My career began as an act of defiance: a refusal to bow to the language of machines.

I design for a world where machines adapt to us, not the other way around. Conversation design has been my discipline since the years when caring was regarded as cringe, not fashionable.

Dialogue is humanity’s enduring interface, and I honor its status as an heirloom instrument rather than a novelty trinket.

The Toodle brand—my brand—stands in a deliberate tension: the polished gravitas of a venerable white-shoe institution and the challenger stamina of a high-performing creative underdog. It’s the American mix of old and new.

One foot is firmly planted in heritage discipline, exacting standards, and the pedigree of rigor expected from a trusted advisor. The other in the restless energy of a builder who refuses to ship anything they wouldn’t be proud of, who refuses to accept “this is how we’ve always done it” as an answer.

With legacy and grit, I build instruments for conversation.

I operate in a field overrun with theatrics and expensive presentations promising “transformation.” Where boondoggle pilots never leave the sandbox because they’re widgets bolted onto broken systems, asked to apologize for problems they can’t fix.

I am the counterweight.

I treat conversation with an almost unreasonable seriousness by doing the unglamorous forensic work. I open the transcripts that no one wants to look at. I read logs line by line until the failures stop looking random. I’m forensic about the flows that break under real volume at 2 AM.

I believe that when interaction returns to its talkative roots, technology becomes less a product and more an ally. My work invites organizations to rediscover this partnership, to build systems that scale humanity, not just efficiency.

Behind my decisions are people.

A patient seeking to decode an intricate medicine. A card member hoping to make the best of their lunch break. An employee navigating a maze of policies, deadlines, and risk.

I design for their side of the glass.

For clarity when the stakes are high. For grace when anxiety is loud. For access when bureaucracy would rather stall.

A single well-designed exchange can unlock care, restore trust, and amplify possibility. Sometimes, it quietly averts a crisis. I don’t romanticize this; I simply design as if it’s true.

Here’s how I work: speak with elegant authority, but earn it; cut with audacious clarity, but never with cruelty; stay playfully serious, because warmth is a form of intelligence.

I’m comfortable naming the elephant in the room: the workshop theatre, the cargo-cult “best practices,” and the way conversation is treated as an afterthought to the technology that’s expected to power it. I ask more questions than I answer, press on assumptions until they hold or collapse, and dismantle complexity down to what’s essential. And, I write it all down—the choices, tradeoffs, and patterns so that what we build is less of a stunt and more of a standard.

I believe in a future liberated from the language of machines. A world where computers speak with us. As partners for all, not tools for a few. I design every single interaction as a chance to prove that technology can be both deeply capable and deeply humane.

Talk a big game.

Toodle.