Midea, one of China’s largest appliance manufacturers, wanted to identify growth opportunities in the domestic consumer market, while focusing on people’s cultural beliefs around health and well-being. During the course of the project, IDEO found that Midea could play a key role in building a healthier nation.

The team set out to design potential future products for Tong (“through, whole, and to understand”) that are built around the basic themes of eating, breathing, and being: an easy-to-use, hassle-free herbal tea dispenser, an air balancer that improves and balances the quality of air in the home, and a body-balancing mobile phone app that encourages users to rebalance their body condition where needed, through movements created with the Chinese philosophies of well-being in mind.

The Tong project was featured extensively in the press, and opened further conversations with Midea about creating new value and extending into new markets.

Put food on the table or keep the furnace running on a frigid day? It’s an unfortunate choice many low-income families in Flint, Michigan, face.

To help customers in Flint and other Michigan towns stay on top of their utility bills and better understand the relationship between their energy consumption and the resulting costs, Consumers Energy partnered with IDEO and utility assistance provider The Heat and Warmth Fund (THAW) to create an innovative pilot billing program called Clear Control in late 2013.

The pilot was designed with three major human-centered changes to the traditional utility experience:

• Instead of monthly bills, participants received two bills per month. Shorter billing periods allowed for smaller, more frequent payments, helping customers match available funds with their ability to pay.
• Daily text updates on energy usage and bill amounts kept consumption top of mind.
• Consumers Energy offered personalized, in-home audits to help customers make low-cost, high-impact changes to their energy bills.

A year later, the results of the pilot are energizing. Clear Control participants accumulated no new debt, while the control group owed $300; pilot customers used 20 percent less electricity, reducing their bills by $200 per year; and 95 percent of participants paid their bills in full and on time, compared with 35 percent in the control group. The utility company simultaneously benefited by avoiding arrearages, late-payment fees, and shutoffs. Consumers plans to incorporate Clear Control lessons into its overall energy assistance program design and development moving forward.

"It’s no longer ‘me’ against ‘them’—now it’s ‘us,’" said one Clear Control participant.

In 1980, Apple asked IDEO to develop a mouse for their radical new computer, the Lisa. Previous attempts at mouse design, by Douglas Englebart and Xerox PARC, yielded results that were too expensive and hard to make. The Apple mouse needed to be more reliable and less than 10 percent of the cost of the earlier versions.

To start, the design team created a cheaper, much-improved mechanism that would operate the mouse, and found that a complex, plastic "ribcage" would hold the pieces together. The team similarly tested and refined the mouse’s other key components, from the audible and tactile click of the button to the rubberized coating on the ball. A record turntable spun for days, logging “mouse miles” to check the reliability of the electromechanical assembly.

The resulting mouse proved mechanically and economically sound and was changed only slightly when adapted for use with the first Macintosh computer. The basic mechanism design is used in virtually all mechanical mouses produced to date.

Food is the heart of most cultures. In China, one of the oldest cultures in the world, food is central to family gatherings and celebrations. It’s what binds people, a tangible way of showing love and respect. But in recent years, the Chinese food industry has suffered from concerns around safety.

Two siblings, Harn and Anmao Sun, set out on an ambitious venture: to create a trusted source of food in China and, by setting an example, to instigate a movement around conscious farming practices. The American-born entrepreneurs launched Hunter Gatherer, a restaurant and retail food space built around a transparent supply chain, from farm to table to grocery shelves. The venture is based on growing and serving what they call real food: The ingredients are chemical-free and come from known and trusted sources—food they’d eat themselves. The purpose of the venture is simple: to serve people real food that is their right.

Having studied and worked in the US, Harn and Anmao grew accustomed to browsing farmers markets on Saturday mornings or picking up a burrito at Chipotle. But when they returned to China, they were unsure about the safety of the food they were eating.

“In China, you wouldn’t go to a food stand, because you’d be concerned about the ingredients,” Anmao said. “You can’t take the safety for granted.”

Hunter Gatherer’s very existence challenges bedrock assumptions about how food is produced in China. A long and depressing list of scandals—milk contaminated with melamine, pork produced from diseased pigs, used cooking oil repackaged and sold as new—has rocked the public trust.

“In China, agriculture is going through a huge change,” Anmao said. “In the US, agriculture operations are regulated. Farmers’ practices are regulated. If they use pesticides, there are limits because these farmers understand that once a certain threshold is hit, additional pesticides will not yield more crops. But in China, pesticide use came about 30 years after the US and Europe, and because of a lack of full understanding, farmers in China incorrectly operate under the assumption that more pesticides means more crop yields. Also, with over 250 million farmers in China, it becomes immensely difficult to properly regulate everyone.”

New Ventures

Harn and Anmao wanted to restore trust in the simple act of eating in China, and they came to IDEO to build a scalable business based on that vision. This was essentially a startup, a shared commitment between IDEO and Hunter Gatherer.

“I’ve lived in Shanghai for the past seven years, and as a relatively active and health-conscious person, I’ve had to invest quite a bit of time in finding food that I trust,” said Charles Hayes, managing director of IDEO Shanghai. “That investment has been both in the time it takes to research the sources of ingredients but also a literal investment in paying a high price for imported food just for that extra peace of mind.”

Anmao and Harn took up residence in the IDEO Shanghai offices to incubate their business. Together with IDEO designers, they tested packaging, cooked countless meals, and found ways to introduce unfamiliar ingredients to Chinese consumers. They discussed different concepts of lunch and dinner, and how notions of freshness in Chinese culture might affect cold-storage systems. In IDEO’s prototyping kitchen, the teams tested all manner of different foods, flavors, colors, mixes, and price points, and they brought consumers in to try them out. IDEO designers, along with the founding team, also worked on the brand and positioning of what would eventually become the Hunter Gatherer enterprise—its location, human resources, and marketing strategies.

As the restaurant concept came together, finding the right food sources had to be addressed. Traditional agriculture couldn’t be trusted; organic certifications were available on the black market, and safety protocols around chemical use were nonexistent. Anmao and Harn decided to invest in their own farms. They met with farmers, asked questions about their methods, and walked in the fields to see for themselves. Eventually they settled on two plots of land outside Shanghai and began developing more than 80 different crops to be used in the restaurant.

From Seed to Table

When it came time to find the right space for the first location, Anmao and Harn discovered an open, airy storefront on Anfu Road in Shanghai’s tree-lined former French Concession area. They designed and built a retail space and kitchen, and along with IDEO designers, they trained the staff and organized workflows. The staff set the tables with Mason jars filled with flowers, hung photographs of the farmers who grew the food, and put up a sign that showcases the percentage of vegetables coming directly from the Hunter Gatherer farms, already more than 70 percent in less than a year after opening.

Customers can shop for fresh vegetables, locally sourced and imported canned and jarred goods, bins of cereal, freshly made smoothies, artisan sauces, and exotic chocolates. Upstairs, they can feast on delicious dishes in the homey restaurant.

Reviews have been glowing. One customer raved about the machine that grinds fresh nuts. Another loved the open space, the “good vibes,” and the refreshing cucumber water. Young people go there on dates, and families return for the delicious menu variety.

The convivial space has blossomed into more than just a restaurant and grocery store. It’s become a gathering place of sorts, both for the community and for partners who share the same vision. Farmers and food purveyors are invited to showcase their products at seasonal events and to mingle with customers and share recipes and stories.

“Hunter Gatherer has come to symbolize a kind of lifestyle the Chinese people have been looking for,” said Eugene Lin, an IDEO business designer. “A place they can enjoy hanging out with friends, as well as a movement and mission they can stand behind.”

A Digital Future

This is just the beginning of the venture. The plan is to open 40 more locations throughout China. But the vision for Hunter Gatherer’s growth is bigger than brick-and-mortar restaurants—where the business will truly scale is in the digital space. Eventually, the plan is to launch a Hunter Gatherer online grocery store from which anyone can buy food grown from trusted sources.

“We have to create trust with the consumer. It’s the most difficult and most valuable thing to do in China, especially with food,” Anmao said. “Our brick-and-mortar locations will establish that increased trust. Then we can go online and grow the idea to the rest of the country.”

Will Hunter Gatherer have a hand in changing the way that the world’s most populous nation thinks about food? Its principles are already spreading, from neighboring farmers adopting more sustainable planting methods, to a growing market for products like wine.

But the true sign of success will be almost invisible—the moment when an increase in demand will result in safe food for everyone and when real food becomes commonplace.

They worried about how they’d feed themselves or their families. Or felt the physical and emotional stresses of want and hunger. Of that number, 11 million were children.

Today, the picture has worsened. This year, a year in which American lives have been ravaged by disease or economic crisis or both, more than 50 million people will have faced the reality of food insecurity; almost half of them will have sought help from food banks and other sources of support.

This pandemic of hunger continues to unfold, year-on-year, across the United States—one of the richest nations on earth.

It is a crisis that moves inexorably forward, but also one that’s rooted in inequities stretching back into our collective history. Our food system, like many of our society’s most foundational systems, is racist by design. The labor of Black and Indigenous workers and people of color (BIPOC) forms the backbone of the industry’s essential workforce—specifically women of color. They serve or cook in restaurants; they perform dangerous, exhausting work in food plants; they labor on farms; and they bring deliveries to others’ homes and apartments. And they have been disproportionately impacted by the knock-on effects of the pandemic, including decreased food security. Additionally, racism—in the form of food systems that are effectively separate from and unequal to those afforded to white communities—has historically denied BIPOC access to preventative nutrition. The result? Disproportionate incidence of chronic health conditions and weakened immune systems, both of which are now further intensifying the devastating impact of COVID.

It is a story of injustice and inaction. And it demands we step up and help create change.

How might food leaders work to dismantle the systemic inequity in our industry and in the communities we operate? And how might we improve the lives of those most unjustly affected? We see three paths where design can drive efforts towards solutions.

Prioritize food workers’ livelihoods

The most straightforward way to reduce food insecurity among food workers? Pay them more money.

The food industry employs roughly 14 percent of the U.S. workforce, with the lowest median wage of any industry. In many states, it’s legal to offer restaurant workers a sub-minimum wage of less than $5 an hour—sometimes as low as $2.13. Black servers are typically not tipped as well as their white coworkers: A recent study revealed that for tipped restaurant workers in New York, white men made almost an $8 an hour more than black women.

Food manufacturers, quick-service restaurants (QSRs), and retailers are largely responsible for producing, serving, and distributing food; but the cruel irony is that their own employees—along with those growing and harvesting the food that they sell—are often food insecure and hungry. One out of six restaurant workers live below the poverty line.

Following the example of brands like Shake Shack and In-n-Out Burger, others must rethink their business models to offer their workers more than the minimum wage. Similarly, they can design competitive benefits, as Starbucks does, offering healthcare and tuition reimbursement to full- and part-time employees.

Improve the quality of mass-produced food

Many low-cost foods are intentionally designed to be sold in mass quantities to people who can’t afford higher quality items. This perpetuates a supply chain that values long shelf-life and cost-efficiency over nutrition. A complete overhaul of existing product formulations is required to maintain the convenience and comfort that people seek, but eliminate ingredients proven to contribute to higher rates of heart disease and diabetes, such as high-fructose corn syrup or processed or refined carbohydrates.

A June 2020 study revealed that as households stock up on shelf-stable foods, they appear to purchase products with less nutrient-dense ingredients—often ultra-processed, calorie-dense comfort foods. This is setting the stage for an increase in childhood obesity, particularly for economically vulnerable families.

Convenient and nourishing comfort foods are rare. Designing them and putting them on shelves across the nation is an excellent challenge for the food industry’s formidable R&D capabilities.

There are examples to be inspired by, however. Pierre Thiam, a celebrated Senegalese chef and leading authority on African foods, founded Yolélé Foods to bring fonio, a West African grain, to a global audience. Fonio is a versatile ingredient with a nutty flavor; it’s included in the Future 50 Foods List, an effort from the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) and Knorr to highlight foods that support human and environmental health. One of Thiam’s vehicles for fonio is pilaf, and Yolélé Foods’ affordable, microwavable bags of seasoned pilaf are sold online and at brick-and-mortar stores nationally. This product innovation unites what is not only feasible, viable, and desirable; but also more sustainable and nutritious.

If it works for fonio, why not for brown rice? It’s one of the most familiar, nutritious, and affordable food staples in the United States, yet few have attempted to make it desirable and easy to cook. It’s an enormous opportunity. And design is a way to reconceive brown rice into products that are as simple and convenient as the more ubiquitous ramen and macaroni and cheese filling pantries nationwide.

Give more people access to nutritious food

That separate and unequal food system? Karen Washington, a food justice activist, calls it food apartheid. And the evidence to support that frame is all around us. Poorer neighborhoods have fewer grocery stores with nutritious food options; fast food chains dominate instead. There is a need for quick service restaurants (QSRs), retailers, food banks, and federal food assistance programs (SNAP)—all players that influence food access—to design new ways for healthy food to be available to everyone.

Free food is a critical support for hungry people. But there is a stigma attached to accepting it, and it can be a deeply demoralizing experience to stand in long lines and receive a bag of food you don’t like or can’t eat. During COVID-19, we’ve witnessed heroic efforts by food banks and pantries to increase their services. Food banks originally created drive-thrus to overcome the stigma of free food, but now, even more have added this feature to facilitate contactless service.

Northern Illinois Food Bank (NIFB) partnered with IDEO to improve their My Pantry Express program, a digital food pantry service that refers to their customers as “neighbors.” The program offers their neighbors a choice of what food they receive. Typically, food banks determine their success based on pounds of food or “meals” distributed, but NIFB wanted to use more human-centered metrics to determine if their service offers food that people actually want and will eat. The team discovered that offering choice in food selection, even in a limited way, created higher neighbor satisfaction and more referrals—94 percent said they would recommend the program to a friend. We can use design to identify what people value most, then use these findings to improve services, meet more people’s needs, and in this instance, get more nutritious food into more hands and homes.

Learn more about IDEO's partnership with NIFB.

Looking ahead

Given the number of cracks the pandemic has revealed in many of our national and global systems, it can be hard to know where to begin reimagining better solutions. But food is fundamental—and improving the food system is achievable. As we look to the coming year and the post-pandemic recovery period, let’s ask ourselves:

• How might we ensure that the people producing and serving our food have equal access to food for themselves and their families?
• How might we rethink our success metrics to be more human-centered?
• How might we create products and services that are not only profitable, but nutritious and sustainable?
• How might we put our R&D efforts towards creating beloved food products that are convenient and nourishing?
• As a leader in the food industry, how might we look first to the ways we can support our own employees before directing community support efforts beyond our organization?

By prioritizing people’s needs and developing human-centered innovations for business, nutrition, and food access, we can move leaps and bounds toward more food security and access and health for all.

Photos by Rizki Prayugo and Aniketh Kanukurthi

In 2018, according to the United States Department of Agriculture, 37 million Americans didn’t have enough to eat. At one point or another that year, in other words, they struggled to put food on the table.

But if you were to ask someone in China, they’d laugh amiably and follow up with another question: “What part of China are we talking about?” And it’s a good question—whether the food you crave is sweet or spicy, hearty or healing, you can find it in the Chinese kitchen.

Even growing up in a Chinese family, the diversity of Chinese food came as a surprise. I thought there were two types: Panda Express and the Cantonese food that my parents cooked. It wasn’t until I traveled through China, tasting everything from spice-laden cumin lamb to tropical coconut soup, that I realized how much I was missing. With thousands of years of history, 55 racial minorities, and 9.6 million square kilometers of land, China’s food culture is incredibly diverse. I learned to embrace my heritage by learning how to stir-fry, braise, and steam.

And yet the dominant view of Chinese food in the West is not only narrow, but tinged with prejudice. Growing up in a homogenous community in suburban New York, I was no stranger to words like “oily,” “cheap,” and “gross” being applied to the food of my heritage. On the surface, this might not seem like a big deal, but it reflects a deeper judgement about which cultures hold inherent value.

I always saw this as normal—just the way things were. But as COVID-19 has spread across the globe, so has anti-Chinese xenophobia. Across the world, businesses have banned customers of Chinese descent. Racial slurs fly freely. In March, an acquaintance of mine woke up in the hospital after being attacked by strangers for no reason other than his East Asian features.

I wanted to do something to help. But what?

I’m no politician. I’m not an Instagram influencer. But I do have a few skills that turn out to be surprisingly relevant. The first, which I practice on a day-to-day basis here at IDEO, is storytelling. The second is cooking, eating, and writing about food. It turns out, the combination of the two is a powerful thing.

I’m talking about gastrodiplomacy, the promotion of cultural awareness through food. As ingredients like kimchi, harissa, and turmeric have made their way into the mainstream, they’ve become a starting point for people to take an interest in other cultures. But while I’m encouraged to see signs of that trend with Chinese food, it’s nascent at best. And I want to help it grow.

And thus Journey East, a digital zine about Chinese food culture, was born. The name is an play on the classical Chinese novel Journey to the West (西遊記), which tells the story of a Buddhist monk venturing west from China along the Silk Road. It serves both as a nod to my personal journey from America to Asia, and a reminder of my core goal of shedding light on the beauty and diversity of Chinese cuisine.

I have so much to say on the topic of Chinese food that I could easily ramble on forever. To stay focused on my core goal, I wrote a set of design principles for Journey East:

1. Tell a human story. Food tastes better when you know the story behind it (I’ve always believed this, and researchers seem to think so, too). That’s why I start each issue with a history of the region and the reason I find it personally meaningful.
2. Make it a conversation. There are plenty of places that will hand you a list of ingredients and tell you how to cook them. There are fewer that invite you to ask “how” and “why”. Though I don’t claim to be an expert, I always encourage readers to reach out to me personally about the recipes I publish. The resulting conversations have been my favorite part about Journey East. (In particular, one of the highlights has been seeing a friend’s vegetarian takes on the recipes.)
3. Accessibility over authenticity. When it comes to food, it’s easy to get hung up on what's "authentic" or not. But much like design, some of the most innovative home cooking comes from constraints, which are visible in the incredible variety of food from the Chinese diaspora (did you know that you can stir-fry watermelon peel as a substitute for winter melon?) By starting each issue with an illustration rather than a photo, I encourage readers to think of my recipes as inspiration rather than instructions.

Launching Journey East has been rewarding in many ways. I’ve learned to pivot quickly, grown as an illustrator and writer, and expanded my culinary repertoire. After falling in love with the sambal-laden Malaysian oyster omelette and ketchup-infused Hong Kong pork chop rice, I’ve thrown out all my preconceptions about what ingredients “belong” in Chinese food. But the best part has been hearing from readers who learned something new. Opening hearts and minds won’t happen overnight, but if I can do even a little bit to help people see Chinese food and culture in a fresh light, I’ll consider it time well spent.

You can read previous issues of Journey East (and subscribe, if you’d like!) here.

Lo mein. Orange chicken. Honey walnut shrimp. If you ask the average American to name some Chinese food, they might go with some of these. Where I live now, in Japan, the answer could be ramen or gyoza.

Her face, sitting in front of a beautiful brick wall, had been on my screen for weeks as we worked on our current project. Before COVID-19 sent us off to work from home, we used to work together on projects at the IDEO Cambridge studio. Now she was living in yet another window on my desktop.

I’m an interaction designer by trade, but I’m also a photographer. I’ve managed to bring those two passions together in my work at IDEO. Now, with all the available software, I can do the former from my house, but I had pressed pause on much of my photography work—and I missed it.

From my couch, I realized I wasn’t missing the weight of my camera or meticulously packing my camera bag—I missed people. Could I recapture the magic of an in-person portrait session from my living room? And could I make all these video calls feel less soul-sucking in the process?

Given the constraints of a global pandemic, I asked myself a how might we: How might we photograph people in a socially-distanced way while still preserving a sense of intimacy?

That’s where Tamara comes back in. I’d seen one or two photographers shoot “virtual portraits” online and I was inspired to give it a go. I was nervous, but experimenting with somebody I knew from “real life” prevented the process from feeling too daunting.

It went like this: During (yes, you guessed it) a video call, I asked Tamara to choose a few well-lit places in her home where she’d been spending a lot of time during lockdown. As she showed me her apartment through the laptop’s camera, it was like the world suddenly expanded.

We decided on a spot in the kitchen where she had been making a lot of tea. In order to frame the shot, Tamara created an improvised laptop stand using a chair. I asked her to open the camera on her phone and set it to selfie mode with a 10 second timer. She positioned the phone next to her laptop and we worked together to match the angle of the phone to what I was seeing on my screen as closely as possible.

Then Tamara pressed the button on her phone to begin taking photos and I gave direction on positioning and lighting. Waiting for the countdown on the timer was a little awkward, but not awful, especially since we knew each other well. Then I would review the photos as she sent them via text.

The final result was pretty good. Tamara looked relaxed, almost joyful. I was inspired to continue.

I reached out to a few more IDEOers and continued to refine the process. Next I shot Natalie. She’d recently (and begrudgingly) acquired an air conditioner to make working from home more comfortable. This had become a hot topic of conversation during our many calls. When I asked her to take me somewhere she’d been spending a lot of time during the pandemic, we naturally ended up in the coolest corner of the house: in front of the AC.

A few days later, Shavon showed me around her new apartment. We brought her dog Oliver’s bed into the frame to try to lure him into the background. We snapped a few shots when he showed up.

Todd also moved during the pandemic. When I dropped into his new home in Wellfleet, Massachusetts, he took me outside to his deck where he has coffee every morning. I love how the trees seem to absorb him into the picture.

Next I "went" to Virginia to shoot my friend Favin. The first location we scouted was outside in the blazing summer heat. After sweating through a few shots that felt a little too staged (like the one on the left below), we moved inside. Favin picked a new, more comfortable spot: the couch she'd been spending time on during quarantine. We ended up with the shot on the right, which we both liked better.

My colleague Greg uses his Instagram account to chronicle the records he listens to every Sunday. I asked if he might let me photograph him where the magic happens: in front of his record collection.

After we finished, he sent me this shot of Oscar, his three year old.

Seeing my colleagues and shooting photos again were both a relief. As far as new hobbies go, maybe this one was a bit strange, but it gave me back what I was missing: my community. Here are three things I learned by stepping outside my comfort zone and doing virtual portraits.

#1. Everything is different now, so we're all adapting

The unexpected constraints of a pandemic have revealed a completely new way of working. I no longer go on long walks to scout locations; instead I get walked around virtually. Photos are framed by leaning an iPhone up against a pile of books or a toaster, and everything shot is from a phone. And now I can time travel—I can shoot in the UK in the morning, Massachusetts in the afternoon, and California at night.

I wouldn’t have dreamed up these strategies in the past, but given the constraints, it works.

#2. These remote sessions are a collaboration between photographer and subject

In traditional photography, the person holding the camera is in control. Now that my hands are empty, who’s in charge?

I asked Alyson, a former IDEOer, if she’d take me to the beach where she surfs every morning. I had a shot in mind: Alyson from below, holding her board with the line of waves behind her.

We nailed it. A few minutes later, a man walking by started talking to Alyson, asking her what she was doing with a tripod and two phones on the beach (understandable). We ended up taking this second shot mid-conversation. We both liked it better.

From behind my screen, I didn’t have the opportunity to adjust the angle of the board or tweak the lighting—I had very little control about what was actually happening and the portrait still came out great. Here’s how I see this remote photography experience compared to other modes:

When I shared this project with Jane Fulton Suri, IDEO's first design researcher, she told me, “You are unlocking something in both yourself and the subject—it’s a negotiated process.” I can’t help but agree.

#3. Distance can feel intimate too

Today, video calls can be work meetings, birthday parties, therapy sessions, weddings, murder mystery games, and everything in between. It’s not necessarily intimate by nature, but during a pandemic, the definition of intimacy has changed.

My dear colleague Bruno traveled to Miami to be with his family this past summer. During our portrait session, he told me he’d never lived at home with his little sister, Rafa, who’s four. The setting he chose for his photo was her room. At one point, they were both holding toys as they looked out the window. We captured a quiet, beautiful moment that may have never happened if it weren’t for the pandemic.

I also got my family in on the gig. When I texted my mum to ask her to participate in this project, she was less than enthusiastic.

With her in northern England and me in Massachusetts, I hadn’t seen her in person since September 2019. She had been knitting up a storm—everything from cardigans to giraffes—for my daughter. I explained what I was hoping to do, and when I called, she and my dad had set everything up perfectly. I speak to my mum often, but this was the first time I involved her in a project.

This isn’t the 2020 I dreamed up; I’m sure that’s true for you too. But this experiment has re-inspired me as a photographer. I’ve come to realize that I don’t always need to be fully in control, or even physically present to get interesting, intimate results. In fact, I can be anywhere…even in my living room.

It was during my 800,000th video call of 2020 when I started to wonder about what the rest of my colleague Tamara’s apartment looked like.

What do we stand for in this moment when education is being disrupted, inequities are being exacerbated, and we feel more isolated than ever before?

Knowing we couldn’t answer those questions alone, we hosted listening circles earlier this year to learn how educators were navigating their personal and professional lives as the pandemic surged.

Those sessions surfaced questions like these:

• What can we do to increase students' and families' joy right now?
• Can we build safer and more inclusive spaces for school communities?
• How do we make sure we prioritize—not just accommodate—the needs of marginalized students?
• How might we be healers of a broken system?

These gnarly, complex issues can’t be addressed by any single person or organization, and making progress requires more than repurposed solutions delivered by outsiders. As we’ve learned through our work with teachers and principals, navigating these types of challenges depends on school communities being supported to co-design the future for themselves. As one teacher in Fremont, California told us: “Teaching and innovating have to go hand in hand right now.”

With that in mind, we developed a method for educators to take a co-design approach to driving better outcomes for their schools and the students and families they serve. The Co-Designing Schools Toolkit is a collection of 40 activities, frameworks, and research-based practices designed by The Teachers Guild and School Retool programs, supported by and in collaboration with Riverdale Country School, the Deeper Learning network, Liberatory Design, the Stanford d.school, and the input of educators, local collaborators, and coaches.

At its core, the toolkit is about designing for equity. It complements an approach we developed nearly 10 years ago, the Design Thinking for Educators Toolkit, encouraging educators to focus on equity issues in their schools as part of diverse design teams. The toolkit focuses on the needs and lives of students furthest from opportunity, helps teams explore their members’ personal identities, and guides educators in articulating equity goals for their schools. Taken together, these components aren’t just boxes to tick off, but a set of principles that guide the entire change process.

Designing with students, not for them

Myron Long, Principal of The Social Justice School in northeast Washington, DC, says the co-design process has pushed him to fundamentally rethink the role of his students. “We ask for their feedback,” Myron says, “but we actually have to listen to them and then act on it.” For example, rather than assuming his students are always eager to take on justice issues, he asks them, and recalls a student replying, “Can’t we just play dodgeball, too?” Myron urges his colleagues to regularly invite students to be co-designers, and to build in “time to pause, listen to, and design with our students, not just for them.”

Meet parents where they are

Another example of co-design comes from across the country in South County San Diego, where a team of Special Education leaders hosted co-design workshops. Inviting families in was crucial to the team’s efforts to bridge gaps in understanding between parents and the countless people who provide support for students with special needs.

But to ensure that caretakers of children with special needs would be able to show up as collaborators, they knew they’d have to offer some basic support, like hiring professional translators and lining up child care. “The parents felt so respected, valued, and part of the process,” said Olivia Rivera, a team member. Knowing their children would be taken care of during the workshops gave parents the time and space they needed to “share from their hearts.”

Meet 4 educators who are co-designing solutions for their school communities.

We know that no single strategy or process can solve all the complicated issues facing schools. But with roots in design, equity, and community, the Co-Designing Schools Toolkit can support schools and families as they navigate complexity and look ahead to building a collaborative environment in which all students thrive.

Learn more about co-designing a more equitable future for your community at www.codesigningschools.com.

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Along with educators and families around the country, those of us at IDEO who work in education have been asking ourselves, “Where do we go from here?”

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.