In 2023, a woman named Mary, then in her late seventies and living independently in a London neighbourhood, found herself unexpectedly confined by the very design of her own home. After a minor fall, she developed a temporary mobility issue and relied on a walking frame. Her flat was only accessible via a narrow spiral staircase. No elevators, no ramps, just those tight, curved steps. Within days of her recovery, Mary realised the insurmountable barrier she now faced. A space she had known for years forced her into isolation, not because of her body, but because of design that never considered a moment like this.
But we all know Mary is not the only one. This kind of indirect confinement happens all over the world. People find themselves shut in, not by locked doors, but by steps too steep, corridors too narrow, footpaths too broken, or public buildings with entrances that might as well have “Not for You” written above them. The built form can turn everyday life into an obstacle course, especially when it has been shaped without the realities of ageing, disability or cognitive change in mind.
Walls You Cannot See
The World Health Organization has called age-friendly urban design a critical health intervention. It is not just about access to amenities. It is about health outcomes, independence, and dignity. Studies have shown that social isolation increases the risk of premature death by up to 29 percent, on par with smoking and worse than obesity.
For people living with dementia, design can be the difference between participating in life or retreating from it entirely. Research from the Dementia Services Development Centre at the University of Stirling shows that spaces with clear sight lines, intuitive layouts, and visual cues can significantly reduce stress, support navigation, and encourage social connection.
For people with disabilities, inclusive design is not a luxury feature. It is a basic requirement for participation. Yet too often, building codes and planning processes settle for compliance rather than aspiration. They meet the letter of accessibility law while completely missing its spirit. This results in spaces that may be technically accessible, but are uninviting, unstimulating, and in some cases, barely functional.
Nicholas Christakis’ research into social networks reinforces the point. Communities where people of all ages and abilities regularly interact see measurable improvements in wellbeing, resilience, and even longevity. This is not theoretical. It is a design choice with profound social consequences.
Design for Life, Not Just for Safety
When we design for connection, we design for life. But for decades, our default has been to separate. Older adults in one place. Children in another. People with disabilities tucked away in “special” facilities. The result is predictable: isolation, decline, and a built environment that treats certain groups as if they exist outside the flow of everyday life.
The irony is that the things people actually want in their neighbourhoods are the same across all ages. They want green space, natural light, places to sit, good food, safety, and the chance to bump into neighbours in ways that feel natural. They want streets that are safe to cross, buildings that are easy to enter, and public spaces that invite lingering.
Beauty matters here. A ramp that works for a wheelchair user can also be elegant. Handrails can be sculptural. Signage can be clear without being institutional. The best design is design that works for everyone without feeling like it was made for someone else.
This is why I believe the starting point should never be “What will pass regulatory approval?” It should be “What do people and communities actually want here?” When you ask that question first, the answers are rarely sterile or minimal. They are often vibrant, layered, and full of life.
The Stairs in Mary’s Way
Mary’s confinement was not caused by her injury. It was caused by a staircase that assumed the people using it would always be able to manage it. That assumption is built into thousands of homes, shops, parks and public buildings. The moment you cannot meet the design’s unspoken criteria, you are quietly excluded.
If we continue to build spaces that only work for people in peak physical condition, we will keep producing places that quietly reject whole sections of our community. But if we shift our focus to creating environments where everyone, including older adults, people with disabilities, and children, can live and move together, we will be creating something much more valuable than “accessible” infrastructure. We will be building places worth belonging to.
A Simple Test for Great Design
The measure of a city, a town, or a neighbourhood is not how it serves its most able-bodied residents, but how it includes those with the least physical freedom. That is the real test of community. Safety is the minimum. Connection is the goal. If we can design for that, the Marys of this world will not have to retreat behind their front doors. They will be out there, in the park, at the market, at the café - visible, present and fully part of the world they helped build.
Great example of doing it right is the walk way built down near Curl Curl beach and the Freshwater Diggers. I literally drive there (since the way to get there is not accesssible!) to walk in the beauty of nature on a safe walk way. I meet people on crutches and sticks, Mums with kids, teenagers on skates, all kinds and all ages enjoying the small strip of unmatched beauty on a flat safe place. I do it one way at high speed and slowly coming back - sometimes with a little time spent sitting on one of the seats looking out at the ocean. Love taking mobility imparied guest there. Some thought clearly went into the design. Pity about the stairs at the end near Diggers. Took me a while post knee replacement to get up those stairs.
I love the expression ‘The architecture of exclusion’. The world is designed to exclude - unless you are part of a specific demographic - which we can take a guess at. Thank you @Adam for such a much needed debate.