(Above: Photo by Jr Korpa)

Design shapes our mental, physical, and social well-being in ways we often overlook. At its core, design is about human connection. When done right, it can foster social interaction and cultivate a sense of belonging — it's compassion, empathy and understanding all wrapped in one. But what does it truly mean to design for human connection? And how are designers using it as a tool for place making?

Andrea Benatar, experiential graphic designer at CannonDesign and Erin Peavey, AIA, health and well-being design leader and principal at HKS have both explored centering empathy and compassion in their work to better enhance human connection. In their work, they have seen the importance of designing not just for function, but for the deeply human need to feel seen, supported, and connected.

Benatar and Peavey offer valuable insights on their design process and how empathy and compassion are some of the most important tools you can use as a designer.

Responses have been lightly edited for length and clarity.

Tell me about designing for human connection and social interaction. What does this look like for you and why is it important?

Andrea Benatar (AB): Human connection and social interaction are really what transforms a space into a place. It can take form in so many ways, but in my own process, it’s a matter of identifying and intentionally weaving moments of connection into an experience. As designers, our responsibility is to create a place where interactions can occur seamlessly and spontaneously. This social layer is incredibly important to fold into the design process because it provides people with a sense of belonging and shared purpose, it’s ultimately what creates the soul and spirit of a place.

Erin Peavey (EP): We are wired for connection — loneliness literally hurts. And yet so much of what we've lost isn't in the big, deep relationships, rather it’s the space between destinations where life actually happens. The neighbor you nod to on the sidewalk, or the coffee shop where you're a familiar face. For me, designing for human connection became deeply personal after I lost my mother and became a new mom within the same few months. Home alone with a newborn, I did what my mother always told me to do — stay connected. Every day I'd strap my daughter to my chest and walk to coffee shops, linger at the grocery store, search out third places that could offer even a small sense of shared humanity. I didn't need deep conversations — I just needed to not feel alone. The built environment was genuinely an antidote — and that experience cemented for me that this work isn't abstract. Designing for connection means treating social health as seriously as physical health — asking, at every scale, whether a space invites people in or turns its back on them. It can be life and death for some people.

EP: The most important thing I can do as a designer is show up as a listener first — the person in the room most committed to understanding. That means sitting with community members at health fairs, doing mock-ups with clinical staff, and asking questions that don't have easy answers. Pushing this a step further, I think we should be designing with compassion rather than empathy. They sound similar but they're meaningfully different. Empathy asks you to step into someone else’s shoes — while that's well-intentioned, people often project their own experience onto others, and lead us to believe we understand far more than we actually do, which is a design risk. Compassion is different. It says: I see you, I'm moved by what you're carrying, and I'm committed to showing up for you. It keeps the designer in a posture of curiosity and service rather than false certainty. It’s the orientation I think our whole industry needs — and one I think we should be teaching in design schools as a fundamental, not a finishing touch.

Does designing for connection look different when designing different types of spaces??

AB: Absolutely. Human connection is going to look completely different in an office space versus a public library versus a hospital. Even within a singular space type, the moments for connection and interaction might vary greatly. I always try to keep in mind 1. What level of connection are people craving in this space, and 2. What is the value of connection in this space?. For instance, in healthcare spaces, there are moments where human connection is incredibly valuable and necessary, but there are also moments where introspection and quiet might take precedence. It is our job as designers to try and carve out those spaces appropriately, so that those moments of connection are intentional and meaningful.

How do you design spaces for connecting people from diverse demographics?

AB: I am always striving to strike a balance between universal spaces that are welcoming to all and spaces with details that allow people to see themselves reflected in the space. I believe the best way to accomplish this is through careful research and including as many perspectives as possible. It’s important to consider the contextual layers that might affect how someone experiences a space, whether it be culture, language, physical ability or neurodiverse perspectives.

EP: The first step is making sure diverse voices are actually in the room as a foundation of the process. I've facilitated bilingual design sessions at community health fairs, done full-scale mock-ups with clinical staff, and sat with neighbors in Southern Dallas listening to what they actually need and want — things I couldn’t learn without listening. A real sense of belonging is woven into the bones of a design. Intergenerational connection is one area I find particularly powerful — when we design spaces where children and elders share everyday life, something remarkable happens for both — loneliness drops and purpose increases.

What tools or strategies would you recommend for designers looking to incorporate empathy and wellness in their design process?

AB: I frequently come back to the four phase framework for empathetic design developed in 2009 by researchers Kouprie and Visser. The four phases outlined in their study are: 1. Discovery, building an understanding of someone else’s world; 2. Immersion, becoming enmeshed in that world; 3. Connection, resonating and finding meaning in that experience and; 4. Detachment, stepping back into the ‘designer’ role. This framework can be applied widely at any phase, and with any tools available to you. You’ll discover different perspectives through primary research, like interviews and surveys but you can also do so through extensive reading. Another strategy I’ve found helpful is to identify key emotions that will occur at various points in an experience. Because emotion is universal, I think it can be a simple and effective gateway for understanding someone else’s experience. When I am thinking about how someone moves through a space, I like to imagine an emotional journey map of sorts. At every key design decision, I ask myself, “how might a person be feeling at this point in their journey, and ‘how can the design either support this feeling or transform it?”’ It seems obvious, but it allows us as designers a point of reference and a small window into someone else’s experience.

EP: Start by listening before you design — not a perfunctory check-the-box community meeting, but genuine, sustained curiosity about the people who will inhabit the space. Their lives, their fears, and their hopes for what a place could be. The designer's job in that moment is to be the best listener in the room, not the smartest person in it. That's compassion in practice — not assuming you know, but staying curious enough to keep asking. From there, lean on the evidence. There is a growing body of research on what actually supports human well-being in the built environment. I'd point designers to frameworks like WELL, Trauma-Informed Design, and our PANACHe framework, which distills evidence-based strategies for fostering social connection into six qualities: placeness, accessibility, nature, activation, choice, and human scale. These aren't aesthetic preferences — they are design decisions that align with our evolutionary needs for safety, belonging, and connection. And finally — use yourself. Spend time in the spaces you're designing for. Notice what your body is telling you before your brain catches up. Compassion is a practice, and the more we develop it in ourselves, the more naturally it shows up in our work.

What's the best thing you’ve learned designing for human connection and well-being?

AB: I still have a lot left to learn, but one of lessons I always try to carry with me is that no moment is too small to be designed. A point of connection as simple as a graphic reflecting a tidbit of local history can be what starts a conversation and ultimately creates that shared sense of belonging. Human connection goes hand in hand with storytelling, and the more compelling we can make the narrative in a space, the more memorable the experience will be.

EP: That it doesn't take as much as we think — and yet it remains oddly countercultural. The texture, the layers, the thoughtful material choice that tells someone this place was made for you — these shouldn’t get treated as afterthoughts or line items to cut when budgets get tight. These aren’t finishing touches, they're fundamental. They're what the nervous system responds to before the brain even registers walking through a door. I've learned that great interiors aren't aesthetic indulgence — they are health infrastructure — and when treated as such, something remarkable becomes possible.

Read more Perspective: Designing for Human Connection