Neurodiversity, creativity and the human experience of our built environment
What happens when we stop designing spaces purely for the eye and start considering the different ways people think, feel, process and experience the world around them?
For a long time, the conversation around interior design has been dominated by aesthetics, functionality and spatial efficiency. We discuss proportions, materials, lighting, colour, circulation and architectural coherence. We consider how a space looks, how it works and how it connects with the wider building.
But there is another dimension to good design that deserves considerably more attention: how a space makes someone feel, and how effectively it supports the way they experience the world.
I have recently found myself exploring this subject from a rather unexpected perspective. Having discovered that I am neurodivergent, I have started to reconsider not only how I experience my surroundings, but also how I approach the creative process itself.
It has prompted some interesting questions about the relationship between neurodiversity, creativity, architecture and interior design.
Perhaps, in understanding ourselves a little better, we can also begin to understand what makes a space genuinely work for the people who inhabit it.
Understanding the design brain
Looking back across my career in kitchen and interior design, I can recognise certain patterns in the way I approach a project.
I rarely see a room as an isolated space. I tend to look beyond the immediate brief, considering how individual elements relate to the wider architecture, how spaces connect and how seemingly unrelated details might influence the overall composition.
I can move between the bigger picture and the smallest detail almost instinctively. An initial design idea might lead me down several different paths, exploring proportions, materials, architectural references and practical considerations before returning to the original concept with a much clearer understanding of what it needs to become.
I also become deeply absorbed in the process. I can spend hours exploring a design problem, examining alternatives and refining details until everything begins to make sense.
Previously, I simply regarded this as the way I worked. I understood my strengths, recognised my frustrations and knew that my relationship with the creative process was perhaps a little different from that of some of my colleagues.
Understanding my own neurodivergence has given me another way of interpreting those experiences.
Neurodivergence is an umbrella term encompassing a range of neurological differences, including autism and ADHD. These are distinct experiences, and no two neurodivergent people will necessarily think, process information or experience their surroundings in the same way.
However, differences in attention, sensory processing, pattern recognition, information processing and the need for predictability can all influence how individuals interact with their environment.
For me, this has been less about finding a label and more about understanding a lifetime of experiences through a different lens.
It has also made me consider whether the design industry gives sufficient attention to the diversity of the people for whom we create spaces.
Beyond aesthetics: the sensory experience of space
We often talk about atmosphere when describing a successful interior.
A room might be described as calm, stimulating, welcoming, intimate or energising. These are subjective responses, but they are influenced by tangible design decisions.
Lighting, acoustics, colour, texture, temperature, spatial organisation and visual complexity all contribute to how we experience an environment.
Consider a busy kitchen. It might be visually impressive, beautifully detailed and highly functional from a conventional design perspective. But what happens when several appliances are operating, multiple conversations are taking place, lighting is creating glare and there is little opportunity to step away from the activity?
For one person, this might feel lively and enjoyable. For another, it could become overwhelming.
The same applies to bedrooms, living spaces, bathrooms and workplaces.
A highly reflective surface might create visual interest but introduce unwanted glare. A dramatic lighting scheme might look wonderful in photographs but offer insufficient flexibility for different activities. An open-plan layout might encourage interaction but provide little opportunity for privacy or sensory retreat.
None of these design decisions is inherently wrong. The problem arises when we assume that one approach will work equally well for everyone.
Aesthetics and sensory comfort should not be competing priorities.
The challenge is to understand how they can work together.
Lighting: more than illumination
One area I find particularly interesting is the relationship between lighting and our natural circadian rhythms.
Our bodies operate according to an internal biological clock, influenced by environmental cues, particularly light and darkness.
Natural daylight plays an important role in regulating this rhythm, influencing alertness during the day and the transition towards sleep in the evening.
Yet artificial lighting is often treated as a purely functional or decorative element within residential design.
We select fittings, establish lighting positions, determine colour temperatures and create visual hierarchy. But we should also consider the timing, intensity and quality of light throughout the day.
A more considered approach might include:
Maximising access to natural daylight wherever practical.
Providing adjustable lighting levels for different activities.
Using appropriate colour temperatures throughout the day.
Reducing unnecessary glare and harsh contrasts.
Creating softer, warmer lighting environments in the evening.
Providing individual control over lighting rather than relying on a single fixed setting.
Circadian-informed lighting is particularly interesting because it connects interior design with the rhythms of everyday life.
It is not about prescribing a particular lighting temperature for everybody or promising that a lighting scheme will solve sleep difficulties. It is about understanding the relationship between light exposure, timing and human physiology, and making more informed decisions.
For neurodivergent occupants, lighting preferences and sensitivities can also vary considerably. Flexibility and control are therefore important considerations.
Designing for different sensory needs
Lighting is only one part of a much wider conversation.
Acoustics, for example, are frequently overlooked in residential interiors. Background noise, reverberation and sound transmission can have a significant influence on how comfortable a space feels.
Material selection also deserves closer consideration. Texture, reflectivity, temperature and even the tactile qualities of everyday surfaces can affect how someone experiences their surroundings.
Then there is visual organisation.
Clutter, busy patterns, excessive decoration and competing visual elements can create a very different experience depending on the individual.
For some people, a richly layered interior feels stimulating and expressive. Others may prefer a more restrained environment with clear visual organisation and fewer competing elements.
This does not mean every neuroinclusive interior should be neutral, minimalist or devoid of character.
That would be an unfortunate misunderstanding.
The objective is not to impose a particular aesthetic on neurodivergent people. It is to recognise individual differences and provide environments that offer choice, flexibility and control.
A well-designed home should allow its occupants to experience different environments within the same property: places for social interaction, concentration, relaxation, privacy and retreat.
Sometimes the most important design decision is not adding another feature, but understanding what needs to be removed.
The architecture of understanding
This thinking has also made me reflect on some of my previous projects.
Headland House, for example, provided an opportunity to explore the relationship between architectural character, interior composition and the finer details that bring a property together.
The project reinforced something I have always believed: successful interior design should not be an exercise in decorating individual rooms.
It requires an understanding of the building as a whole.
The architecture, proportions, circulation, material palette, furniture, lighting and functional requirements need to form a coherent relationship.
But perhaps there is another question we should be asking alongside these considerations.
How does the architecture support the people living within it?
A beautifully composed interior is only truly successful if it works in the context of everyday life. The experience of moving through a home, finding somewhere quiet, managing light, interacting with other occupants and having control over personal space is just as important as the visual outcome.
This is where I believe neuroinclusive design has an important contribution to make.
It encourages us to think more carefully about the relationship between people and their surroundings, rather than assuming that the building itself is the only consideration.
A current project bringing this into focus
Interestingly, these ideas are becoming increasingly relevant to my current work.
I am involved in the design of a residential project for a family in which neurodivergence is part of the experience of every household member, including all three children.
Without making assumptions about their individual needs, this presents an opportunity to approach the design process with a particularly important consideration: the home needs to work for several different people, each with their own preferences, routines and sensory experiences.
There is no single neurodivergent design template that can simply be applied.
Instead, understanding the occupants becomes central to the process.
How do they use the different spaces? Where do they need privacy? What environments do they find comfortable? Are there particular sensitivities around lighting, sound or materials? How can the layout accommodate different routines and activities without creating unnecessary friction?
These are questions that should inform the design from the outset.
I am particularly interested in exploring how considered lighting, spatial planning, material selection and environmental control can contribute to a more supportive home.
It also reinforces the importance of listening.
Designers can bring technical knowledge, creative thinking and experience to a project, but the people who inhabit the finished space are the experts in their own experiences.
Our role is to translate that understanding into thoughtful, practical design solutions.
A wider responsibility for the design industry
Neuroinclusive design is beginning to attract greater attention within architecture and interior design, and rightly so.
Initiatives such as Crown Paints' Neuroinclusive Design Programme are helping bring the subject into the professional conversation, encouraging architects, interior designers and specifiers to consider how the built environment can better accommodate neurological differences.
But I believe this needs to become more than a specialist area of interest.
It should inform how we approach residential design, workplaces, education, hospitality and public environments.
We already understand the importance of designing for physical accessibility. We consider circulation widths, thresholds, ergonomics and the practical requirements of different users.
It is equally important to recognise that accessibility and inclusion extend beyond physical considerations.
The sensory and cognitive experience of a space matters too.
This does not mean every project needs an entirely different design language or that every environment can accommodate every individual preference. There will always be practical, financial and architectural constraints.
But it does mean asking better questions, involving occupants in the process and making informed decisions rather than relying on assumptions.
Designing for the human experience
My recent discovery of neurodivergence has given me a new perspective on something I have spent much of my professional life doing.
It has helped me reflect on my own creative process, the way I approach problems and the importance I place on relationships between architectural elements.
More importantly, it has made me increasingly interested in the relationship between design and the people who live with the results of our decisions.
I don't believe good design should be defined exclusively by how something looks in a photograph, how fashionable a material might be or how impressive a finished space appears.
Those things have their place, but they are only part of the picture.
A home should support the people living within it. It should provide comfort, functionality, flexibility and a sense of belonging. It should allow people to be themselves without constantly having to adapt to an environment that doesn't work for them.
Perhaps the next step in the evolution of interior design is to pay much closer attention to the human experience of space.
Not designing for an assumed average person, but recognising that people experience the world differently.
Because ultimately, good design should not expect people to fit into a space. It should consider how the space can work for them.
StudioDeWynter explores the relationship between architecture, interiors and the human experience of the built environment. Through considered design, materiality, spatial planning and collaboration, our aim is to create environments that are not only architecturally coherent but meaningful to the people who inhabit them.