ADHD is a complex and common mental disorder which changes how the person processes information, behaves, and functions in society. Common recommendations for “ADHD-friendly design” include reducing clutter, avoiding distractions, and simplifying information architecture. I argue that these suggestions do not constitute “ADHD-friendly design”, and that the real solution is more sophisticated and challenging, if not impossible, to implement.
In 2014, Ethan Zuckerman, a renowned media scholar and Internet activist, apologised for his role in inventing the Internet’s most hated marketing tool: the pop-up ad.
All of us have screwed up situations in our lives so badly that we’ve been forced to explain our actions by reminding everyone of our good intentions. It’s obvious now that what we did was a fiasco, so let me remind you that what we wanted to do was something brave and noble.
In the late 1990s, Zuckerman led a team at tripod.com — a popular service which allowed users to launch their own websites for free. Zuckerman had tried countless ways to fund the growing business until concurring that the only way to keep the company afloat was to bring in advertisers. The format invented by his team — a pop-up ad — would not only boost tripod.com’s revenue but change the Internet once and for all.
With the advent of the pop-up ad came the boom of intrusive, aggressive, and persistent advertising. The industry has weaponised our lack of attention and filled every corner of the Internet with meaningless distractions and quick rewards. Pop-ups embodied everything wrong about the advertiser-centric approach: it appeared out of thin air and demanded attention like a capricious baby, no matter what was on the user’s mind or what they were occupied with. Pop-ups reduced users to targets for the omnipresent advertisers.
The Internet today is the realm of noise and chaos. Advertisers are more vicious than their predecessors, and ads themselves have transformed to appear more organic and blend into the content until it is impossible to tell them apart. Users continue to limp around this inaccessible desert, constantly bombarded with emails and notifications informing them of special offers, keeping them up to date with what their friends have been up to, and begging them to return for more mindless entertainment.
How does someone with an already disrupted attention span find the strength to concentrate when the entire world around them is vying for their attention? How do they make decisions, resist temptations, and struggle to conform in an environment that does not suit someone like them at all?
In this article, we will discuss people with ADHD, what it means to live with this condition, and why existing design frameworks for neurodivergent users address the wrong problem.
Understanding Attention Deficit and Hyperactivity Disorder
ADHD is a neurodevelopmental condition that affects a person’s ability to concentrate and control emotions and actions. Despite being commonly associated with hyperactivity (hence the name), there are several distinct types of ADHD: hyperactive and impulsive (rather self-descriptive), inattentive (characterised by distractibility and lack of attention), and combined (the most prevalent type); each manifesting differently in each individual patient. Most commonly, people (especially adults) with ADHD have problems concentrating on the task at hand, be it a work assignment or a lengthy conversation.
MRI studies of patients with ADHD show various dysfunctions in dopamine and noradrenaline transmissions. The disorder particularly impacts the prefrontal cortex, the area of the brain involved in regulating attention, motivation, and emotion, which in turn affects the patient’s ability to concentrate, control, and shift attention.
Children with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder show prominent abnormalities in the inferior PFC and its connections to striatal, cerebellar, and parietal regions.
ADHD is not curable but its symptoms can be reduced and managed. There are essentially two paths to regulating attention deficit: medication and therapy. Medication is commonly prescribed to children with ADHD to address the biological mechanisms of the disorder and regulate noradrenaline and dopamine transmission in the brain. Cognitive behavioural therapy is widely used to enable self-regulation and form coping strategies. This duality, however, is a mere reflection of a wider conversation around how ADHD should be viewed and addressed. Should we side with the biomedical discourse of ADHD and choose to view it primarily as a medical category, or should we focus on addressing the flaws in a system that punishes disobedience?
It is hard to deny that ADHD affects — at times, quite severely — the patient’s ability to exist and function within complex social structures that require discipline, obedience, and compliance. Children with ADHD achieve less in school than their peers and face a higher likelihood of engaging in criminal activities. ADHD is positively correlated with anxiety and depression. Adults with ADHD struggle with employment and marital problems. Suicide rates among both children and adults with attention deficit are higher on average than in the general population.
A popular interpretation of the positivist biomedical paradigm may suggest stimulants as the most appropriate answer to curbing “undesirable behaviour”. Medication’s proven ability to improve daily functioning benefits the patient as much as an institution that will gladly drug “children into docility…in the service of a tacit project of social control”. However, acknowledging that the system obsessed with producing identical, obedient workers has little tolerance for defiance does not require viewing stimulants as a tool for enforcing cooperation. Medication is not the only way to manage the symptoms of ADHD, and it is not always the most appropriate as similar, if not more powerful, effects can be achieved with individual and systemic tools.
A more balanced take suggests viewing ADHD as the product of a complex interaction between biological and social-environmental factors. It would recognise and address the biomedical mechanisms and create opportunities for people with ADHD to function, express themselves, and realise their potential in social scenarios. This take dismisses neither medication nor therapy: it views them as valid and effective tools in their own right, but offers a reframing of what is viewed as a problem in modern society.
Take, for instance, students with ADHD, who are talkative, distracted, hyperactive. Such students are only problematic if we choose to view them as such and refuse to make the necessary adjustments to leverage, not curb, their inattentiveness. A teacher who prioritises classroom discipline is a teacher who disregards the evidence that pupils with ADHD perform significantly better when given clear instructions and expectations. The teacher’s focus on obedience and order blinds them to a multitude of opportunities to maximise student performance without disrupting the learning process: for instance, by using pupils with ADHD as peer educators. By framing attention deficit as a condition associated with some deeply problematic, anti-social, disruptive behaviours, we unwittingly set pupils with ADHD up to fail in place of a far better simple solution:
Optimal pupil performance is associated with brevity and clarity of sequences of instruction, the accompaniment of verbal instructions with visual cues and the availability of resources that pupils can refer to for reminders of direction and expectations.
The same, of course, applies to other areas of life impacted by ADHD. Building sustainable relationships, pursuing meaningful careers, enjoying the simple joys of everyday living, demand adjustments — not only from the person with ADHD but from the system itself. Reasonable accommodations are not synonymous with special treatment: they are designed to empower people who are otherwise deprived of the opportunity to function in society, not to absolve them of the need to put in effort. Such accommodations create welcoming environments where people contribute to common goals in the ways that suit them best, and where their needs and challenges are acknowledged and addressed.
ADHD v Technology
The relationship between modern technology and ADHD is complex. On the one hand, smartphones, wearable devices, and other gadgets are becoming increasingly prominent in health management and emotional regulation, complementing therapeutic and medicinal treatments with handy personalised tools. To-do lists and AI chat-bots, remote symptom tracking and online testing — adults with ADHD have plenty to choose from depending on what they wish to achieve. In addition to that, the Internet has played a big role in raising awareness of ADHD and reducing stigma around the disorder. ADHD diagnoses have increased in recent years — which, considering that women are far more likely to remain undiagnosed than men, is a positive development. Technology makes it possible for people to discover ADHD, better understand its symptoms, exchange experiences, and receive treatment.
On the other hand, the digital world is a ruthless, fast-paced, overwhelming space that is neither welcoming nor kind to people with ADHD. The rates of “Internet addiction” (which stood at 14% of children and 20% of adolescents in 2006 and has since increased) are astronomical, and neurodivergent individuals who are known to have issues with substance abuse and addiction are among the groups most affected by the phenomenon. In people with ADHD, Internet addiction is positively correlated with inattention, hyperactivity, and impulsivity. Social media is especially harmful: engineered to maximise engagement, these platforms use all sorts of tools to make it nearly impossible to quit or even reduce screen time. Excessive use of social media in particular opens the door to a range of side effects, such as low self-esteem, feelings of inadequacy and underachievement, and increased social isolation.
However, it wouldn’t be fair to blame it all on social media alone. Most modern applications are designed for engagement and employ a wide range of tools to attract and retain users. One such tool is gamification — a popular technique that uses game mechanics in non-gaming settings to reward certain behaviours and entice continuous and regular use. As research demonstrates, rewards make even the most routine tasks far more exciting, allowing users to do chores, learn languages, and socialise with ease. For people with ADHD, however, gamification is a double-edged sword: while it certainly helps make learning more enjoyable, it also exacerbates ADHD symptoms. Instant gratification makes stimulation easy to achieve, forcing the user to seek more and turning mindful gamified experiences into never-ending quests for novelty. It is worth noting that because ADHD comprises at least two major domains — inattention and hyperactivity-impulsivity — the same technology that severely influences one may have little impact on the other. For example, this 2026 study found a positive correlation between the use of short video platforms and inattention but not hyperactivity-impulsivity.
The digital age has revolutionised how we create, distribute, and consume knowledge, making it far more accessible and affordable than ever before. The influx of new information and the ever-increasing speed at which new content is produced have transformed the way we live, amplified our anxieties and feelings of overwhelm. The abundance of options has further contributed to turning attention into an especially scarce and valuable resource. Today’s digital world is a terrifying place that takes users’ time and mental wellness in exchange for occasional dopamine hits. It is not designed with the neurodivergent user in mind, but it profits from their struggles: from encouraging fast, mindless interactions to enabling impulsive decisions.
Wouldn’t it be great if we could do something about this?
Why designing for ADHD is so hard
When it comes to designing for users with ADHD, recommendations commonly include reducing cognitive load, avoiding distractions, and relieving users of the need to rely on memory — solid tips that are little more than general UX principles, adjusted ever so slightly for the neurodivergent audience. These principles cannot replace a comprehensive design framework. As a complex disorder, ADHD poses multiple challenges: from social disability and academic and occupational problems to physical and psychological issues and risky behaviours. To design for ADHD means to address all these challenges at a fundamental level and, importantly, to understand why addressing them is essential in the first place.
In the book “Against Technoableism: Rethinking Who Needs Improvement”, Ashley Shew describes how most solutions are designed for people with disabilities but never with them: “[universal] design employs and imagines our bodies […] while rarely (if ever) simply asking us what we need”. What is worse, many of these solutions are built to correct or conceal disabilities rather than accommodate them. Our products, services, and environments are not simply built for the able-bodied — they force people with disabilities to adjust, to adopt particular ways of using and existing in them with the help of technology, to pretend that their disabilities are fixed or cured. Let’s medicate an inattentive student. Let’s use therapy to subdue them. Let’s agree on a design principle like “avoid clutter” in theory but allow a neurotypical middle manager to break it as they and their overlords please.
Take Bionic Reading — a method developed by Renato Casutt, a Swiss typographic designer, that emboldens the first letters of each word in a sentence to improve readability by guiding the reader’s eyes. Bionic fonts are sold for $79 per package of 10, and the company offers many other paid apps and products as well. Bionic Reading is a premium product with good advertising. It spread like wildfire in 2022, often positioned as the best possible solution for people with ADHD, dyslexia, and cognitive impairments.
Does Bionic Reading actually work? The company’s original testing method involving 12 participants (which, to the founder’s own admission, produced mixed results) does not withstand scrutiny. A real scientific test involving eye tracking on a large cohort of participants revealed that “the selective bolding of characters within words does not facilitate more efficient word identification or enhance overall reading performance in skilled adult readers”. Other tests show similar results. Bionic Reading claims that it keeps the reader’s mind focused, but in reality, it is a commercial product that tries to force a neurodivergent brain to act normally. As Daniel Lavelle at The Guardian asks: “Maybe having a wandering mind isn’t such a bad thing?” Would a better way to increase comprehension be to encourage neurodivergent people to read slowly?
So, what would it really take to design better products for people with ADHD? The process begins, unsurprisingly, with inclusion. A 2025 paper, “Towards Inclusive Guidelines for Web Design for Adults with ADHD”, describes co-designing such a framework with a panel of neurodivergent and neurotypical users. The recommendations produced by the panel varied from general UX tips (avoid complex menus, limit the number of options, keep navigation similar to other products) to ADHD-specific guidance:
- Avoid stock photos and decorative illustrations;
- Avoid components that may be confused with ads;
- Restrict scrolling to vertical only;
- Avoid non-standard hover effects and decorative animations;
- Indicate external links and buttons.
The paper assessed these guidelines, by having two designers with ADHD put together a prototype. Nearly all suggestions yielded promising results: users with ADHD found it significantly easier to navigate the prototype designed according to these principles and discover relevant information. In the neurotypical cohort, the results were relatively moderate, although non-ADHD users, too, benefited from simplified navigation, clear information hierarchy, and other improvements. Interestingly, the only design choice that was not well received was to use the Bionic Reading method, which reportedly reduced readability in non-ADHD participants.
Does that mean that checking the boxes above will make your product ADHD-friendly?
The answer is no.
Although structured layouts and simplified navigation definitely make products easier to digest, and rewards and incentives indeed keep users with ADHD engaged, these principles alone do not amount to an ADHD-friendly framework. By narrowing the recommendations down to a short list of checkboxes, we design for people with ADHD instead of designing with them. We attempt to make them “normal” rather than empowering them to be themselves.
Product-focused approach addresses the wrong problem. It simultaneously sands down a square peg and turns a round hole into a rectangle: both parts somewhat fit one another, and everyone pretends that they are not deformed and misshapen. It does not dare to challenge the system that produces square pegs and round holes: its job is to mitigate the damage, not ask questions. Its job is to make a pop-up ad less annoying, not to find a sustainable alternative. It is to have a phone number people in wheelchairs can call for assistance instead of building accessible urban environment.
Meanwhile, designing with ADHD is the process of co-creation, of mutual learning and exchange between neurodivergent and neurotypical partners. It entails, first and foremost, transforming the environment in which the collaboration occurs. A design framework for ADHD must therefore go beyond product considerations to inform product creation itself: from establishing healthy routines and enabling productive collaboration and reflection to protecting critical decisions against corporate interference.
Under this framework, a product team could add rewards to encourage daily usage, but cannot leverage anxiety and the fear of missing out that such rewards can create. This framework would suggest the team to apply the same principles to their work as well: set short-term, achievable goals, engage and reward team members, and respect each other’s time, space, and ways of working. This framework would ensure that the product is co-designed with neurodivergent users, not tested against some vaguely defined criteria. This framework would never give rise to another pop-up ad.
Is it such a surprise that this framework does not exist?
Pop-up ads are dead. The disdain for them was so strong that by 2004, when 6.2% of all ads on the Web were pop-ups, at least 20% of all Internet users had a pop-up blocker installed. Advertisers and tech corporations they funded did not cave in until new and improved formats came along. Pop-ups did not die because the public hated them. They died because something better was on the horizon.
Pop-ups are dead, but their story, their demise, and their complicated legacy make me dread the future even more than I already do. Corporations wish to cultivate users who conform, consumers who neither demand systemic changes nor require small accommodations. In the absence of regulation and external pressure, what could possibly motivate tech giants to consider people with disabilities, let alone involve them in making important decisions?
Pop-ups are dead, but people who pushed them into existence remain in charge: not the Ethan Zuckermans who inadvertently created monsters but decision-makers who breathed life into these creatures and set them loose. So long as they remain in power, so long as growth takes priority over customer experience and care, there will be no room for human-centric thinking or accessibility. So long as they continue to reduce all users to identical numbers in a spreadsheet, any considerations that do not immediately translate into revenue will remain an afterthought, forever postponed, abandoned at the bottom of the backlog.
Two years ago, a young, moderately stressed-out PhD student wrote an article about pursuing a doctoral degree while living with ADHD. In that article, the author discussed the struggles that people with ADHD face in academia, how bureaucracy and formalities are designed, as if intentionally, to crush all hope and excitement in neurodivergent people, and how simple accommodations and small adjustments may significantly impact someone’s career. That student was optimistic about the future — his own as a neurodivergent researcher, his peers’, and the tech industry’s.
In the time since, he “toughened up”. He filled out countless ethics forms, amendment requests, and research milestone reports. He completed standardised tests, passed exams, and handed in assignments. He faced every deadline, every requirement, every expectation head-on. There was nothing that could alleviate the pressure. The system itself was not interested in changing, so he changed his ways of doing things. He succeeded at some (not all) endeavours, though in the process, lost his passion for many things he had once adored. He became timid, dull, complacent.
Back then, he was excited about things to come. Today, I no longer see him in the mirror.
What to read
- HealthDirect. Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD).
- ADDA. Types of ADHD in Adults: Understanding the Differences.
- Paul Cooper, 2008. Like Alligators Bobbing for Poodles? A Critical Discussion of Education, ADHD and the Biopsychosocial Perspective.
- Paul Cooper, Fintan O’Regan. Educating Children with AD/HD. A Teacher’s Manual.
- Louise C. Druedahl & Sofia Kälvemark Sporrong, 2019. A Foucauldian perspective on treating ADHD with medicine.
- Gyöngyi Fekete & Andrés Lucero, 2019. P(L)AY ATTENTION! Co-designing for and with Children with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD).
- Ashley Shew, 2023. Against Technoableism: Rethinking Who Needs Improvement.
- David Skidmore. Inclusion: The Dynamic of School Development.
- Margaret D Weiss et al., 2011. The screens culture: impact on ADHD.
- Linda Wheeler, 2010. Critique of the article by Visser and Jehan (2009): ‘ADHD: a scientific fact or a factual opinion? A critique of the veracity of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder’
About the author
Kristian Mikhel is a PhD Candidate at the University of Tasmania, a product designer and a founder of Paper and Pain, a design agency for good, an accessibility advocate, and the author of the free newsletter, “The Accessibility Apprentice”.
Design v ADHD was originally published in UX Collective on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.