What If Assistive Tech Didn’t Feel Medical?

I’ve spent a lot of time with assistive technology; building it, learning from it, and listening to the people who actually use it.

And one question keeps coming up:

Why does most assistive tech feel like it belongs in a hospital?

The beige plastics. The medical clips. The bulky, sterile forms. The look alone tells you: “This is for someone who’s broken, not for everyday life.” But that’s not what I see when I work with the people who use these tools. I’m speaking with artists. Parents. Professionals. Creatives. People with complex lives and personal style who deserve assistive tools that reflect who they are, not just what they physically need.

The Problem with Medicalized Design

Most assistive devices are designed for function, not for pride.

From walkers to button hooks, adaptive tools for daily living often look more like medical supplies than personal items. And while these devices may work mechanically (sometimes…), their aesthetic often sends a different message: “Hide this. And be grateful you have it.”

In Mismatch, Kat Holmes reminds us that exclusion happens when we solve problems using our own biases. And in Invisible Women, Caroline Criado Perez shows how even well-intended systems often ignore nuance in people’s identities. The design of assistive tools is no exception.

Why Design Language Matters

Inclusive product design isn’t just about access. It’s about dignity. And that includes how something looks, feels, and fits into the user’s life.

Design tells a story.

It can say:

• “You are seen and included.”

• “This was made for someone with agency and taste.”

Or it can say:

• “Deal with it. Be grateful.”

• “You have no other option”

In Design Justice, Sasha Costanza-Chock encourages us to rethink who makes design decisions and who those decisions benefit or burden. That includes the aesthetics of disability-related products. When we strip emotion, beauty, or identity out of a product, we’re not just designing poorly, we’re sending the wrong message.

What Stylish Assistive Technology Could Look Like

I imagine assistive devices that feel like jewelry. Stylish disability tools that don’t compromise on function or  form. Adaptive tools that live on a nightstand, not in a drawer. That come in bold colors or chrome finishes. That fit the personality of the person using them, not the expectations of the healthcare system.

This isn’t just about aesthetics. It’s about empowerment. When a tool feels like an extension of someone’s identity, they’re more likely to use it, trust it, and even love it.

And isn’t that the goal?

Designing With Emotion and Pride

Designers often focus on usability and accessibility — and that’s essential. But we also need to ask:

• Would I be proud to carry this?

• Would this look good on a shelf, in a photo, or on my wrist?

• Does this tool feel empowering or clinical?

Because the difference between compliance and confidence might be design that cares not just how it works, but how it feels.

Let’s Redesign the Future of Assistive Devices

If you use assistive tech, or you’ve ever avoided one because it didn’t feel like you, I want to hear from you.

What would your dream tool look like? What finish would it have? Would it fold, clip, shine, disappear, or make a statement?

Let’s reimagine a future where assistive technology isn’t a medical object, it’s a personal one.

Written By: Joey Quatela | Founder of 7D