How I Didn't Get a Red Dot Award

Spoiler: I did. But also, I didn't. Welcome to design in 2025.

Let me tell you the heartwarming story of how I designed a product, won a prestigious international award, and then quietly... didn't. The product is called Spot — a sleek, innovative wellness device developed for Kiiroo. It was designed to be elegant, functional, and a bit of a conversation starter. Apparently, the Red Dot jury agreed. They awarded it the Red Dot Design Award 2025 for Innovative Product in the Wellness category.

There was cheering. Champagne (okay, espresso). Proud messages from designer friends. I even told my mom, who responded with the appropriate Italian mix of pride and confusion. ("So you won, but also not really?")

See, here's the twist: The Red Dot award has a business model. A brilliant, very German, very well-oiled business model. While submitting a product to be considered for the award comes with a modest fee, actually winning? That's where the plot thickens. If you want to use the award — I mean really use it, like slap that red dot logo onto your website, packaging, marketing materials, your forehead — you have to pay.

How much, you ask? Somewhere between €4,000 and €8,000.

Now, to be fair, this includes a package: use of the logo, placement in the yearbook, display in their museum, maybe a fancy gala night with design people in expensive black turtlenecks. But still — that's a pretty steep toll for recognition.

And here comes the punchline: Kiiroo, the company I designed Spot for, looked at the invoice and said, "Cool, but no."

So here I am. My name is on a winning product. The award was given. The jurors deliberated and said, "Yes, this is good design." But unless someone pays the toll, I'm not officially allowed to use the logo. It's like winning the Olympics but only getting the medal if you buy the podium.

Does it suck? A little. Is it hilarious? Also yes.

It's a strange feeling, being trapped in a Schrödinger's Award situation: simultaneously an award-winning designer and not. But honestly, it's also a perfect metaphor for what it's like to work in product design. You can pour your soul into something, make all the right moves, and still end up with an asterisk.

So what now? Do I ignore it? Do I design a slightly different red dot and call it the Crimson Orb of Distinction? Do I tattoo "Unofficial Red Dot Winner" on my arm? (Tempting.)

No, I write this blog post instead.

And if you're a designer reading this, let it be a reminder: we don't design for the logos, the trophies, or the German galas. We design for the people who will actually use what we create — and for that fleeting moment of "hell yes" when a prototype works better than you expected.

Also, if anyone from Red Dot is reading this, I'd still love a museum spot. I'll bring my own turtleneck.