Here's a question: when was the last time you designed something that could adapt, heal itself, or improve over time?
Most of what we design is static. A chair is a chair. A phone case is a phone case. They degrade, they break, they end up in landfills. We design for a moment in time, not for a lifecycle.
But what if we designed with materials that grow, evolve, and respond to their environment? What if instead of asking "How do I make this durable?" we asked, "How do I make this alive?"
I'm not talking about sci-fi. I'm talking about living materials, mycelium, algae, bacteria, and living plants, that are already being used in architecture, fashion, and product design. And I'm making the case that every designer, regardless of your speciality, should experiment with them.
Here's why.
Living Materials Teach You What Static Ones Don't
When you work with traditional materials (metal, plastic, wood), you're in control. You cut, shape, mould, and assemble. The material does what you tell it to.
Living materials don't work that way. They have their own logic. Mycelium grows according to nutrient distribution and environmental conditions. Algae photosynthesise in response to light and CO2 levels. Living plants transpire, adapt, and sometimes just refuse to cooperate with your vision.
This isn't a bug. It's the entire point.
Working with living materials forces you to design with a system, not on it. You can't brute-force your way to a result. You have to understand the organism's needs, create the right conditions, and then collaborate with what emerges. It's humbling. It's also incredible training for systems thinking.
If you've only ever worked with materials that obey you, you're missing a huge part of what design can be.
They Force You to Think in Lifecycles, Not Products
Let's say you're designing packaging. Standard approach: choose a material (cardboard, plastic, whatever), design the structure, manufacture it, ship it. The user opens it, throws it away. End of story.
Now try designing packaging out of mycelium.
Suddenly, you're thinking about: What substrate will the mycelium grow on? How long does it take to grow? What happens when it reaches the user? Does it decompose in their compost, or do they need to return it? Can it break down into soil nutrients, or does it need industrial composting?
You're no longer designing a thing. You're designing a process, one that has a before (growth), a during (use), and an after (decomposition). You're forced to think about where materials come from and where they go, not just the middle part where they're useful to humans.
This is regenerative design. And it's not optional anymore. We're drowning in waste because we design products without considering their full lifecycle. Living materials make that impossible to ignore.
They Challenge the Myth of Permanence
We've been trained to think durability equals quality. A product that lasts forever is a good product, right?
But "lasts forever" usually means "sits in a landfill forever." We've confused longevity with value. The Roman Colosseum, lasting 2,000 years is impressive. A plastic fork lasting 500 years is a design failure.
Living materials reframe this. A mycelium brick doesn't last forever. It's strong when you need it to be, and it breaks down when you're done with it. That's not a flaw, it's a feature.
Designing with living materials forces you to ask: How long does this actually need to exist? Do we need packaging that lasts for centuries, or do we need packaging that protects a product for a few weeks and then decomposes?
This shift, from designing for permanence to designing for the right lifespan, is critical if we're going to move toward circular economies. Living materials make that shift intuitive, because they already operate that way. They grow, serve a purpose, and return to the system.
They Connect You to the Work in a Completely Different Way
I'm going to get a little abstract here, but bear with me.
When you work with living materials, you become a caretaker, not just a maker. You're not just executing a design, you're tending to it. Monitoring growth. Adjusting conditions. Responding to how the organism behaves.
It changes your relationship to the work.
I've spent hours watching mycelium colonise substrate, checking moisture levels, and making sure the temperature stays stable. It's meditative. It also makes you hyper-aware of how fragile and resilient life is at the same time. You can't rush it. You can't skip steps. You have to be present.
This probably sounds inefficient. In a world of fast iterations and rapid prototyping, who has time to wait for something to grow?
But here's the thing: that slowness is grounding. It pulls you out of the "move fast and break things" mindset and into something more intentional. You start thinking about time differently. About patience. About working with natural processes instead of fighting them.
And honestly? We could all use a little more of that.
Where to Start (Because I Know You're Thinking It's Complicated)
If you're reading this and thinking, "This sounds cool, but I have no idea where to start," I get it. Living materials feel intimidating. You're probably imagining a lab full of equipment you don't have and expertise you don't possess.
Here's the truth: you can start small.
Mycelium: You can grow your own mycelium at home with a kit (there are tons online) or even just spawn, substrate, and a container. It's surprisingly low-tech. Use it to make small objects, a coaster, a phone stand, whatever. Just get your hands on it.
Plants: Build a terrarium. Seriously. It sounds too simple, but creating and maintaining a closed-loop system teaches you a lot about balance, feedback loops, and resilience design. Plus, it's beautiful.
Bacterial cellulose (Kombucha leather): You can grow this in your kitchen. It's weird, it's slimy at first, but once it dries, you have a leather-like material you can experiment with. There are endless tutorials online.
Algae: Slightly more involved, but still doable. Spirulina is easy to grow and can be used to make bioplastics or as a pigment.
You don't need to become a biologist. You just need to be willing to experiment, fail, learn, and try again. Treat it like any other material exploration, except this one grows.
Why This Matters Beyond the Novelty
I know there's a risk here that living materials become a trend, the new "eco-friendly" marketing angle that companies slap on products without actually changing anything meaningful. That would be a waste.
Living materials aren't just a substitute for plastic. They're fundamentally different ways of thinking about design. They demand that we consider growth, death, decomposition, and regeneration as part of the design process. They ask us to design with life, not against it.
If you take nothing else from this, take this: learning to work with living materials expands your design vocabulary. It gives you tools, perspectives, and possibilities that don't exist when you're only working with static, inert materials.
And in a world that desperately needs more designers thinking about systems, cycles, and regeneration? That expanded vocabulary might be exactly what we need.
So go grow something. See what happens. I promise it'll change how you think about design.