Turn risk into design.

Jillian de Bie

Setting the scene

I met up with Jillian on the other side of Eindhoven. To get there fast, I took my bike. On the way, I ran into Svetlana, who I’d met for an earlier Curiosity Coffee. She was dropping off her kids, and we exchanged a quick wave before heading our separate ways. It a small reminder of how these coffees start connecting back to each other, one conversation leading to the next.

At Coffee Roasters on the NRE site, the smell hit before the sound. Inside, they weren’t just serving coffee, they were roasting it. Beans rattled through the roaster, blending with the hiss of steam from the espresso machines. It wasn’t crowded, but it was loud. More like a factory floor than a quiet café.

Jillian arrived soon after. We briefly tried to talk inside, got our coffees, and stepped outside where it was calm. The air was cool, faintly sweet with the smell of roasted coffee drifting by. We found a small table, just the two of us, away from the noise. That’s where our real conversation unfolded.

What she does

Jillian works in the space where food, design, and empathy meet. She’s a designer exploring how gastronomy can be inclusive. Not just for people with dietary restrictions, but for anyone who’s ever felt left out at the table.

Her curiosity began with something deeply personal: a tree-nut allergy that shaped how she experiences food. Instead of avoiding it, she turned it into a creative driver. Her work asks: What if design could make eating safer, more human, and more connected for everyone?

What we talked about

From limitation to Creation

Her story started with an interest in 3D-printed food. Jillian explained how this technology is finding its way into kitchens and changing how people experience food — shifting from experimental novelty to daily practice. Imagine having your dessert printed while you eat your main course. She realized 3D printing could tailor food to individuals, layering story and personalization into something edible, one layer at a time.

From limitation to strength

But 3D printing isn’t always simple for someone with a food allergy. Safety becomes part of the design process itself. Rather than seeing that as a barrier, she used it as motivation. She asked herself: What if I could reimagine the foods I can’t eat?

Together with a chef, she designed a 3D-printed praline. Not as a replica of what she’d lost, but as a reinterpretation. She turned her limitation into a source of creative energy, using her allergy as a lens to design something new.

Inclusive design as default

The praline wasn’t just about ingredients; it was about ritual. She shaped it so you had to crack it open before eating. That gesture mirrored what people with allergies instinctively do — double-check, verify, inspect. A moment of caution transformed into a moment of design. That small act struck me deeply. She designed something where inclusion wasn’t an add-on; it was built into the behavior itself.

We talked about how “inclusive” still sounds like a separate category. As designers, we should make it part of the foundation. It’s not about making a “special version.” It’s about designing with multiple perspectives from the start and using them as fuel for innovation.

Designing Together

Jillian told me how she actively involves others in her creative process — chefs, servers, and people with food allergies — to design experiences that go beyond the plate. It’s not just about what’s served, but how it’s served, and how people feel in that space. Her goal is to co-create restaurant experiences that are as carefree and enjoyable for people with allergies as they are for anyone else at the table.

That mindset “designing with, not for” is where her philosophy truly comes alive.

Reflections

Inclusion as empathy in practice

Jillian reminded me that inclusive design isn’t a gesture; it’s a way of seeing. It starts where empathy meets structure. It’s when a designer listens to real fears and behaviors, not just observes them. Her praline wasn’t symbolic; it was functional empathy, made edible.

Boundaries are the brief

Her allergy became the framework that sparked creation. It made me think about constraint in my own work and how limitations often lead to the most original ideas. Sometimes the boundaries are the brief.

Small gestures, big meaning

That cracking-open moment stayed with me. It’s such a small act, but it carries emotional weight. It turns awareness into confidence. It made me reflect on how, in my own designs, subtle interactions can shape how people feel, not just what they do.

The hidden complexity of inclusion

We talk about inclusion as if it’s simple. Make it accessible and fair, but it’s more layered: physical, emotional, procedural. True inclusion demands curiosity and a reset before you start.

Leaving the table inspired

I left our coffee grateful and challenged. Grateful for how Jillian turned something personal into something universal, and challenged because she reminded me that design’s real job isn’t just solving problems; it’s inviting more people to the table. In Jillian’s case even not metaphorically, but literally. By co-creating with chefs, servers, and guests, she’s proving that inclusion can reshape the experience for everyone who sits down to share a meal.