Sailors used to carry pocket telescopes. Birdwatchers still carry monoculars. Geologists carry hand lenses. What these instruments share, beyond the obvious optical function, is a deliberate relationship to information: you raise the tool when you choose to engage with it, and the world stays unmediated the rest of the time. That’s actually a pretty sophisticated UX philosophy, and it’s one the entire wearable tech industry has quietly abandoned in favor of always-on overlays, persistent notifications, and the assumption that more access to information is axiomatically better. Yuxuan Hua’s Lens concept is a Silver A’ Design Award winner that makes the counterargument in hardware form.
The concept is a detachable AR smartwatch that splits into two objects: a wrist-worn puck for everyday use and a handheld monocular for AR-enhanced outdoor exploration. The back face of the module houses a dual-lens optical array, a wide camera and LiDAR sensor tucked into a vertical pill recess, while the face doubles as a circular display that overlays navigation prompts, species identification, and star charts over a live feed when held up like a field scope. The band itself is Alpine-loop textile, the lug system simple enough to suggest the module can swap across band styles, and the whole thing comes in at 48mm wide and 68g. The rendering detail is strong: the detached module has the cold, machined look of a quality compass or a classic light meter, the kind of object that rewards handling.
Designer: Yuxuan Hua
Hua interviewed hikers, foragers, and stargazers and found three consistent frustrations: devices were too bulky and fragile for rugged environments, and frequent screen interactions broke the rhythm of being outside. The phone-as-field-guide pattern, pull it out, unlock, navigate to the app, wait for it to load, try to hold it steady while pointing at something, is a sequence of six interruptions where you actually wanted zero. Smart glasses solve the unlock problem but introduce the far more annoying problem of a permanent digital scrim between you and whatever you came outdoors to look at. The monocular is the thing you raise when you want to know something and lower when you don’t, which is precisely how attention works when you’re actually engaged with a landscape.
Most AR concept hardware reaches for science fiction: translucent surfaces, glowing elements, the visual grammar of a prop department. Lens reaches instead for the instrument drawer: the detached module has the proportions and material honesty of a quality compass housing or a Leica light meter, machined aluminum with visible fasteners and a lens array that looks like it belongs in an optician’s toolkit. It doesn’t look like the future. It looks like a very well-made tool, which is a significantly harder design target to hit.
Hua began developing Lens in 2021, during the pandemic, which is useful context. Lockdown-era design projects often reveal what designers actually miss about the physical world when it’s taken away, and what Lens mourns, obliquely, is uninterrupted attention. The whole concept is an argument that the best AR device for outdoor use is one that disappears when you’re not using it, one that earns its presence by staying out of the way until the moment it’s needed, then delivers exactly what the moment requires. Whether the engineering can catch up to that vision, packing AR projection, LiDAR, and a wide-FOV camera into a 68g coin of aluminum, is another question entirely. As a design proposition, it’s already done its job.
Apple’s MacBook Neo opened the door to a new kind of Mac, one that trades raw power for accessibility, color, and mass appeal. The A18 Pro chip powering it has already proven capable enough for a full laptop experience, which makes the logical next question an obvious one: what happens when that same formula moves to the desktop? The timing couldn’t be sharper. OpenClaw’s rise as a locally-run AI agent has sent Mac Mini demand into a frenzy, with high-memory units backordered for up to six weeks and stock selling out across multiple markets. People clearly want affordable Apple silicon desktops, and supply simply hasn’t caught up.
That gap is exactly where a Mac Neo would land. Sitting below the Mac Mini in price while carrying the same cheerful color identity as the MacBook Neo, it fills a slot in Apple’s lineup that currently doesn’t exist but arguably should. Students, first-time Mac buyers, and anyone running lightweight local AI workloads would have a natural home in the Mac Neo. Apple already has the MacBook Neo pulling switchers in from the laptop side, and a matching desktop completes the picture. It carries the MacBook Neo’s spirit forward into the living room, the dorm room, and the home office, completing a product family that right now feels one piece short.
Designer: Apple
Images Created Using AI
That Mac Mini silhouette in blush pink or citrus yellow feels like the iMac G3’s spiritual successor. The color makes it feel personal rather than utilitarian, which is exactly what Jobs and Ive were aiming for with the iMacs back in the pre-aluminium days. The color-matched aluminum shell mirrors the same four-finish palette as the MacBook Neo, which means Apple could market these as a set to schools and first-time buyers with minimal effort. What’s visually notable is the slim profile, noticeably thinner than the current Mac Mini, which tracks given the A18 Pro runs completely fanless in laptop form. A desktop chassis with even modest passive cooling could push that chip harder and longer than any laptop allows.
The A18 Pro ships with a 6-core CPU, 5-core GPU, and a 16-core Neural Engine on TSMC’s second-generation 3nm process. In the MacBook Neo, it runs completely fanless through photo editing, streaming, and light AI inference. Drop it into a desktop with a real power brick and passive cooling, and the chip gains the thermal headroom to sustain performance a laptop chassis simply cannot hold. Apple’s own benchmarks show the A18 Pro outperforming Intel Core Ultra 5 PCs in the same class, and a desktop form factor with better cooling only reinforces that. Configure it with 16GB of unified memory and you have something that runs local model inference comfortably and covers the full Apple Intelligence feature set.
Apple’s current Mac lineup has no desktop entry below $599, leaving the budget switcher market completely unaddressed. A Mac Neo at $399 puts macOS in the same price bracket as Chromebooks, which have dominated education for over a decade largely because Apple never showed up at that price with a desktop. The OpenClaw surge sharpens the argument: Mac Mini shortages stretching six weeks on high-memory units confirm massive pent-up demand for affordable Apple silicon desktops. These buyers want local AI on hardware they own, and the Mac Mini’s $599 floor prices many of them out. A Mac Neo with 16GB unified memory, Apple Intelligence support, and a $399 starting price addresses all of that and does it in a package that actually looks like it belongs on a desk.
Reverse driving accounts for just 1% of all driving time, yet it’s responsible for roughly 25% of all accidents. A dirty backup camera in winter, mud season, or on dusty country roads is not a hypothetical inconvenience but a genuine safety liability, one that most drivers have resigned themselves to either living with or solving by stepping out of the car every time. Mike Klein, a Vermont-based tinkerer with a characteristically no-nonsense approach to annoying problems, got fed up enough to build a solution in his garage. What started as a Ziploc-bag-and-zip-tie prototype strapped to his license plate has turned into the Lens Lizard, a compact, self-contained, remote-controlled backup camera washer that just hit Kickstarter and has absolutely run away with its funding goal.
The concept is beautifully blunt. Lens Lizard mounts behind your license plate, sandwiched discreetly between the plate and the bumper using your car’s existing screw holes. No drilling, no wiring, no running tubing through door gaps or under trim panels. The whole install takes under five minutes with a standard screwdriver, and once it’s on, it’s invisible. The unit itself houses a fluid reservoir, a battery pack, and a high-pressure nozzle that you aim at your camera once during setup and then never have to touch again. When your backup camera gets caked in snow/ice or road salt on a grey January morning, or buried under a slush splatter from the truck overtaking you on a Vermont highway, you press a wireless remote button from inside the car and a jet of washer fluid blasts the lens clean. Sort of like a lizard or a chameleon striking its prey with a sharp, swift flick of its tongue. Except this time, it’s a concentrated jet of soapy water. Maybe a Pokémon reference would work better but I don’t want Nintendo’s lawyers sending me a cease and desist.
The engineering philosophy here is aggressively practical. Klein explicitly designed the Lens Lizard for Vermont winters, which means sub-zero temperatures, aggressive road salting, heavy snow, and the kind of freeze-thaw cycling that destroys lesser materials. The housing is sealed and built from automotive-grade materials, and the battery and fluid reservoir are sized to last four-plus months between refills and recharges, meaning you top everything up roughly once per season.
Maintenance is a non-event: open the latch, refill with washer fluid, charge via USB-C, close it back up. Klein’s origin story is worth noting too, because it gives the product a satisfying internal logic. He tried hydrophobic lens covers (they peeled), ceramic coatings (they did essentially nothing), and eventually decided to just build a scaled-down windshield washer system for his license plate. The first prototype was, by his own admission, ridiculous. But it worked, and that was enough to tell him the idea had legs.
Lens Lizard works with any vehicle where the backup camera sits above the license plate, which covers 99% of cars on the road, pickup trucks very much included. The product ships with assorted license plate screws to handle different fastener sizes, and the adjustable nozzle lets you dial in the spray angle for your specific camera position during initial setup. After that, the unit lives its entire life tucked behind the plate, completely out of sight. The wireless remote is puck-shaped and lives wherever you keep it in the cabin, a glove box, a cupholder, the center console.
The Lens Lizard starts at just $99 for the entire kit as an early bird discount off its $149 price tag. A dual bundle costs $189 if you’ve got two cars, and all bundles include the Lens Lizard unit, a wireless remote, a battery pack, and an assortment of screws to help you install the gizmo on your car. Given its specific design (and that every nation has a different license plate), the Lens Lizard only ships to the US and Canada for now, although I’m sure a more universal version is in the works. Production is slated to begin in April 2026, with shipping to backers planned for May. For drivers in cold-weather states, high-dust regions, or anywhere that sees serious road grime, it’s a hard value proposition to argue with. Certain premium vehicles have had integrated camera washers for years, quietly tucked into the bumper plumbing. Klein has simply figured out how to give everyone else the same result for under a hundred bucks, no dealer visit required.
Design Mindset is Yanko Design’s weekly podcast, powered by KeyShot, the 3D rendering and visualization software that helps designers test how products feel, not just how they look. Hosted by Radhika Seth, the show goes deep into the philosophy and process behind world-class products, sitting down with the designers and founders who actually built them. Episode 19, premiering this week, is one of the most thought-provoking conversations the series has produced yet.
Joseph Hofer is the founder of Hofer Studio, where he consults with hardware entrepreneurs on building profitable, world-class product portfolios. Before that, he spent over a decade at BlackBerry as senior industrial designer, establishing the look and feel of the iconic Bold family and shaping devices like the Q10, Z10, and the BlackBerry Passport. His work spans over sixty design and utility patents, touching products that have sold over twenty-one million units and generated upward of $3.1 billion in revenue. More recently, he’s been the design force behind the Clicks Communicator, a physical-keyboard phone that launched at CES and challenges the smartphone status quo from the ground up.
Joseph opens the conversation with something that sounds almost poetic but lands with the weight of a core design principle, saying that “most of the objects we use every day quietly train us. They teach us how to hold them, how long to focus, how patient we need to be. When design ignores human limits, it drains us. When design respects them, it almost feels like care.” He critiques what he calls “sticky” experiences, the kind that benefit companies at users’ expense, arguing that the real question designers should be asking is whether a product helps people become a better version of themselves, or whether the company simply wins after ten years of draining them.
His case against the modern smartphone is pointed. Everything phones have become reactionary devices, he says, describing the experience of opening one to send an email and somehow finding yourself fifteen minutes deep in a reel, asking yourself how you got there. Big tech, in his view, has deliberately shaped products to increase screen time and sell more through ads. His philosophy runs in the opposite direction: good design should prompt intention before action, not exploit the absence of it.
Integration as Core Design Principle
One of the more revealing details Joseph shares early on is that at BlackBerry, the design team’s official title wasn’t “Industrial Design.” It was Design Integration. That framing stayed with him. “Integration is probably the word, the action that I look to do well in every project I work on,” he says, adding that a product can be really strong in one area but fall flat in others if you’re only focused on a single dimension. Great design, strong UX, and poor profit economics don’t add up to a sustainable company. Economics, manufacturing, cost, and complexity all have to be part of the thinking from the start.
His advice to technical founders reflects the same logic. Many of them start with a breakthrough innovation and then go looking for a market to push it into, which he sees as working in the wrong direction. The better path is to step back, clearly analyze the problem bubbling up from the market, shape an experience that solves it, and then let the technology marry with that. Letting one run too far ahead of the other is how good innovations end up as products nobody uses.
The Clicks Communicator: Intentional Mobile Interaction
The Clicks Communicator is the most direct physical expression of Hofer’s philosophy. It was the first phone he designed in ten years after BlackBerry, and the central idea is a complete inversion of how smartphones currently work. Rather than an app grid that presents notifications and pulls users in reactively, the Communicator prompts users to decide what they want to do first, then acts on it. Physical keys map to intentional shortcuts: pressing K calls a specific contact, pressing I opens Instagram only when the user has consciously chosen to. “It flips it from being reactionary to intentional,” Joseph says simply.
He’s also clear that the product’s appeal isn’t nostalgia. A lot of the customers aren’t even BlackBerry users, he notes; they’re younger people who simply want a different relationship with their mobile device. The Communicator sits within what he sees as a broader 2025 trend of “intentional tech,” products designed to decouple from the everything-phone model and serve one specific purpose well. Adding a 3.5mm headphone jack and a removable SD card wasn’t feature-stacking for its own sake either; those choices are signals to a specific audience that the team is listening and cares about them.
Recognizing Quiet Ideas and Process Discipline
When Radhika points out that the BlackBerry keyboard now feels like it was always inevitable, Hofer pushes back immediately. “Sometimes these quiet ideas that feel obvious or become obvious actually took a lot of effort and iteration to get there,” he says, describing the motto his team lived by: think, build, test. The keyboard’s evolution wasn’t a single stroke of insight; it was a response to real constraints. As iPhones pushed screens larger, BlackBerry faced intense pressure to shrink keypads, which meant switching from oval keys to square ones, losing the tactile separation users relied on. The innovation was subtle: raising a curved edge on each square key to preserve the feeling of the oval, essentially hiding a reference to the old shape inside the new form. Speed tests, accuracy tests, user sentiment on different options, all of that grinding iteration is what produced something that feels natural.
He applies the same thinking to simplicity broadly. Designing for a ten-year-old, he argues, is one of the most useful principles any designer or founder can adopt. If you can’t explain the product to a ten-year-old, it’s too complicated. He tested this literally the night before the recording, sitting down with his eight-year-old daughter to ask about her CD player. Her answer was that it had way too many buttons. Her ideal? Three: power, volume up, volume down. Six identical-feeling buttons with in-mold graphics that disappear in the dark told a clear story about what the designers had gotten wrong.
Restraint as Confidence and Commercial Strategy
The tension between restraint and visibility is something Hofer takes seriously. He doesn’t frame minimalism as a virtue in itself. “Clarity is actually an even stronger word,” he says, arguing that a vanilla product solving a vanilla problem will simply go unnoticed. The goal isn’t to be quiet; it’s to solve a real, specific problem so well that the product becomes the only answer for a particular group of people. A phrase he came up with captures where he’s trying to take the companies he works with: from viral products to vital ones, products that customers genuinely need in their lives because of the difference they’ve made.
That philosophy maps directly onto commercial outcomes. A product that meets the emotional and functional needs of a user, reduces cognitive load, lasts longer, and has lower return rates naturally builds a brand that draws people in without needing to be aggressively sold. “When products are just better,” he notes, “they need to be marketed and sold maybe less. That’s an effect on your bottom line.” His work at Hofer Studio is less about crafting beautiful objects and more about asking founders what commercial success actually means to them and building backwards from that.
When the rapid-fire round asks him to describe restraint in design in a single word, his answer arrives without hesitation: confidence. “What does obviousness create? It creates confidence. I know how to enter this experience. I know how to start this product. I feel more confident with it in my life.” It’s a fitting close to a conversation that consistently returned to the same idea: that the design decisions nobody notices are usually the ones that took the most care to make.
Design Mindset drops every week on Yanko Design. Catch Episode 19 in full wherever you listen to podcasts. For a free trial of KeyShot, visit keyshot.com/mindset.
Meet RAD, short for Rivian Adventure Department, which is either a very clever name or a very brave one. In practical terms, it is Rivian’s newly formalized performance and development group. The team takes its trucks and SUVs into demanding events, learns what breaks, what grips, what flies, and channels those lessons into future products and features. It has been operating inside Rivian for years without a formal name. Think of it as Rivian’s version of BMW M or Toyota GR, except its proving ground is desert rallies and frozen lakes rather than the Nurburgring.
Rivian unveiled RAD at the 2026 FAT Ice Race in Big Sky, Montana, which feels like the correct setting for a division built around speed, control, and chaos management. FAT stands for Fahren auf Eis, German for “driving on ice,” and the event mixes vintage cars, modern performance machines, and now, 1,025-horsepower electric SUVs. The quad-motor R1S came in second on RAD’s debut, a solid first result. The bigger story is what RAD signals about where Rivian is heading. The company had the adventure image locked down already, and it now wants a firm grip on performance too, seemingly content to make that argument sideways on ice.
Designer: Rivian
RAD’s first deliverable for actual owners is the RAD Tuner, and it is more substantive than a typical software feature drop. It gives quad-motor R1S and R1T owners on Gen 2 hardware touch sliders to build custom drive modes across more than 10 powertrain and suspension variables, including power output, torque bias, stability control intervention, and brake regeneration. Two presets come built in: Desert Rally, developed from Rebelle Rally data, and Hill Climb, shaped by Pikes Peak runs. Both modes came from a team driving a 1,025-horsepower EV through punishing terrain and noting what actually worked. That feedback loop between competition and production software is what separates a real performance division from a badge on a brochure.
Speculation around RAD-badged production models is already building, and Rivian is doing nothing to quiet it. The R2, Rivian’s more compact SUV arriving in the second half of 2026, showed up at the FAT Ice Race dressed in full RAD livery, which is not a styling accident. The Drive has laid out the theory that quad-motor R1 models get rebranded R1 RAD, with a tri-motor R2 in the R2 RAD slot. When Rivian’s spokesperson was asked about the conspicuously missing R2 tri-motor from the launch lineup, the reply was “so much more to come” with an actual winking emoji. If RAD graduates to a production badge, Rivian enters the same conversation as the Ford Raptor, the Ram TRX, and every performance sub-brand that has figured out how to charge a premium for pushing factory hardware past its polite defaults.
The EV industry has spent years anchored to range figures and charging infrastructure debates, both necessary conversations, but ones that leave genuine enthusiasm largely unaddressed. Rivian is making the argument loudly that electric trucks can be athletic, competition-tested, and interesting to the crowd that wakes up on a Saturday morning wanting to do something dumb and fast. The RAD Tuner is a modest first chapter, but the direction is unambiguous. Performance divisions grounded in real competition data take years to build and are hard to fake from scratch. Rivian has that foundation in place.
Sri Lankan designer Thilina Liyanage has built a recognizable portfolio around one core idea: that architecture in wild spaces should speak the language of those spaces. His previous concepts have drawn from bird forms, insect geometries, and the angular logic of animal skeletons, earning him a following among readers who track biomimetic architecture with the same enthusiasm others reserve for gadgets. His latest, the Rhino Safari Deck, takes that approach to one of its most literal and structurally ambitious expressions yet. Rendered under overcast skies above a scrubby, semi-arid landscape scattered with cacti and boulders, the structure earns its name in full. From a distance, you are looking at a rhino. The silhouette is unmistakable: a squat, armored mass with a pronounced horn erupting from the roofline, flanked by secondary angular spires that read as ears, the whole thing hunched forward on its platform like the animal mid-charge.
Liyanage named the project “Kifaru Point,” using the Swahili word for rhino, which sets the geographic and tonal intention clearly. The structure is conceived as a wildlife observation deck, elevated above the terrain on a concrete plinth with a timber-decked lower platform that wraps around the base. A set of steel-railed stairs leads visitors up from the rocky ground level, and the shaded gathering area beneath the main structure provides a transition space before the ascent continues to the upper observation level. The interior views glimpsed in the renders show open, framed apertures that funnel sightlines out across the flat scrubland below, the kind of panoramic sweep that makes the elevated position feel earned rather than arbitrary. As a piece of safari infrastructure, Kifaru Point is doing something most viewing platforms do not bother attempting: it turns the act of looking at animals into an architectural experience that is itself worth looking at.
Designer: Thilina Liyanage
The entire form is built from triangulated steel frames, with each panel clad in ribbed, corrugated steel slats that create a warm, striated texture across the facets. Spherical steel nodes connect the struts at every junction, giving the whole skeleton a Meccano-meets-brutalism quality that suits the rugged setting perfectly. There is no smooth surface anywhere on this building. Every plane is either angled, folded, or interrupted, and the aggregate effect genuinely reads as armored hide from the outside while remaining open and structurally legible from within. The corrugated steel and timber combination ages well in outdoor conditions, which matters for a structure intended to sit in a landscape indefinitely rather than perform at an exhibition and disappear.
What Liyanage is clearly working through in this series is the question of how a building earns its place in a landscape. The typical eco-lodge answer involves receding into the environment through natural materials and muted palettes, becoming invisible by design. Kifaru Point goes the opposite direction: it announces itself as a landmark, a destination, something you orient toward from across the plain. The rhino reference gives it a totemic presence that goes beyond novelty. Rhinos are ancient, armored, and critically endangered, and a safari deck that reads visually as one of those animals is making an argument about the relationship between the people who come to observe wildlife and the wildlife itself. Biomimetic architecture has a long tradition of borrowing animal logic for structural efficiency, but borrowing it for symbolic weight, for the purpose of rhino conservation awareness built into a building’s silhouette, is a less common move and a more interesting one.
The rendered setting positions Kifaru Point among desert shrubs and saguaro-like cacti, suggesting a location somewhere in southern or eastern Africa, though the landscape has a looseness that keeps the concept legible across multiple possible sites. The palette of weathered steel and warm timber sits comfortably against the muted greens and grays of the terrain, and the overcast sky in most of Thilina Liyanage’s renders gives the structure a moody weight that a blue-sky backdrop would have undercut entirely. He knows how to light his visualizations for atmosphere, and that skill is doing real work here, making a conceptual project feel like a building that already exists and is already waiting for visitors to climb its stairs and look out across the plain at whatever is moving in the distance.
Seventeen years of Fallout fans walking around with a fictional computer strapped to their arm in their heads, and The Wand Company has finally made the thing real. This is the Pip-Boy 3000 replica, built from the original in-game 3D geometry of the wrist-worn personal information processor from Fallout 3 and Fallout: New Vegas, and it is a fully functional, wearable, 724-gram argument that some obsessions are worth indulging. The Wand Company has form here, having already produced the Pip-Boy 3000 Mk V replica based on the Amazon TV series prop, but this is the one Fallout 3 and New Vegas players have actually been waiting for since 2008.
The front casing is die-cast metal, the body is injection-moulded ABS, and the cuff is memory foam with an included spacer bar that adds 22mm of circumference for larger arms. The 4-inch IPS LCD screen displays nearly all of the in-game content from both titles, and you can toggle between the classic green UI from Fallout 3 and the amber one from New Vegas. Hundreds of menus are navigable using the scroll wheels and dials on the body, the screen mimics a vintage CRT display with glitch effects and scanlines baked in, and you can temporarily fix those glitches by smacking the device because there is, naturally, an accelerometer inside. The whole package weighs about as much as a large can of soup, which will become noticeable roughly forty-five minutes into wearing it at a convention.
Designer: The Wand Company
There is also a playable version of Atomic Command, the in-game holotape minigame, marking the first time anyone has defended fictional American landmarks from nuclear missiles on their actual wrist. The flashlight at the rear, headphone jack, and alarm clock mode are all present and accounted for. The radiation detector deserves a special mention: rather than measuring the ionizing kind that would actually matter in a wasteland scenario, it picks up radiation from FM radio broadcasts, displaying readings on the Geiger counter screen with full sound effects. The replica can also function as a working FM radio, which makes it possibly the most elaborately housed FM tuner ever manufactured. This is either a charming bit of in-universe worldbuilding or a tremendous cop-out, depending entirely on how generous you are feeling about the whole thing.
When you are not wearing it, the replica sits on a solid machined aluminum display stand that locks into four slots on the lower front of the device. The stand is also where the alarm clock function comes into its own, with the Pip-Boy propped upright on a desk or nightstand doing its best impression of the world’s most expensive bedside clock. The Wand Company says Bethesda staff saw the prototype and were left speechless, which tracks, because the level of content depth here, over 2,200 menu entries pulled directly from both games, goes considerably further than anyone needed to go for a collectible.
Preorders are live now at the Bethesda Gear Store for $299.99, with shipping expected as early as June 2026. Bethesda is restricting it to one item per order. International buyers can order through the Bethesda Gear Store International. It is rated for ages 14 and up, which seems optimistic.
BYD sold 4.6 million new energy vehicles last year. It operates in over 100 countries. It builds its own batteries, motors, semiconductors, and power electronics from the ground up. And yet, in the parts of the world where it most desperately wants to grow, a significant chunk of car buyers still see it as the affordable Chinese option. That perception gap between what BYD actually is and what consumers in Europe and North America think it is has become the company’s single biggest strategic problem. Formula 1, according to a Bloomberg report published this week, might be BYD’s proposed solution. The company is reportedly exploring an entry into the world championship, either by acquiring an existing team or by building its own from scratch.
It would not be the first automaker to use motorsport as a brand perception lever. Hyundai was a budget car punchline before its WRC campaigns rewired how people thought about its engineering. Honda’s F1 run in the late 80s and 90s turned sensible commuters into a byword for high revving precision. BYD has the technical chops to tell a similar story, and F1’s 2026 regulations actually play to its strengths. Roughly half the power unit’s output now comes from an electric motor, a huge jump from previous seasons. FIA president Mohammed Ben Sulayem has been openly courting a Chinese entry, confirming that talks with manufacturers have already happened. The financial hurdle is real, with annual costs pushing $500 million and Cadillac’s grid entry fee alone hitting $450 million, but BYD pulled in $86 billion in revenue last year. The money exists. The motive exists. And the regulatory window has never been more aligned.
The 2026 power unit regulations are what make BYD’s potential entry genuinely fascinating from an engineering standpoint. The MGU K now pumps out 350 kW, nearly triple the previous 120 kW figure, meaning the electric motor is responsible for roughly half of total power delivery to the rear wheels. The sport has also mandated advanced sustainable fuels and significantly increased battery capacity requirements. For context, most current F1 engine manufacturers outsource chunks of their electrical componentry or partner with specialist suppliers for battery cells and power electronics. BYD does none of that. It designs its own lithium iron phosphate battery chemistry, manufactures its own electric motor architectures, and fabricates its own semiconductor chips in house. That vertical integration, the same thing that lets BYD undercut competitors on price in the road car market, could translate into a fundamentally different approach to building an F1 power unit.
Think about what that means in practice. Ferrari, Mercedes, and Red Bull Powertrains all develop their electrical systems with relatively traditional motorsport supplier chains. BYD would show up with an entirely self contained pipeline, from raw cell chemistry to finished power electronics, informed by producing millions of electric drivetrains a year at scale. Nobody in F1 has that kind of manufacturing feedback loop. Whether that actually produces a faster car is anyone’s guess, because high volume production efficiency and single lap bespoke performance are very different disciplines. But the potential for BYD to bring a novel engineering philosophy to the grid, one shaped by mass market EV development rather than wind tunnel obsession, is the kind of wildcard that makes the sport interesting. The last time someone brought a genuinely alien approach to F1 engine design was probably Honda’s split turbo concept in 2015, and that eventually won championships.
BYD also has something else that most F1 newcomers lack: a premium performance sub brand with an actual hypercar. The Yangwang U9 is a quad motor electric supercar that clocked a sub 7 minute Nurburgring Nordschleife lap, making it one of the fastest production cars to ever circle that track. It produces over 1,300 horsepower, uses BYD’s proprietary e4 platform with independent torque vectoring on all four wheels, and was reportedly tested at speeds north of 300 km/h. If BYD enters F1, Yangwang becomes the obvious brand to attach to the racing program, the same way Toyota runs its Le Mans effort under Gazoo Racing or Hyundai channels its WRC work through its N performance division. A Yangwang branded F1 entry would give BYD a clean separation between its mass market identity and its motorsport ambitions, while feeding technology back into its flagship performance car.
China’s track record in international single seater racing is worth acknowledging here, because it adds useful context to how hard this actually is. The team originally called China Racing joined Formula E in 2013 as the second team on the grid, won the inaugural Drivers’ Championship under the NIO banner with Nelson Piquet Jr. in 2015, and then proceeded to spend years stuck at the very back of the field. It got rebranded from NIO 333 to ERT, and was eventually sold to an American investment group that now runs it as Kiro Race Co. under a U.S. license. The one Chinese flagged team in electric motorsport lost its Chinese identity entirely. BYD entering F1 would carry the weight of that unfinished story, and the engineering credibility it brings to the table through its road car dominance would need to survive the brutal reality of competing against teams that have been doing this for decades.
Some AI generated concept renders have been making the rounds online, imagining a BYD liveried F1 car in a black, red, and white color scheme with the company’s angular logo across the sidepods. The renders are speculative, but one detail stands out: the Chinese flag painted onto the nose cone. That is a loaded visual choice, and a historically significant one in F1 terms. Alpine carries the French tricolore on its cars. Force India wore the Indian flag throughout its time on the grid. A BYD car flying the five starred red flag on its nose would frame this as a national arrival, a declaration that China’s biggest automaker is ready to compete at the highest level of global motorsport. BYD’s road car design language has been trending toward clean, sharp minimalism lately, so a livery built around deep red panels, exposed carbon weave, and restrained branding could actually cut through the visual clutter of an increasingly sponsor heavy grid. It would certainly look different from anything else out there.
A sneaker-sized robot developed at RMIT University in Australia is making a compelling case for rethinking how humanity responds to one of the ocean’s most persistent threats. The “Electronic Dolphin” is a Wi-Fi-controlled minibot built to skim oil slicks from contaminated marine surfaces without deploying any chemical dispersants, and without putting human responders anywhere near the hazard. Detailed in the journal Small, the device is compact, remote-operated, and draws on one of nature’s more underrated structural templates to do its job. It is not the first machine built to address marine oil contamination, but it may be the first to approach the problem with this particular combination of biomimicry, material science, and autonomous ambition.
The secret is in the filter. Rather than relying on PFAS-based absorbents, which are toxic, persistent in the environment, and increasingly regulated worldwide, the RMIT team engineered a composite coating from specialized carbon layers and modified barium carbonate. The resulting material mimics the microscopic spine geometry found on sea urchins, forming tiny protrusions that trap air pockets in a precise architectural arrangement. That structure makes the surface simultaneously superhydrophobic and oleophilic, a combination that causes water to roll straight off while oil latches on and gets drawn in. The chemistry here is elegant in the way good materials science often is: solving a messy physical problem through surface geometry rather than reactive chemistry.
Designers: RMIT University
The filter sits at the robot’s nose, paired with a small onboard pump that actively draws the oil slick inward. In controlled laboratory tests, the prototype processed oil at roughly two milliliters per minute, achieving over 95% purity in the recovered material. The coating also demonstrated strong corrosion resistance when exposed to saltwater, and held up across multiple reuse cycles without meaningful degradation. Those numbers matter because reusability is one of the practical bottlenecks that has historically limited oil spill response hardware. A filter that survives repeated deployment in a corrosive marine environment is a filter worth scaling.
The current battery life runs to about 15 minutes, which is honest enough for a research prototype operating at this scale. The RMIT team is candid about the limitations, and equally clear about the trajectory. Future iterations are envisioned at dolphin scale, fully autonomous, and capable of operating in a continuous loop: skim the surface, return to a base station, drain the collected oil, recharge, and head back out. That remediation model borrows from how robotic vacuum cleaners normalized autonomous domestic cleaning, and it translates surprisingly well to open-water spill response, where the geography is hostile, the timeline is open-ended, and human supervision is expensive.
Marine oil spills remain one of the more intractable environmental disasters, not because the problem is poorly understood but because the cleanup tools available have lagged behind the scale of the damage. Dispersants break oil into smaller particles that sink rather than surface, which looks like cleanup but often relocates the harm. Booms and skimmers are manual, slow, and weather-dependent. The Electronic Dolphin does not solve all of that at once, but it represents a shift in the design logic: autonomous, chemical-free, biomimetically informed, and built from the start with continuous deployment in mind. That is the kind of thinking the problem has always deserved.
Jurassic Park lied to you. The velociraptors that terrorized a kitchen full of children and hunted Jeff Goldblum through tall grass were modeled after Deinonychus, a considerably larger North American cousin, because the filmmakers thought the real animal’s name sounded cooler than its actual dimensions warranted. The real Velociraptor mongoliensis stood about 1.6 feet at the hip and weighed roughly as much as a medium-sized dog. Formidable, certainly, but built to the scale of a farmyard bird rather than an apex predator capable of coordinated ambushes.
Which is exactly what makes this LEGO Ideas submission by creator Terraxz so interesting. Built to true scale from paleontological measurements of a juvenile V. mongoliensis specimen, the model sits at approximately 120 cm long and 40 cm tall on a museum-style display stand. It has the ribcage, the vertebrae, the sickle claw, the whole skeleton rendered in tan brick. LEGO has been on a fossil skeleton tear lately, but nobody has attempted one at actual 1:1 scale until now.
Designer: Terraxz
LEGO’s Dinosaur Fossils line began as a fan submission that became the 910-piece Ideas set 21320, featuring T. rex, Triceratops, and Pteranodon skeletons at 1:32 scale. LEGO then escalated with the Jurassic World set 76968, a 3,145-piece T. rex skeleton stretching over 105 cm at 1:12 scale, which launched in March 2025 and immediately became the largest Jurassic World set the company had ever produced. Every iteration in this lineage has been a scaled-down representation, a display piece calibrated for shelf real estate rather than scientific fidelity. Terraxz is doing something structurally different: the model matches the actual size of the animal it depicts, which reframes the whole exercise from decorative object to physical argument about what the creature actually was.
Look at the skull closeup and you can see individual tooth rows built from stacked brick elements, fenestrae represented as open negative space through clever plate offsetting, and a jawline that actually captures the elongated low-profile snout that distinguishes V. mongoliensis from the broader-headed Hollywood version. The spine runs in a proper S-curve, the tail extends horizontally as it should for a bipedal theropod using it as a counterbalance, and the legs are proportioned correctly for an animal that stood 0.5 meters at the hip rather than eye level. The black display armature borrows the same museum-mount language as LEGO’s official sets, with cross-braced vertical supports that would look at home in any natural history gallery.
A fully adult V. mongoliensis reaches around 1.8 to 2 meters in length, which would push this build into genuinely unwieldy display territory. Choosing a juvenile specimen is a calibrated decision that keeps the model physically manageable while maintaining the true-scale claim, and it maps to real fossil record data: a complete juvenile skeleton described from the Djadochta Formation gives the builder a legitimate scientific reference point rather than an averaged extrapolation. Terraxz has a catalog of related MOCs on Rebrickable, including a true-scale V. mongoliensis skull, so this submission is the culmination of an ongoing paleontology project rather than a standalone pitch.
LEGO Ideas requires 10,000 supporter votes within the submission window for a design to enter official review, and Terraxz currently sits at just over 1,000 with 605 days remaining. That’s enough time to accrue the votes needed to turn this into a retail set. I’m pretty sure that a whole bunch of people beyond
paleontologists would like a to-scale velociraptor skeleton adorning their bedroom or hallway. The submission is live on the LEGO Ideas website, and it takes about thirty seconds to cast your vote, so what exactly are you waiting for?
