Abstract
Design is at a threshold—caught between collapse and renewal. As the complexity of today’s challenges grows, traditional design methods are no longer enough. Climate breakdown, social inequality, and collapsing systems expose the limits of human-centred thinking in addressing wicked problems. The future, like a layered dream, unfolds unpredictably, revealing multiple possibilities.
This essay explores how we can navigate these layers—embracing complexity, mapping possible futures, and designing beyond the human perspective through participatory methods. At its core, it asks: How do we build for what’s possible, not just what’s known?
The Layers of Tomorrow
Let’s say you are waiting for a train. You know where you want it to take you, but the path ahead is full of unknowns. That’s the nature of the future—it unfolds in layers, rarely predictable, often taking us somewhere unexpected.
The question is not how to control it, but how to embrace the journey. How do we design for what lies beyond the horizon when the tracks seem to shift beneath us?
“You’re waiting for a train. A train that will take you far away. You know where you hope this train will take you, but you can’t be sure.” – Inception (2010)
We live at the edge of what is known, designing for what might be.
The tools that once guided us—human-centred design, quick iterations, linear fixes—now feel inadequate. The problems we face today are vast, interconnected, and tangled in complexity. Climate breakdown, inequality, collapsing systems—these are wicked problems that refuse to fit into neat solutions.
We’re caught between collapse and renewal.
In this liminal space, the only way forward is to embrace complexity, to think beyond the present and imagine futures yet to be written. We’re not solving problems; we’re building layers of possibility. The deeper we go, the more complex and rich those layers become.
Layer One: When Systems Collapse – The Wicked Problem Spiral
“The dream is collapsing!”
Have you ever felt that jolt? That violent reminder that the world is falling apart? Wicked problems are similar. They defy simple solutions. They resist linear, human-centred design because they manifest in complex systems.
Take Hurricane Katrina (2005). It wasn’t just a storm; it exposed how fragile and interconnected the system truly was—failing infrastructure, neglected communities, climate vulnerability. Years later, Jakarta faces a similar fate, with a planned $30 billion relocation of its capital due to rising sea levels.
Or look at the 2008 financial crash, which revealed the cracks in speculative real estate markets. Housing crises in cities like London, New York, and Hong Kong continue today, driven by deeper systemic issues: inequality, zoning laws, and unregulated markets.
Collapse is painful, but it’s also a release—a chance to rethink what’s possible. The first step is to stop trying to fix what’s broken and start imagining what might come next.
Layer Two: Foresight as a Compass – A Compass to What Could Be
“Dreams feel real while we’re in them. It’s only when we wake up that we realise something was strange.” (Inception, 2010)
Strategic foresight offers a compass, not a map. It doesn’t predict the future; it expands the possibilities.
Imagine the future as a layered dream. Backcasting, scenario-building, and speculative design let us navigate multiple futures at once, preparing for uncertainty instead of fearing it.
In public health, the 2019 Global Health Security Index warned of pandemic risks months before COVID-19. Countries like South Korea, which had explored pandemic scenarios, responded faster and more effectively than others. It wasn’t luck—it was foresight.
Foresight transforms uncertainty into a creative act, asking: What kind of future could we build if we dared to dream beyond the present?
Layer Three: Beyond the Human – Designing for a Living World
“We must go deeper.”
If foresight is the map, then more-than-human thinking is the expanded terrain. What happens when the future we’re designing isn’t just for humans?
For too long, design has assumed that human needs come first. That cities should serve people. That infrastructure should optimise human convenience. But the reality is more complex: we do not exist in isolation. The systems we depend on—climate, biodiversity, ocean currents, soil health—shape our survival.
When the Gulf Stream weakens, it’s not just an abstract climate event; it reshapes entire continents. If it stops completely, Europe could freeze while West Africa faces intensified droughts—forcing mass displacement and economic collapse. Similarly, the decline of pollinators isn’t just an environmental issue—it’s an agricultural crisis. No bees, no food.
These are not future hypotheticals. They are cascading failures that happen when we design only for people and ignore the more-than-human world.
This is why more-than-human design is not just good—it’s necessary. Every decision we make—about cities, infrastructure, people—affects entire ecosystems, whether or not we acknowledge it. The question is no longer if we should design beyond the human perspective, but how soon we will realise we have no choice.
Layer Four: The Collective Blueprint – 'Co-Designing' Futures
And what if we all dream of this idea together?
Participatory design transforms foresight into collective dreaming. It’s not about what designers want—it’s about co-creating futures with communities.
In Inception, Ariadne designs the dream’s structure, but the dreamers bring it to life. Participatory design works the same way—designers facilitate, but communities shape the future.
After Hurricane Sandy (2012), New York’s Rebuild by Design brought together architects, residents, and local leaders to imagine new flood protections and green infrastructure. The result? A more resilient city, built not from the top down but from within the community.
The more voices we include, the richer the dream becomes.
Layer Five: Radical Hope – The Space Between
“Down here, we’re not bound by the rules of reality.”
Radical hope lives in limbo—that strange space between collapse and regeneration. It’s not blind optimism. It’s a refusal to let collapse be the final act.
Participatory foresight helps us stay in that liminal space long enough to see new possibilities. It turns despair into creativity, fear into action.
After the Christchurch earthquake, residents reimagined their city through foresight workshops. They prioritised connection, green spaces, and resilience. Radical hope wasn’t just an idea—it was woven into policy, becoming the foundation for their city’s recovery.
Hope keeps the future alive. It’s what lets us build futures that seem impossible—until they’re not.
The Top Keeps Spinning
At the end of Inception, Cobb spins his top and walks away. We never find out if it falls. Is it real? Is it still a dream? We’re left wondering.
And maybe that’s the point. Participatory foresight doesn’t offer certainty. It offers possibilities—fluid, layered, and constantly evolving. The future isn’t something to discover; it’s something to build. Together.
The top keeps spinning. The dream continues.
What futures will we dare to build next?
Written by Trisha Mehta.
Trisha Mehta is a Design Futurist who works at the crossroads of design, foresight, and systems thinking. Her practice explores how futures thinking and participatory design can help organisations navigate complexity and create more equitable, sustainable outcomes. Blending strategic foresight, storytelling, and critical design, Trisha is driven by a mission to turn possibilities into tangible change—designing not just for the future but with it.
Links
- LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/trishamehta/
- Website: https://www.trishamehta.com/
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