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The Future of Humanoid Design: Embracing Familiarity or Redefining Aesthetics?

The Future of Humanoid Design: Should Robots Look Like Us?

As we edge closer to a world where AI and robots play a central role in daily life, I find myself increasingly fascinated by a question that gets at the very heart of design: should humanoid robots look like us? Or could there be more value in designs that boldly depart from human appearance?

On one hand, the familiar draws us in. A robot with human-like features—eyes, a mouth, even the hint of an expressive face—might make us feel comfortable, even understood. After all, we’re hardwired to respond to faces and gestures. Could this be why human resemblance in robotics is so appealing? There’s evidence that people are more at ease with technology that mimics human behaviour, especially in roles that call for empathy, like caregiving or companionship. It’s easy to see the benefits—robots that “look” human could feel less intimidating, more relatable.

But as we lean into this aesthetic, are we perhaps inching too close for comfort? When a robot looks almost human but doesn’t quite make the mark, it can slip into the uncanny valley, a zone where it’s close enough to be recognisable but too far off to feel natural. Instead of feeling comforted, we might feel unsettled. Is it worth the risk, or does this “almost human” aesthetic only remind us that it isn’t human after all? And then there’s a more profound question—do we even want robots to look like us, or are we okay with them standing apart as unique, distinctly technological beings?

There’s a strong case for taking a different approach, embracing non-human aesthetics. Why not celebrate what makes robots different? After all, does a robot need a face to be effective? Think about it—there’s freedom in creating forms that aren’t bound by human proportions or anatomy. Imagine a robot designed purely for function, its form following what it’s actually built to do. Picture one built for a specific purpose, with shapes and materials optimised for strength, precision, or speed, without the constraints of mimicking human arms or legs. Without the limits of human form, are we freeing up designers to push boundaries, to create something entirely new and unique?



Going beyond human resemblance opens up exciting possibilities, particularly in the realm of materials and finish—an area where I’m deeply engaged. A robot could be smooth, metallic, textured, or transparent. It could integrate innovative materials that don’t even exist in the natural world, highlighting its technological essence. Imagine the freedom to experiment with Colour, Material, and Finish (CMF) in ways that would never suit a human form but perfectly capture the robot’s purpose and personality. In embracing a distinctly non-human aesthetic, we can begin to see robots for what they are: creations of engineering, tools built to enhance our lives, rather than reflections of ourselves.

In fact, maybe there’s a balance to be struck. Could the answer lie in merging familiar human elements with distinct, machine-specific designs? Perhaps a robot doesn’t need a human face, but just the suggestion of eyes or a gesture could go a long way in making interactions feel warm and natural. This hybrid approach might allow us to retain a sense of connection while embracing the robot’s unique identity. After all, isn’t this balance of familiarity and innovation what design is all about?



It’s also worth considering the cultural dimension. In some cultures, people might welcome robots that look and act human—media and societal expectations might make human-like robots feel comforting. In other places, though, there could be a greater appreciation for robots that maintain clear boundaries, reinforcing their role as tools rather than potential replacements for human relationships. What if the answer to how robots should look is also shaped by where they’re made and who they’re designed to serve?

As we envision the future of humanoid design, these questions carry weight. Do we pursue a design that echoes human forms, or are we open to something entirely new—something that doesn’t blur the line between machine and human? How do we want robots to make us feel? Ultimately, it’s not just about function but about the interaction, about how robots integrate into the human experience. There’s a lot to consider, from the comfort of familiarity to the allure of the unknown.

In the end, maybe the real question is this: should robots be designed to reflect us, or is it time to let them express something different, something unapologetically robotic? What’s more, will the path we choose today impact how we interact with these machines tomorrow?

It’s an exciting time to explore these possibilities, to define a future where robots not only serve but resonate with us on a deeper level—whether through human resemblance or their own distinctive aesthetic. The conversation is only beginning, and I, for one, am eager to see where it leads.


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