Nine months ago, I set out to invent a new way of interfacing with our devices, armed with only a single metaphor: Mercury.

Mercury, the elemental manifestation of fluid chrome.

Mercury, the Roman deity bridging the boundary between two worlds.

Mercury, the nearest planet to the sun.

Although these versions of Mercury had little to do with interaction design, they perfectly summarized how I wanted the experience of computation to feel. I wanted the experience to feel fluid. I wanted to create something that users could move through without friction or boundaries. I wanted to bring people closer to their North Stars with speed and elegance.

In the months that followed, I devoured countless volumes of HCI literature while pivoting from one prototype to the next. I tried everything from a “smart-fidget-ring” concept that doubled as a universal remote, to wondering if something as simple as a rubber-band could serve as an interface. Although I was surprised that something so illogical could inspire so many avenues for exploration, nothing seemed to capture the feeling I had described in my poetic manifesto.

Messy, manic making. Bottom left sketch was done by my friend Marisa Lu during a particularly productive phone call exploring the mental model of “flows”

My breakthrough came when I realized that I had been asking all the wrong questions. I had spent months trying to invent new ways to navigate existing systems — but what if those systems were fundamentally flawed? What if the experience of Mercury required a radical re-invention of everything I had been taking for granted?