I live in a 100-year-old house with my husband and two middle-aged, opinionated cats. The more unpredictable one, Jules, has recently developed a habit of using the bathroom mat for her toilet habits. Cat psychology aside, the bathroom door now stays closed, as she’s gently encouraged to use her tray like the civilised feline her sister is.
As it turns out, this minor disruption to our routine has led me to think a lot about doors. Or more specifically: door handles.
The bathroom door has a lovely old latch; mechanical and visible in its workings. Press the thumb plate down, and the latch lifts. Simple. Tactile. Satisfying. It works beautifully. It feels intentional. Designed with thought. Gives a gentle yet satisfying clunk when operated.
Then there’s the door between the kitchen and the laundry. This one has a standard, round internal doorknob installed on the door far too close to the door frame. I reach for it with my right hand (as I naturally do), turn - and whack my knuckles against the frame. Every. Single. Time.
It’s a tiny, everyday frustration. But it’s also a reminder: design isn’t just about how things look. It’s about how they feel. How they function. How they fit into our lived experience.
Bad design jars us, even in the quietest moments. Good design? You barely notice it, it just works.
This blog isn’t about perfect case studies or glossy UI mockups. It’s about little moments like this. Where design meets daily life. Where a cat named Jules, a bruised knuckle, and a hundred-year-old latch can teach you something real.
Stay curious. Notice the doors.
