STC Usability SIG Newsletter
Usability Interface

Bridging Usability and Aesthetic Design of Wheelchairs

by Betsy Fields

A wheelchair provides transportation for the disabled, independence and self-sufficiency to someone who would otherwise be completely dependent on others. But is functionality the only aspect of a wheelchair worth contemplation? Should we not evaluate the design aesthetic of wheelchairs to the same extent that we analyze the design of other useful and purposeful objects?

Wheelchairs date back to the 16th century, when Jehan Lhermite built the first one for Philip II of Spain. In the 19th century, designers attempted to improve wheelchair design by using wicker instead of heavy wood in order to make them lighter. However, the wicker couldn't handle the stresses and strains of daily use, so chair designers went back to using wood. In 1919, Herbert Everest, a mining engineer, broke his back in a mining accident. Dissatisfied with his unwieldy wooden wheelchair, he invented the first lightweight, folding wheelchair with the help of his friend Harry Jennings, a mechanical engineer. Several decades later, Everest & Jennings was the first company to produce a commercially available electric wheelchair. (Sources: www.dsa.org.au/life_site/text/tech/ and www.geocities.com/bwhendrickson/history.html)

Today, consumers have a wide range of choices when it comes to buying a wheelchair. One can choose between a manual chair and a power chair; standard, lightweight, and ultra-lightweight chairs; sport wheelchairs; recliner wheelchairs; heavy-duty wheelchairs; and tilt wheelchairs. Compared to the early days, when wheelchairs came in but one form, this is an amazing improvement. In terms of functionality, today's wheelchairs are much more versatile and user-friendly than the first models were, and in terms of comfort, today's wheelchairs are presumably a vast improvement over those of the past, utilizing new developments in seat cushion technologies and the advent of new, better materials.

In terms of aesthetics, however, current wheelchair design is disappointing in its lack thereof. Figures 1, 2, and 3 show three types of wheelchairs currently on the market. While each of these chairs clearly has different functional features, the aesthetic similarities between them are rather striking. The chairs have the same basic design: a boxy shape, huge in-your-face wheels, and a mechanical, sterile appearance. Moreover, each model is available in exactly one shade: grayish black.

Figure 1 - Guardian Escort from Sunrise Medical, a manual standard weight wheelchair

Figure 2 - Sunrise/Quickie Recliner, a manual recliner wheelchair

Figure 3 - Invacare Ranger II, an electric wheelchair

What is the consequence of this sterile uniformity in wheelchair design? In fact, the repercussions may be more serious than we would like to think. When you see an able-bodied person walking down the street, you notice various things about them: looks, body English, facial expression. You form an impression of them that stems from what they are wearing and what kind of vibes they give off. An able-bodied person is able to communicate something about their personality to the world - they have quite a lot of control over what the world sees when they are in public. When you see a disabled person moving around in a wheelchair, what do you first notice about them?

Chances are, you mainly notice the wheelchair. Those immense wheels and the lowered height of the person in the chair makes the entire package - person and chair - stick out like a sore thumb. Its occupant is probably someone to be pitied, not someone to be reckoned with. No question, the presence of that wheelchair has a huge impact on any further interaction you may have with the person in it. Such is human nature.

Why is the basic design for most wheelchairs today the same as it has been for years and years - sterile, unfriendly, and completely unsubtle? Why have we not seen the same radical changes in the appearance of wheelchairs as we have in the appearance of most all other furniture and appliances? Why have aesthetics been close to completely ignored? It is true that designers have paid attention to the functionality of the product, adding new features and innovations, as they become technologically feasible. But what about the overall presentation? Why don't wheelchairs come in as many different shapes and colors as any other consumer product, be it sunglasses or shoes, skateboards or automobiles?

Barthes wrote, "use never does anything but shelter meaning." Designers view the wheelchair a product whose value lies solely in its functionality; aesthetic qualities seem to count for nil. If the "meaning" of an object is the significance it holds in the public eye, then in the case of the wheelchair, its "use" certainly does "shelter" its meaning, and in a most sinister fashion: the sterility of wheelchair design is a clear reflection of our attitude towards human disability.

What do the current designs imply about the way society views the handicapped? What meaning is "sheltered" by the appalling lack of aesthetic innovation in wheelchair design? When we begin to consider the matter, the implications are grim. It is as though we are telling the handicapped, "Look at the mobility this wheelchair affords you! You should be grateful that you could now reclaim some independence. The fact that this chair, which will be your constant companion anytime you wish to go anywhere, is gray, sterile, and institutional-looking, should not be an issue. You should be grateful for everything it does for you and not worry about what it is doing to you and to society's image of you.

In the 1980s, the desire to boost the self-sufficiency of wheelchair users compelled industrial designer Drew Browning and his team to design the "Legged Electromechanical Multiple-Gaited Superchair," (Figure 4), a contraption that would surely leave the public speechless were it ever to enjoy mainstream use among the disabled. Aesthetic appeal was clearly not the group's main concern, if it was a concern at all. In answer to anxieties over public receptivity, not to mention the average person's fear of spiders, Browning wrote, "It is hoped that any reservations about the appearance will be dispelled by LEGS' wide range of capabilities." These hopes were, understandably, not widely sustained, and the project was not funded beyond the prototype stage. (Sources: bucky.aa.uic.edu/DVL/drew and bucky.aa.uic.edu/DVL/drew/leggs.html)

Figure 4 - Legged Electromechanical Multiple-Gaited Superchair

Is there anything that designers can do to lessen that initial negative impact, that red-flag quality of the typical modern wheelchair? Form may have to follow function, but this is no excuse for accepting any form that does in fact function. Is there any way to redesign the wheelchair so that it is fully functional but less threatening and more inviting? Figure 5 shows the Jazzy 1100 Electric Wheelchair by Pride. This designer has obviously put some thought into this model - the shape of the seat is reminiscent of a padded chair one might find in a car, rather than a metal chair one might find in a school auditorium. The designer has clearly started to break out of the utility-driven rut in which most wheelchair designers seem to be stuck, and has begun to treat wheelchair design in the same manner as regular chair design - with some thought towards aesthetics and form, as well as to function. However, Pride (let alone other wheelchair companies) has not bothered to pay similar attention to the design of their manual wheelchairs, and with a price tag of $5,420, it's no wonder these new electric models haven't been flooding the streets.

Figure 5 - Jazzy 1100 Electric Wheelchair

For those who depend on a wheelchair for their day-to-day mobility, the way their chair is designed and its style reflects on them for as long as they are using it. Wheelchair designers should, therefore, take this into consideration and place more emphasis on the aesthetic quality of the chair. It hardly matters if the chair is needed only temporarily or if the wheelchair is a person's lifetime companion, although those in the latter category certainly deserve wheelchairs that are both fully functional and aesthetically appealing. When Barthes wrote, "use never does anything but shelter meaning," perhaps he was not thinking of wheelchairs. But had he thought of them, he might have grimaced at the thought that we, as designers, are projecting our own prejudice and discomfort towards human disability on the very objects that are supposed to be helping the disabled to overcome their handicap.