I started skiing two decades before I ever designed a screen. Cross-country tours, small hills, more winters, bigger hills, real mountains — and more years. So, when I eventually began designing backpacks, I figured I had a decent head start.

Turns out, I did. Kind of...

There’s a surprising amount of overlap between gear design and digital product design. In both, you begin by trying to understand the user: their needs, their environment, what they’re trying to achieve. A project might kick off from a specific material or an aesthetic idea, but ultimately, design isn’t about what you want to make — it’s about what they need to use.

So, I started designing ski backpacks with a pretty good understanding of the user needs. I built prototypes and used them on my ski trips, and thought I nailed it. But then a professional mountain guide evaluated the pack and pointed out some flaws in scenarios I couldn’t fully imagine — because I had never been in those situations. 

The feedback you get in real-world use — whether on a mountain or in a usability test — is revealing. Sometimes humbling. Always necessary. UX design practice puts great emphasis on user research and frequent testing in order to really understand the user needs. I think that approach has greatly benefitted my gear design process too. 

Designing for everyone and for every use case is a trap and a sign of weak understanding of the users. A pack that tries to work for every possible adventure will probably fail on the ones that really matter. Experienced users notice when something tries to be too much — the excess features, the extra weight, wrong strap placement. They move on. The same principle holds true in UX. You have to decide who the product is truly for.

Of course, accessibility in digital design is crucial, and rightly so. But even as we try to serve as many users as possible, it’s still important to understand what people are trying to do — and then make that path as clear and effortless as possible.

When I began developing gear for ski alpinists, I knew I had to go beyond my own experience. I’m a ski tourer, but I’m not a climber. So I studied existing products, talked to people who live and breathe that world, and listened closely to what they need. It was inspiring but I was really looking for the sharpest definition of what really matters to them. What’s essential? What’s just noise? And once I understood that, I could start making decisions with clarity.

That, I think, has been the most important lesson: focus and trim. It’s easy to keep adding features and options just because you can — just in case someone, somewhere, might appreciate them. But often, the best thing you can do is strip it back to the essentials, and be absolutely clear about what the product is for — and who it’s for.

Because when you know that, everything else gets easier.

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