My dad and I run on stickers and Tervis Tumblers. As a child, drawing my own blood was intimidating. While I braved it out every time, I began to dread the grey lancing device, always foreshadowing shocking pain. But when I was 9 years old, at a diabetic convention, I was gifted a new monitoring device: rainbow, covered in sparkles that came with a pack of decorative stickers. Drawing blood still hurt, but the approachable design made it easier for elementary school Hana. The Tervis Tumblers on my kitchen counter look like ancient artifacts—yellowed and foggy from wear, but my family can’t get rid of them. Not only because we’d hate to see the “#1 Dad” and puppy decals go, but also because they’re the only mugs that work for my dad. Your average ceramic or glass? Too clumsy, too fragile, and any hot drink burns his paralyzed hands. But the lightweight, grippy Tumblers are perfect for my Dad to enjoy his morning coffee. As I’ve developed hopes to design professionally in the future, my family’s accommodations have become crucial to my understanding of “good” and accessible design. Aesthetics and accessibility are often viewed as two polar ends of a spectrum, where prioritizing one necessarily means sacrificing the other. However, I’ve come to realize that both function and form are at the heart of accessibility. Our aesthetic choices inherently involve usability. A government website cluttered with jargon, low contrast text, and endless drop down menus doesn’t just look uninviting—it actively shuts families out of key benefits they might need. In hospitals and transit spaces, signage that relies on small fonts and visual clutter can render navigation impossible for first time visitors, non-native speakers, or people who easily experience cognitive overload. For individuals who depend on accommodations to live life with dignity, such differences in usability are critical. Through the Brown RISD Dual Degree program, I hope to create accommodative and aesthetic designs that carry forward what I’ve learned from my family. At Brown, I’ll gain the language to critique the systems burdening disabled communities through PHP 2710 and HISP 2520T, which I can apply to the context of Industrial Design in RISD’s ID 20ST-06. I can take what I learn about Digital Design in SCULP 2141-01 and apply it directly into prototypes at the Brown Design Workshop. The simultaneous enrollment between Brown and RISD would mirror my optimal learning style: creating art from what I learn. A positive feedback loop between learning, design, prototyping, workshopping, then back to learning. In turn, I’d hope to contribute to the progress that Brown and RISD have made, making an accessible space for everyone. When my parents visited me during my time in Summer@Brown, we were generally able to find ramps for my dad to get around (and of course, we visited RISD too). But with the additional help of the Brown Accessibility Map, navigating the dauntingly steep College Hill became much easier than expected. I hope to innovate technology furthering this inclusivity: audio GPS for navigating campus as a blind first-time visitor or remote key door entry for students and admin with disabilities. If good design is measured by who it includes, then a sticker-covered lancet and a foggy Tervis Tumbler have taught me exactly how to contribute.