where the other tools haven't.

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In this episode, Becca Carroll, IDEO's Chief Strategy Officer, talks with Sida Li, co-founder and CEO of Shared Context Lab, about staying anchored to a human need while the technology around her keeps changing shape, why she treats her business model with the same rigor she'd bring to a product, and what it feels like to build a company at this particular, disorienting moment in AI.

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The conversation also gets into how Sida makes design decisions: the language Cue uses to describe itself, the tradeoffs behind building inside iMessage instead of a new app, and a real story about a business idea that didn’t pan out.

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This is the second in a two-part series profiling founders from IDEO's Startups-in-Residence program. The first conversation is with Johannes Seemann, founder of Sooner, on designing GenAI for the emotional side of money.

Most personal financial tools are built to run the numbers and optimize towards a budget. While that works for some, most people experience money as a lived relationship that does not neatly fit into a spreadsheet. Johannes Seemann and Becca Carroll discuss why money is emotional before it is mathematical, and what a human-centered approach to building a generative AI financial product looks like in practice.

Mina Seetharaman talks with Scott Shigeoka, author of Seek and Head of Curiosity Cultivation at the Eames Institute, about what distinguishes genuinely curious leadership from performative curiosity, how power dynamics shape curiosity, and why practicing curiosity can restore energy rather than drain it.

Mina Seetharaman talks with David Epstein, author of Inside the Box and Range, about why total freedom often produces average work, how leaders can design useful limits on purpose, and what organizations such as General Magic and Pixar reveal about the relationship between boundaries and creativity.