The actual Meeting

Designing from the Margins: A Thesis on Neurodiversity Begins

I entered the room.
They were still in the middle of a brainstorming session for the PhD student—speaking in fast, passionate Italian.

What unfolded in front of me was the reason I love people. The very reason I still believe in humanity.

The topic of their discussion?
How design can fight discrimination and foster inclusivity.
Another ethical, powerful, necessary subject. Simply beautiful.

They were drawing on paper with colored crayons, tossing ideas across the table, gesturing wildly, standing up when a point felt too important to stay seated for. It was so dynamic, so alive.

All in Italian—and yet I understood enough.
Enough to feel the energy.
Enough to feel grateful to witness it.

I quietly sat, adding notes to my own paper, letting their energy inspire me.
And then came the word. One word that shifted everything: neurodiversity.

After about 20 minutes, they turned to me.

“Allora, siamo pronti per te.”
Okay, we’re ready for you.

Suddenly, three sharp, brilliant minds focused entirely on me. I felt nervous—but in the best possible way.

I began to speak. I gave them the short version—my first thesis idea, then the pivot, all in two sentences.
(Don’t worry, dear reader—you get the long version because you chose to be here.)

Besides, I’ve just graduated from the McKinsey Forward Academy for future leaders, so I’ve been trained in “effective communication.”
(Okay, I’m joking. I did graduate, but I already knew how to be clear—thank you, Denmark.)

Then I presented my new subject.
I included the word I had just jotted down: neurodiversity.

I told them I want to explore how industrial design—specifically through CMF (Color, Material, Finish)—impacts cognitive processes in neurodiverse individuals.

The first reaction?

“Wow… but this is PhD-level.”

Which, honestly, was a compliment.
But also a warning: scale it down.

And so the real work began.
They started giving me directions—clear, thoughtful, layered:

• Focus.

• Narrow it down.

• Pick your user group.

• Define your setting.

Maybe university tools, office products, or home appliances…

Maybe I could focus on a specific type of neurodivergence—there are so many. ADHD, for example.

Then try to understand the real problems this group faces.
From there, choose a product category to focus on improving.

Create methodologies that future designers can follow—so inclusivity becomes a starting point, not an afterthought.

Maybe start with neurodiverse women, especially those with ADHD—
a group often underdiagnosed because most research and diagnostic criteria are based on male behavior.

Boys often show ADHD through hyperactivity; girls, on the other hand, internalize it.
Their minds race, but the outside world rarely sees it.
They get overwhelmed, not disruptive.

We started talking about books. I mentioned one—they had all read it.
They mentioned titles—I had read them too.
This kind of knowledge-leveling conversation makes me feel alive.

We ended up having a two-hour deep dive.
Not just about my thesis topic, but about design as a practice, and the problems of modern society.

We talked about the Gauss distribution curve, and how designers are taught to design for the middle—the “average” user.
But when we start from the extremes, from the margins—
we can actually create better products that serve more people.

I shared a fantastic book I read:
Mismatch: How Inclusion Shapes Design by Kat Holmes.
You can find it here on MIT Press.

In it, Holmes gives multiple examples of how designs created for minority needs end up becoming the new standard.

Take the touchscreen.
Originally developed for users who had difficulty with keyboards—whether from injury, disability, or aging.
Today, touchscreens are universal.

The book shifted my perspective.
If we start designing for the edges of the Gauss curve, we might actually cover more of the population than designing from the middle ever could.

Holmes also describes different categories of disability—and this was another lightbulb moment.
She breaks them into four types:

• Permanent disabilities

• Temporary disabilities

• Situational challenges

• Cognitive and sensory difficulties—like being tired, anxious, or overwhelmed

Her point? All of us, at some point, fall into these categories.

So what if, by putting neurodivergent users at the center, we could actually create products that enhance cognitive ability—rather than drain it?

What if that shift could benefit everyone?

That was the heart of our discussion.

And then, just when we were flying high in conceptual orbit, one professor gently brought us back to earth:

“Remember, industrial design is called industrial because it’s tied to standardization—so products can be efficiently produced at scale, and with consistent quality.”

An important reminder.
But also—times are changing.

New technologies are opening doors to mass personalization.
What I want is to change how we begin.

Neurodiversity is far more common than we think.
So we must create environments, products, and services that acknowledge our differences, our uniqueness, and our shared humanity.

That was the main takeaway.
And my next steps?

Start defining my neurodivergent user group—most likely women with ADHD, since I’m one of them.
Design for us, with us.

I left that room completely amazed.
I walked straight to a café and wrote down everything we had discussed—so I wouldn’t forget a single idea.

Before I left, one of them smiled and said:

“I hope you can see how much we care about this topic—look at how long we talked.”

This is a much-needed subject.
And a challenging one.

So… I guess I’ve got myself a thesis topic.
And three incredible supervisors.

Bellissimo.