Inclusive user research – with Gwenaelle Brochoire

A conversation between designers to include Disabled and neurodivergent people in research

An accessibility audit is important, but it’s only the starting point. A designer can’t test their own design, just as an auditor can’t speak for users. Together, we might spot potential barriers, but we can’t replace real people’s experiences.

To know whether a service is truly accessible, we have to go further – and run user tests. But even then, the tests need to be inclusive. Who are we recruiting for these panels? How? Can Disabled and neurodivergent people actually take part?

Barriers often appear as early as the recruitment stage. For example, if the sign-up form isn’t accessible, how can we expect Disabled people to join in? And even if they do get through, how are they treated? Do they feel welcomed – or judged and patronised?

These are the kinds of questions that led me to speak with Gwenaëlle Brochoire, a service designer and co-founder of the French agency Oocity.

I wanted to understand her methods and the services she offers. Our conversation helped shape my own practice in so many ways. I’m really pleased to share it with anyone who shares the same goals.

What led you to include accessibility in your design practice?

‍For a while, I was mostly doing consulting. Clients would say they wanted to improve, but they hadn’t actually met their users – nothing changed. You could bring theory, tools, methodology… but if you don’t know who you’re designing for, it doesn’t go very far. So I started organising meetings between companies and users – at first, it was very experimental. We met in hotel bars and other informal places. No one was really assessing the results of the so-called accessibility services these companies were buying. That’s when I realised we needed user-led evaluation.

In the beginning, my design practice didn’t take accessibility or inclusion into account. I wouldn’t say it was intentionally discriminatory, but it was definitely excluding some people – simply because I didn’t know their needs, their situations, or how they used things. Then I started learning sign language, and I just couldn’t stop. That’s how it all began.

What services do you offer at Oocity?

‍We support our clients through training and workshops. But mostly, we run participatory studies – for digital services, transport, packaging... It might also be for kiosks, physical or connected devices.

Our focus is on disability – making sure it’s considered in the design of products and services. We can’t do everything at once, but once your mind opens up to disability, you naturally start to think more broadly about inclusion. We hope our work makes teams and organisations more curious, more attentive, and more open to people’s individual needs. Many of our clients tell us that, after one of our studies, they’ve become more user-centered – and less focused only on the product. That’s what keeps us going.

How do you include Disabled people in your team or research panels?

‍I try as much as possible to find people who have lived experience of disability. If I’m calling out the lack of representation in design and research, then I also have to apply that to myself.

I think it’s easier for me now than it might be for others – because I’ve got a process in place. I’ve picked up habits, made mistakes (still do!), but I don’t really have any taboo questions. For example, I don’t directly ask someone if they’re disabled. If they mention it, I’ll just ask what I can do to make sure things go smoothly for them. That’s what matters – how to make participation easier, regardless of someone’s situation. I think I’ve developed an approach that encourages people to open up naturally.

Most of the people in the Oocity panel came through word of mouth. I often get calls from panellists saying things like, “I met someone on the train – they’ve had this or that experience – would you be interested?” That happens every day.

Does this approach affect how engaged your panellists are?

‍We have a record participation rate – I think it’s down to the human connection and the way we make ourselves available. I always try to chat with people, explain the purpose of the study, and give them space to ask questions. Researchers should make time for a five-minute chat with each participant – introduce themselves, explain the conditions and goals of the study, what’s expected, and ask if any support is needed. Without that human connection, I don’t think inclusive research is possible.

We also make it clear that people can change their minds – we just ask them to let us know, as a sudden dropout can really affect the study. When people understand what we’re doing and why, it helps build mutual respect. Sometimes someone calls two hours later, or three days later, saying “I’ve thought about it, I’m not comfortable.” I’d rather have that happen early than have someone simply not show up because they didn’t dare say no.

Of course, there are issues like delays or missed sessions, especially in the Paris area because of train delays. But with this human approach, people rarely leave us hanging. It’s actually lovely, and clients are often surprised with how high our participation rate is.

What are the common pitfalls in inclusive research?

‍You have to stay mindful of your position. Listen carefully, stay alert, and avoid generalising. Just because you’ve run one study or spoken to one group doesn’t mean the same results apply to everyone.

That said, I’ve noticed I now have a sort of reverse bias. When someone shows me a new “solution”, I immediately wonder if it’s actually useful. I’ve seen so many projects win innovation awards disappear only months later... Meanwhile, amazing work gets no funding.

When it comes to disability, many so-called innovations aren’t properly tested. No one asks these teams to do benchmarks. So we see ideas come up again and again – things that have already been tried a hundred times. Like the signing glove. That’s a classic example of fake innovation. Honestly, I see it at least once a year. And people raise loads of money for it. But it doesn’t work.

Let’s say I’m a deaf sign language user. I wear a connected glove to sign to you, a hearing person. It translates my signs so you understand me. But how do you reply if you don’t know sign language? And how do I understand you if I can’t hear you?

To go back to your question – inclusive research also means knowing how to behave professionally. You might meet people who’ve been through things you’ve never experienced. I once ran a session with a man who was a burn victim. During the test, I noticed the moderator couldn’t make eye contact with him. But that’s not OK – we have to get over ourselves. This man lives like this every single day. It’s not about us. We’re there for him in that moment – to focus on his feedback, his needs, and the insights we need from the session.

We must create a space where people feel comfortable enough to share openly. It’s not about us – it’s about them.

What do you think about paying panellists who have a disability?

‍I’m pretty activist on this. People often come to me saying things like, “I want this number of blind participants,” without giving me any details. Then they expect someone to travel to a remote bit of Paris, in the middle of winter, get interviewed for 90 minutes and be paid €30? Absolutely not. That’s not how we do things.

I want everyone to feel safe and to go home no more tired than when they arrived. I’m exaggerating, of course, but it really matters to me. You don’t invite people to a study thinking “they should be grateful we’re asking for their opinion,” or worse, like I’ve heard before, “well, at least it gets them out of the house.”

That’s why I wrote 12 key actions for running inclusive research. The goal is to bring in people who actually want to take part—not just doing it out of guilt or pressure from an association, or because they’re afraid they’ll no longer be invited to social events like Wednesday cake.

A lot of associations, especially in Paris, don’t offer much anymore. But they still ask their members to speak at companies events' to raise awareness. They charge those companies, but the members don’t get paid. That drives me mad.

Do you have to be disabled to care about accessibility or inclusion?

No, I don’t think so. It shouldn’t be something only Disabled people have to deal with. Many Disabled people have completely different career interests. If they don’t want to, why should they always be pushed into the role of accessibility lead or the face of an annual report?

At the same time, accessibility is part of everyone’s job, whatever your role. You can’t just wash your hands of it because you’re not disabled. Right?

And we need to get past this idea of “if you’re a good person, you’ll care about accessibility.” I’ve no idea if Steve Jobs was a nice person, but he still pushed things forward. This isn’t about pity or charity.

Is it legal to collect data about disabled people?

Yes, as long as you can prove that it’s necessary for your research. That’s covered under Article 6 of the French Data Protection Act (Law No. 78-17 of 6 January 1978). In short, it’s OK to count people, but not to link their name directly to a “disability” category.

Personally, I don’t need people to label people. I find it hard to put people or situations into boxes. I prefer to focus on usage situations: seeing, hearing, speaking, understanding, interacting, moving around, and so on. That’s what I care about. And loads of people experience these kinds of things. You can’t just put them in one single category. I think there’s a lot to unpick in how we group disabilities.

How do you ask panellists about their disability or access needs?

‍When I recruit people, I like to use the Washington Group questionn. I don’t ask, “Do you consider yourself disabled?” Because some people will say no, then turn up with a wheelchair. They feel that so-called “disability studies” don’t apply to them—because they’re active, independent, and don’t fit the clichés.

So that kind of question doesn’t help you understand their situation.

Instead, I explain that I run a consumer panel focusing on accessibility and inclusion. Then I ask, “What would you like to sign up for?”. I ask what kinds of experiences they’d like to share at that point in time. Sometimes they say, “I want to talk about transport,” and then might go on to mention their children. Eventually, things come up like, “my child was diagnosed with…” or “my dad’s just been diagnosed with…”

As you talk with people, you realise disability is in every home.

What I care about is why someone wants to take part, when they experience difficulties, or how they react to their surroundings—maybe a sensitivity to sound or light. Some people tell me about their diagnosis or medication straight away. But I don’t write that down. I take note of the vulnerabilities they describe instead.

Most panellists who sign up don’t feel represented. They often say things like, “I don’t go shopping anymore because people like me aren’t included.” These are people who are tired of always having to ask for help. They want to be heard, to share their opinion, and to be included. More and more people tell me, “I feel excluded.” That word—excluded—comes up all the time. People don’t talk so much about discrimination. It’s more about not being included.

How do you make sure your words suit different people?

I adapt depending on who I’m talking to. I only use jargon with people who are involved or understand it already—like peers or allies. Never with the general public. The aim is to spark interest. You have to find the right balance, which isn’t always easy.

For example, between “neurodivergent” and “neuroatypical”, I use both, because I’ve never had a clear answer on which is best. The people I speak to don’t all agree. So I use both, and that way, people can identify with whichever term suits them.

What matters to me is how people define themselves. I don’t really like putting people into boxes. But I do think it’s important to know how someone describes their situation, because out of respect, I’ll try to use their words when I talk to them.

It’s the same with gender. What we often say is: “For this interview, do you want us to call you Mr, Mrs, or just use your first name?” If someone gives us their first name, I’ll pay attention to how they speak about themselves and take my cues from that.

Any common pain points reported by users?

Yes, several recurring pain points emerge, often from the very first steps of the user journey. Onboarding is the key stage where exclusion becomes apparent: inaccessible forms, wording and representation of disability that are not appropriate, and a lack of consideration for real usage situations.

Then, the absence of human connection or open-mindedness creates a feeling of judgement or infantilisation. Many people also say they feel excluded by default, not represented or poorly addressed, which undermines trust and participation.

People expect more than technology. They expect respect, service, and genuine consideration of their feedback and lived experiences.

Are Disabled and/or neurodivergent people's voice perceived differently? 

Yes, and it happens on two levels. First, many Disabled people say they don’t see themselves in so-called “disability research”. The usual stereotypes don’t match their lived experiences, which are often more complex, personal, and shaped by context. No one fits neatly into a single box.

Secondly, from the analysts’ side, if they’re not trained or aware of these nuances, they might misinterpret or downplay feedback.

There’s a risk of missing meaningful insights when you rely on rigid methods or standardised analysis criteria. That’s why it’s essential to adapt how we collect and interpret feedback—so we can fully grasp the richness of what’s being shared.

Do clients sometimes question what users say?

Yes, it happens. Some clients expect feedback that confirms what they already believe. So they might be surprised—or even unsettled—by what users actually say. This is especially true when feedback comes from people far removed from their usual target personas.

That’s exactly why inclusive research is so important. It forces us to make space for complexity, and to really pay attention to the voices we don’t usually hear, with the same level of care and rigour.

My job is also to build a strong research framework that gives credibility to user feedback—so it’s treated seriously, not dismissed.

When is the best time for a product team to bring you in?

There are a few steps when it’s smart to call on me and Oocity:

• At the exploration stage, to understand how people actually use your product, spot pain points, and ask the right questions to the right people.
• During design, to include user feedback in your wireframes, user journeys or prototypes, and avoid gaps between how something’s meant to work and how it’s really used.
• Before going live, to run inclusive user tests and catch any final issues around accessibility or clarity.
• After launch, to check how people are really experiencing the product, adjust the messaging or services if needed, and support teams in building a loop of continuous improvement.

That said, the earlier I’m involved, the more impact we can have. It also makes it easier to get everyone on board with an inclusive approach, without it feeling like a last-minute constraint.

Any last tip?

When everything goes digital and research becomes automated, people whose needs fall outside the norm often get left out. But it’s exactly those situations that should guide our work. They show us the blind spots in our services and reveal how serious an organisation really is about ethics.

Involving disabled people in research isn’t just a compliance box to tick—it’s the only way to come up with meaningful answers and design products and services that truly work for everyone. But that means we need to challenge our methods, our frameworks, and sometimes even our assumptions.

That’s where I come in. When you want to make your approach more inclusive, bring in underrepresented user profiles, or better understand the lived experiences of disabled people—I’m here to help. Not to speak for them, but to work with them. My role is to create the conditions for safe, respectful, and fair participation.

Accessibility isn’t just for specialists. It’s a shared responsibility—from designers and marketers to leadership and customer support. It’s only by learning together, questioning how we work, and really listening that we can move from surface-level “access” to genuine, universal accessibility.

As we often tell our clients: it’s better to start small than do nothing at all. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes—every step matters, and every attempt moves things forward.

"Pessimism is a mood; optimism is a choice."