MoodMatch came from a frustration I think a lot of people quietly share — travel recommendations that tell you where to go, but never stop to ask how you're feeling. This project tried to fix that.

I led consumer research with 207 participants, using surveys, interviews, and behavioural analysis to understand the emotional dimensions of how people actually choose travel experiences. That data became an 8-dimension psychological framework — the engine powering the app's recommendation logic.

From research I moved into product and UX design: wireframes across mobile and desktop, usability testing across 4 distinct user segments, iterating until the interface felt as intuitive as the idea behind it.

The Asian Green Bee-Eater is losing its habitat faster than most people realise. BiodiverCity started as an academic project and turned into something that genuinely moved us — designing a survival concept for a species facing ecosystem collapse.

Working in a team of three, we began with deep ecological and behavioural research, then asked: what would it look like if design tried to help? The answer was a visual and physical prototype — not a report, not a deck, but something you could actually see and hold and feel the weight of.

My role was in research synthesis and the narrative layer — making sure the design carried the story, not just the aesthetics.

Stamp'd wasn't broken — it just hadn't found itself yet. The brief was a full rebrand, which meant resisting the temptation to start with visuals and instead beginning with the harder question: who is this brand for, and what does it actually stand for?

Once the positioning and audience were clear, everything else — the visual identity, the communications tone, the way the brand should feel in someone's hands — followed with a kind of logic that only happens when strategy comes first.

This is the project I come back to when I want to explain what I mean by strategy made visible.

There's something quietly radical about biomimicry — the idea that the best design solutions already exist, living and breathing in the natural world, and that our job is just to pay close enough attention.

This project applied that thinking to furniture. We studied biological structures — the geometry of bone, the tensile logic of spider webs, the way root systems distribute weight — and used those principles to drive both the structural and aesthetic decisions in the concepts we developed.

The result sits at an edge I find genuinely interesting: where rigorous research produces forms that feel surprising rather than inevitable.