Presence.

There are 55 million people living with dementia worldwide. By 2050, that number will triple.

But the statistics miss the truth of what dementia actually feels like day to day. It is not just memory loss. It is standing in your own kitchen and not knowing if the stove is on. It is looking at your son's face and reaching desperately for his name. It is the slow erosion of the small certainties that make a person feel safe in their own life.

The people who live with dementia are not defined by their diagnosis. They are parents, grandparents, friends, storytellers, gardeners, cooks. They deserve technology that treats them that way.

Most assistive technology for dementia falls into one of two traps. It is either so complex that the person who needs it cannot use it, or so clinical that wearing it broadcasts vulnerability to everyone in the room.

A GPS tracker worn around the neck. A panic button clipped to a shirt. These are not bad solutions. But they are solutions that constantly remind the person wearing them that something is wrong.

Presence was designed around a different belief: that the best assistive technology is the kind you forget you are wearing. That support should be quiet. Private. Dignified. And above all, invisible to everyone except the person who needs it.

Presence is a pair of AI-powered smart glasses designed specifically for people living with early to mid-stage dementia. They look like ordinary glasses. They feel like ordinary glasses. But inside, they are quietly working: recognizing faces, monitoring the environment, and whispering gentle reminders only the wearer can hear.

No touchscreen. No app to open. No button to press. Presence works automatically, in the background, all day long.

Two of the most common moments of confusion for someone with dementia: a familiar face they cannot name, and uncertainty about whether an appliance is safe. Presence handles both, quietly.

Presence is not just a device. It is a system of care.

The companion iOS app gives family members and caregivers a private window into their loved one's day, without being intrusive, without creating surveillance, and without removing the independence that makes life feel worth living.

Three screens. Three roles. Each one designed for a different kind of caring.

A short film showing how Presence works in a real day, from morning medication to an evening conversation. Designed to show what quiet, dignified support actually feels like.

Every decision in Presence was made through the lens of privacy. Not as a legal requirement. Not as a feature to market. But as a fundamental act of respect for the person wearing it.

People living with dementia are among the most vulnerable to data exploitation. Their routines, their faces, their daily patterns: these are deeply personal. Presence was designed so that none of it ever leaves the device.

I started this project thinking about technology. I ended it thinking about people.

Designing for dementia means designing for a person who is losing their grip on the familiar, and who deserves, more than most, to feel like the technology in their life is on their side.

Every interaction in Presence had to earn its place. If a feature created anxiety, it was cut. If a reminder felt like an alarm, it was redesigned until it felt like a whisper. If something required the user to remember how to use it, it was rebuilt until it required nothing at all.

The hardest design constraint was also the most clarifying one: the person wearing Presence should never feel like they are using assistive technology. They should just feel like themselves, moving through their day, a little more confident, a little more connected, a little more at ease.