Over the past year, I’ve ended up in Shenzhen four times. And I’m going back in two weeks.

It’s definitely not for the food. As a Latino, I struggle hard with Chinese cuisine. But China has what the rest of the world doesn’t. Speed. Knowledge. Factories. A shit tonne of them. If you’re building any kind of hardware, that is where you have to be.

And I’m not the only one. I’ve met Argentinians manufacturing LED screens, French people importing phone accessories, Germans developing smart AI glasses. Shenzhen is a hub for anything that has a battery in it.

Now I’m writing this post because I’ve been asked too many times: how the hell did you manage to deal with China your first time? So…

The first time

Initially, I debated even going… what’s the fuzz all about, is it really worth it, do I have the time or the money to go? All my engineering friends were telling me it was useless, that video calls were enough. But the truth is that those friends, even though I love them, had never been. That’s like telling someone a restaurant is amazing, without ever going there.

But I was reaching a dead end with product development for eNOugh, so I took my courage and flew to Shenzhen. Alone. No contacts. No friends. Only me, myself and my suitcase.

I was expecting to be totally lost and worried the whole trip would be useless. But thank god that was a terrible judgement. I learned the hard way that until you physically go somewhere, you are just naively oblivious to what’s actually possible. That one week in Shenzhen unlocked what months of work in the EU couldn’t, and it opened up a multitude of opportunities for making our product.

The essentials

Before anything, China is China. It’s not Europe, it’s not America, it’s China…

First, your Western apps don’t work in China. That Great Firewall is a pain in the ass. No Google, no Instagram, no WhatsApp. Nada. You land and your phone becomes a very expensive brick. Here’s what you actually need to survive. Alipay: your credit card is just a piece of plastic there. DiDi: that’s your Uber. WeChat: that’s your WhatsApp. And a working VPN: I use Surfshark or my French eSIM with a built-in VPN, because without one, you’re cut off from everything you know.

Secondly, make sure you do your business in your hotel toilets… I can’t squat for shit and there’s no way I’ll attempt doing my business on a hole in the ground.

Finally, get a decent translator app too, and communicate with simple words as I feel English to Chinese translation has not been properly solved. Download English and Chinese offline as well, since your phone will lag with the VPN. Kind of an embarrassing fact, but after spending a cumulative three months in China, I’ve only learned four words: thank you (xie xie), not spicy (bu la), hello (ni hao), and recently, yes (dui). At this rate, I’ll be fluent by 2067. So I gave up trying.

The China you don’t expect

Let me challenge some assumptions.

I expected China to be strict. And it is, in a way. Cameras are literally EVERYWHERE. But speaking with locals, you realise you can do whatever you want as long as you don’t play with politics and no police is watching. God damn, I’ve even had shots with security guards. The image we have in the West? Way more nuanced than that.

And the beauty of Shenzhen genuinely caught me off guard. First, it’s safe. You can walk around with your phone in your hand without being scared of it being stolen. Then you get every street perfectly clean, with all vehicles being electric. You can stand in the middle of Shenzhen and hear no traffic. And finally, it does feel like a futuristic tropical place… trees everywhere, skyscrapers standing out of the vegetation, high humidity and heat.

Oh, and Huaqiangbei. Oh, I love that place. Imagine if Amazon had a physical store, but everything was SO much cheaper. Suitcases for $15. Drones for $20. SD cards 40% cheaper. Mini leather phone wallets for $2. It’s heaven for anyone who loves electronics and gadgets.

What I still struggle with

The food almost broke me.

Chinese food in the West is NOT Chinese food in China. They fry bones as a dish. The menus are picture-based, and I’m terrible at judging what I’m looking at. Translating doesn’t help either… “beef temptation” or “nail powder starch noodle” could mean absolutely anything. Ordering food felt like defusing a bomb with Google Translate as your only guide.

I solved that issue the hard way… a good Shake Shack and McDonald’s… Don’t judge me.

Another thing: when someone says “okay” in China, it doesn’t mean they 100% understood you. It might mean 20%. Or 50%. And you realise too late. I once accidentally ordered three bubble teas when I just wanted one. I spent the rest of the day going for a wee.

One more practical note: pick a 4 or 5 star hotel. They’re still cheaper than rent in London. I learned the hard way that lower-end hotels are just not for me. They allow smoking inside, come with… unexpected amenities (had some sex toys displayed on my desk once), and have WiFi so poor that any call through a VPN becomes not unbearable, but impossible.

The work ethic

One thing I can’t stop thinking about is the people in China.

Inside the factories, they do the exact same task, again and again, for 12 hours straight. Lunch break, a nap, a cigarette, and back to it. If hardware development were a video game, these people would be the bots that are always ready to play. Their execution is unmatched.

But it’s not just the factories. The entire ecosystem moves at a speed that makes Europe feel like it’s buffering. You send a message at 11pm and get a detailed reply by midnight. You ask for a prototype and it’s in your hands within days, not weeks. And when someone can’t help you, they’ll know someone who can. And that someone will message you within the hour.

There’s no “let me circle back” or “let’s schedule a call next Thursday.” It’s just… done. The collaboration is relentless. And once you experience that pace, going back to Western timelines feels physically painful.

Though I’ll say honestly: I don’t think that grind is great for creativity. But for getting things built? Nothing comes close.

Just go

For those building a hardware product, just go.

Here’s what I’ll tell you: you will one day end up in Shenzhen and regret you didn’t go sooner. Mark my words. So go as soon as you can. At the very least, get yourself an idea of what’s possible. Don’t let that question of “should I go or not” haunt you.

For those reading this because (I hope) they enjoy it: I can promise you that travelling to China is an experience of a lifetime, and that life there is far cheaper than here, so the only investment is a return flight.

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You can find part one of this post here: The upbringing of the eNO badge - part 1

Part 2 is about how different stakeholders impact decisions and how we remain in check as founders regarding design directions.

It’s all about listening

Rather than relying on our own assumptions or playing guessing games, we deliberately stepped back and let those who understand safety best guide us: criminal psychologists, university researchers, people who work in and around prisons, and, just as importantly, users themselves.

We spent months collecting information, sitting down with small focus groups, calling friends, sending out forms, and brainstorming over feedback. My co-founder Ina alone must have spoken to more than a thousand people at this point. I’ve lost track of how many sessions she ran with complete strangers. But this work was massively valuable, because it taught us how our future users define safety. What makes them feel protected? What triggers anxiety? What emotions a safety product evokes the moment they see it, touch it, or wear it.

Every conversation followed a basic Mom Test approach: no leading questions, no validation-seeking. This gave us access to genuinely honest answers, and the facial expressions that came with them. It’s unfortunately very obvious when someone does not like something and gives you the “EWW” face.

In parallel, we looked at the product from the opposite perspective. How it would be perceived by someone with bad intentions. What stands out and catches attention. What blends in and goes unnoticed. What signals value, vulnerability, or awareness. While you can imagine how difficult it would be to simply find criminals or show up in a prison to talk to them… but criminologist, police officers and defence experts did that job for us.

Bringing the user and criminal perspectives together was challenging. Their behavioural psychology doesn’t exactly align… What a surprise, right?

Our role as designers, then, was to take all of these inputs and synthesise them into a clear design direction, to find the narrow path where discretion, reassurance, and safety effectiveness could coexist.

This ultimately translated into avoiding aggressive shapes, sharp edges, and visual cues associated with fear. Instead, we leaned into a smooth design, round forms, and visual purity across every element.

Our north star was simple: the product should feel so natural in daily life that it becomes an extension of the person, almost forgotten when worn, while still feeling empowering and doing its job when it’s needed most.

When founder taste is in play

As founders, and as human beings, we all have taste. Strong opinions. A personal idea of what “good” looks like.

In our case, that was even harder because there were two of us making these design decisions. Ina and I have very different design sensibilities. What sometimes felt elegant to one of us felt absolutely ugly to the other. And early on, it’s tempting to treat your own gut feeling as correctness, and to assume that your own confidence means you’re right.

It just doesn’t.

“I like it” is one of the most dangerous arguments in design. Not because taste doesn’t matter, but because it’s personal. And a safety product can’t afford to be a personal statement.

I’ll be the first to admit that I can be stubborn and convinced I know best. But I constantly remind myself that I’m not the only potential user. We’re not designing for Ina and I. We’re designing for millions of people we’ll never meet.

Whenever opinions diverged internally, we forced ourselves back to the same question: what does the user actually wand and need? If you don’t do that, you lose.

When user taste is in play

On top of that, I believe that, to some extent, users don’t always know what they need. At least not yet. Truly new products often require education before preference. Steve Jobs put it well: “It’s really hard to design products by focus groups. A lot of times, people don’t know what they want until you show it to them.”

The balance, then, is delicate. Listening without becoming too reactive. Leading without becoming dogmatic. A fine line sometimes hard to stay on.

Testing my gut feelings

I won’t pretend I’m neutral when it comes to design. That would be a straight lie, and the truth is that NO ONE is. But I do love to put myself in other people’s shoes, thinking about how a design might be perceived, how someone might react to a certain curvature, a texture, or a colour.

I’m always working toward what I genuinely believe will be liked by the masses. In other words, yes… it’s gut feeling. An intuition built from observation, empathy, repetition, and past experience.

Of course, it is biased. It naturally pulls you toward what you personally like. That’s why it’s our responsibility to test assumptions directly with users.

Whenever something feels right to me, I try to remove myself from the equation. I’ll share a few images of a design without context, explanation, or justification. And I’ll listen. Only then do I may introduce context, explanation, and intent. With a safety wearable, it’s often interesting to see how opinions evolve once people understand the purpose behind certain design choices. When others’ feedback mirrors my intuition, that’s when I learn to trust it.

That’s how I’ve built my gut feeling over time. Every correct instinct strengthens my internal model. Every wrong one puts me back in check.

And yes, there have been many moments when what users wanted was not what I thought was right. In those cases, you have to let go. You understand why they want it, and you move forward with it.

Designing a safety product leaves no room for ego. The stakes are too high. We don’t design for ourselves. We design for the people who will rely on the product when it matters most.

The eNO badge

Below is the eNO badge. It’s still in the works, but soon to appear out there, in actual streets, on actual people.

To close this post, one thing feels worth repeating: don’t try to win design debates. That’s a trap we all fall into someday. It’s easy to obsess over details, chase perfection, and end up building something you love.

But when your goal is to reach millions, your taste can’t be the north star. Sometimes you have to move forward with choices you don’t fully agree with. Sometimes you’re wrong. That’s part of building real products.

Protect the core truth of what you’re building. Let users and experts decide when your taste needs to step aside.

That’s how things actually make it into the world.

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With this eNO badge, we’re asking people to adopt a new habit, an extra device, and a safety-oriented mindset in their daily lives. That brings a lot of friction by default since we are asking them to carry around yet another product that also may show signs of vulnerability.

And that is why I see a safety product living in a strange paradox. It must be visibly present to deter, yet invisible to avoid attracting attention. It needs to be aesthetically pleasing and feel desirable to wear, yet make sure users don’t feel exposed or judged wearing it. So success only comes if the product integrates nicely into someone’s life, into how they dress, move, and exist in public spaces… without changing who they are or how they feel about themselves.

In short: We had to invoke peace of mind, confidence, freedom, and empowerment. We had to avoid signaling fear, inconvenience, or awkwardness. Period.

Objectives before aesthetics

Before we even debated colours, shapes, or finishes, we agreed on something far more important: what does the product need to achieve… not aesthetically but symbolically.

Here were our four non-negotiable objectives:

• A recognisable product

• A practical product

• A beautiful product

• An empowering product

First, recognisability. We are new. Which means we don’t just have to build a product, we have to teach society who we are and what we stand for. A random design, disconnected from our identity and mission, wouldn’t help us earn trust. And in safety, trust is everything. Recognisability wasn’t about loud branding or visual dominance. It was about coherence. Creating something that, once seen a few times, feels familiar.

Practicality came next. A safety product that adds friction, discomfort, or complexity won’t survive real life. If it interrupts routines or demands attention, it gets abandoned.

Beauty obviously matters a lot… not as fashion, but as reassurance. I think I speak for everyone when I say we associate care, quality, and intention with well-designed objects.

And then came empowerment. We kept coming back to this particular challenge: this product cannot feel imposed. It cannot feel like protection forced upon you. It has to feel chosen, and… empowering.

Only once these objectives were clear did aesthetics enter the conversation.

Love at first sight ~ for the masses

First impressions matter, especially for a product people don’t know and haven’t learned to trust yet. The design needs to get them curious!

You know that feeling when you see someone and you are like: “WOAW!”. Well that is exactly what we were looking for.

Now, attraction and curiosity is the first hurdle to opening the first door, but taste is deeply personal, and designing for individual preference is a losing game. I’ll touch on that more in part 2, but to reach the many, you have to design for what people share in taste, not what divides them … yet another challenge.

Throughout my reading and obsession with pretty things, I came to a simple conclusion: the purer and more restrained a design is, the broader its appeal. Simplicity is what scales.

That’s why we deliberately leaned into a slick, minimal aesthetic. Not to be trendy or to play it safe, but because clean design leaves room for people to project themselves onto the product without dictating identity.

And I’ll admit that simple designs can feel boring… we used to be more attentive to detail in the past… but when done right, simplicity just works.

I see this pattern again and again: products like the Suri toothbrush, Whoop, Supply shaver, Forme bottle shaker, or brands like Apple, Tesla, and Bose all converge on the same truth… To appeal to many, simple beauty needs to be found.

So in a more concrete language, I believe curiosity in a product shouldn’t be triggered by a loud design, it should come from coherence. From a sense that the object belongs, that it was designed thoughtfully, and with purpose.

For us, love at first sight wasn’t about making people want to show the product. It was about making them curious and feel comfortable choosing it.

Challenges we faced

Just in case, some needed context here: the eNO badge is a safety wearable that uses video and audio to analyse the environment for threats and, in case of danger, provide adequate help to its wearer. More here.

To deter criminals from acting, we needed our product to be visible from afar. And after talking to experts, this had to take the form of a red subtle light, invoking protection. This was actually good news! Since I also needed to ensure we indicated ongoing recording in public (yup, we follow the law).

But the real challenge was… how the hell are we going to make these lights pretty. We had to strike the right balance between showing protection, not attracting attention, and not making users feel uncomfortable.

After having drawn a bunch of ugly drawings, an idea clicked. Why not make our badge the shape of our logo and have the red light enclose it. We had something! A single, subtle LED ring, programmable, animated, and integrated as a bridge between the front face and side face of the device, linking both together without adding noise. Its shape echoed our logo, building awareness without forcing it, while remaining part of the design rather than a standalone safety feature. Not to show off, but I’m pretty proud of our pretty clever move there.

The same then applied to the camera. We ensured its position was visible enough to discourage, but discreet enough to avoid a surveillance feel.

More challenges

Once the first drawings became reality, we handed out several 3D-printed mock-ups to users and criminology experts to collect feedback. This was an inevitable step in learning if our users liked our designs. And as predicted, it also opened the door to many more changes.

One of them being that we realised we hadn’t designed our magnetic attachment for users having long nails. Trivial on paper, critical in practice. If removing or adjusting the device risks breaking nails, it introduces additional pain points that demotivate the product usage entirely.

BAMM, we were forced to rethink the attachment mechanism entirely so it could be removed easily without damaging nails. We first increased the grip surface area for easier removal but lost purity in the edges, so we eventually decided to add a soft strap instead to maintain a clean design.

Then came the need for a clip, because how are you meant to put on our badge if you are wearing a tight dress or a bulky jacket.

BOOM, we introduced a clip attachment option.

More and more…

Then there was our choice of gender neutrality. While research consistently shows that women are disproportionately affected by public safety at night, we deliberately chose not to design a “female safety product.” We believe protection should NOT be gendered.

The design had to work for anyone, without reinforcing stereotypes or creating social friction.

This neutrality came with its own challenges. For some users, men in particular, wearing a safety device can feel like a threat to how they’re perceived: strength, control, even masculinity. This is precisely where design matters. Not by denying those perceptions, but by dissolving them. A product that looks discreet, refined, and intentionally worn doesn’t feel like protection… It feels like a personal object.

I will stop here, but these design questions didn’t stop at visual aesthetics.

Vibration feedback when buttons are pressed, sounds emitted, the weight of the device, the texture of the material, how it rests on the body, how it moves as you walk.

And more.

How do you encounter the badge on the website? What’s the first impression when you unbox it? How does that relationship evolve over time? How do you charge it? Where is it stored? How quickly can you activate it in a moment of danger? How do you know the alarm worked?

None of these decisions are simple. Each one shapes the user journey: whether someone is willing to buy it, how safe it makes them feel, whether they trust it, and how often they choose to wear it. This is why we constantly design with human behaviour in mind.

What’s next

This first part focused on the constraints of designing a safety product that people actually want to wear. In Part 2, I’ll cover how we navigated around different tastes and how we stepped back from our own assumptions and listened to people who understand safety from different angles: criminal psychologists, researchers, people working in and around prisons, and users themselves. I’ll also go into how founder taste and user feedback often conflict, why users don’t always know what they want yet, and how we test gut feeling instead of blindly trusting it.

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Let’s not lie here: yes, hardware is hard. But the reasons behind that “yes” are far more interesting than the answer itself.

When you build hardware, you’re not just dealing with pros and cons. You’re entering an entire universe of chaos, logistics, and emotional instability. People perceive hardware as hard because it is. It takes more time, more money, more skills, and every mistake comes with a real, physical cost. Blow something in software and you can ship a patch an hour later. Blow something in hardware and you’ve just lost months of progress and thousands of dollars.

My answer is : Very.

And before anyone gets offended: I am not a software expert, so yes, this is biased.

Why I’m in bed with hardware

Let me start with the real reason I love hardware: physical products just hit different.

It’s why I obsessed over Lego as a kid, why I studied engineering, why I’m building eNOugh, and why I’ll probably build physical products until the day I die. The reason is stupidly simple: hardware is real. You experience it in 5D. You hold it, break it, improve it. It lives in the world, not behind a glowing rectangle.

When someone sees a prototype for the first time. Their eyes widen, they poke it, they ask a million questions. They love it, hate it, misunderstand it, obsess over it.

That emotional reaction? You don’t get that from an app. And tell me honestly… do you get more excited downloading a new app… or when your Amazon delivery hits the door?

I know my answer.

The challenges…

If your objective is to spin something up quickly, stay far away from hardware. Nowadays, with tools such as Lovable, GPT, Undivided, Durable, and every AI copilot available to all, you can build an MVP in a weekend.

Hardware equivalent? If it exists, someone please DM me immediately.

Hardware is a collection of skills that, unfortunately, do not come packaged in a single tutorial. You need electronics, mechanics, firmware, sourcing, manufacturing, testing, certifications… the whole circus. This is not a one-person show unless your name is Tony Stark.

The process itself is long, messy, and humbling. It starts with an idea, which becomes requirements. You hack together a shitty prototype using dev boards. If that doesn’t explode, you design a real PCB. Then an enclosure. Then you realise nothing fits. Then you redesign everything. Eventually you complete your PoC (proof of concept) and enter the acronym gauntlet: EVT, DVT, PVT … each stage revealing new problems you didn’t know existed. Meanwhile, you ALSO may need an app, a backend server, packaging, manuals, lab certifications, and a supply chain that somehow delivers your product on time.

And all of this has to happen while you pray you don’t go bankrupt. Because, to make things even more entertaining, hardware is expensive. You need time, money, and then more money for the mistakes you will inevitably make. Investors aren’t always excited either; like many founders, they avoid hardware at all costs. And honestly, that’s fair… the risks are real. And even when you find someone crazy enough to invest, you still face the challenge of gathering “market validation” with a prototype that barely holds itself together.

So… Why do it at all?

Now that I’ve traumatised everyone, let’s talk about the good part: hardware is freaking fun and has its advantages.

First: it’s hard.

And that’s a good thing. People fear it. That means fewer competitors come to play. Even big firms can’t move fast in hardware, just look at OpenAI estimating two years for a physical device.

Hardware is wildly defensible too. You can patent it, register the design, protect the tech stack. And yes, China can copy anything, but they usually copy once you’ve already sold millions. And I’ve seen hundreds of Oura-ring lookalikes in China… but barely anyone has heard of those. Software is (in my humble opinion) wayyy easier to copy.

Then there’s the financial magic. Platforms like Indiegogo and Kickstarter let you pre-sell your product before manufacturing, collect the funds, and use that to build. If you fail, money goes back to users, but the campaign itself can unlock investment or demand.

And consumers? They get that physical products cost money. There’s no “software should be free” narrative. Margins can be excellent if you’re thoughtful in your design and supply chain.

The Magic

Hardware is hard. It’s long. It comes with headaches you don’t get in any other industry. But the journey? It’s addictive.

Every stage feels like levelling up: idea → CAD → 3D print → PoC → EVT → DVT → PVT → etc.

And throughout the whole process, you imagine the moment your device ends up in someone’s hands… someone using something you built to solve a real problem in their real life.

That feeling is pure dopamine. It’s why I chose this path. It’s what gets me out of bed.

It’s why I’m still in love with hardware, even when it fries my brain.

There is a serious problem in our society.

We live in the 21st century, surrounded by advanced technology, yet we still don’t have a reliable solution that lets us walk at night in peace. People still check behind their shoulders, grip their phones like they’re hanging off a cliff, and adjust their behaviour just to feel safe.

We should all have the luxury of walking without fear.

But that’s not the reality.

And while many have tried to solve this problem, nothing today actually deters threat. The result is the same: people remain vulnerable to criminal activity, even in cities considered “safe.”

This is why at eNOugh, we decided to build the eNO badge.

It’s the first of its kind… a miniature, AI-powered bodyguard that analyses threats in real time and supports you in moments of distress. Something designed to make a difference when it matters.

Today, led by Ina, Alex and me, we’re pushing to bring this device to market in 2026.

Why a wearable ?

Let’s start with a few simple questions:

Does a tracking app show a criminal that you’re protected? What about a keychain alarm? Panic button?

The answer is no.

None of these solutions prevent an attack from happening. They are invisible, passive, and rely entirely on the user reacting in a moment of fear.

This is exactly why we moved toward a visible wearable that signals to a criminal that the user is protected and that there will be consequences if they try anything.

For deterrence to work, consequences must be real. This is where things get interesting.

The eNO badge has a camera and a microphone that collect real evidence if someone decides to act. And because we know people freeze under stress, we built an AI system that detects threats and acts on behalf of the user. It can call the police and share your live location with trusted contacts.

The user still stays in control! They can trigger an alert with a button press or by shouting “enough,” but the AI exists to support them when they can’t react fast enough.

All of this is essential for the moments when deterrence alone isn’t enough.

Without a dedicated, visible safety wearable, we can’t stop an attacker from even starting because they have no idea you’re protected. Think of it like having security cameras at home: the footage matters, but the sign on the door is what stops most intruders in the first place.

Why me?

eNOugh was first conceived by Ina, my co-founder, after she was attacked and surrounded by four guys in what was supposed to be a safe area of London after dinner. I joined shortly after, when she was looking for a technical co-founder.

But my story with eNOugh and with the problem we are trying to solve started long before I ever met Ina.

Being born in Uruguay with an Argentinian and French mix, I’ve been exposed to multiple versions of “safety.” Since I was a kid, my mum taught me the kind of awareness you don’t read in books. How to dress depending on where you were going. How to walk. How to protect others. How to stay alert without looking paranoid. Even small details like walking on the roadside when you’re with someone.

When my father was working in France, it was just my mother, my brother and me in Uruguay, in a neighbourhood that wasn’t exactly safe. There is one detail that never left me… my mum always kept a pair of scissors next to the bed. Just in case. That kind of detail shapes you.

Later, in London, I kept hearing stories from friends. Phones stolen. People followed. Guys beaten until criminals forced access into their bank accounts.

There’s another side to all this too. I’m a two-wheel addict, especially motorbikes. And when you’ve had a few too many falls, safety starts taking up some space in your head. So much that before eNOugh, I was already sketching ideas for an AI-powered helmet for riders and cyclists, partly inspired by Shark Tank binge-watching and partly inspired by my own crashes.

So when Ina reached out, things clicked instantly. Not just because the tech overlapped with the helmet idea, but because the problem already lived in me. I resonated with it immediately and saw the value straight away.

This isn’t just a London problem.

It’s Paris, Marseille, Madrid, Rome, New York, Buenos Aires, Bogotá, and so many more.

A massive issue and a mission that is genuinely close to my heart.

Why now?

Because the technology finally caught up with the problem.

AI is not hype for us. It’s the piece that changes everything. It can see, it can hear, and it can act with a level of accuracy humans simply can’t match under stress.

And hardware has evolved too. Components are now so small and efficient that we can pack cameras, microphones, processors, connectivity and AI models into something the size of a smartwatch, light enough to sit on your chest without you even noticing it.

Meanwhile, crime hasn’t paused. If anything, it’s rising in places that were once considered “safe.” We’ve waited long enough. Every year this problem goes unsolved, millions more people continue walking home with the same fear and the same useless tools.

The timing is not just right, it’s urgent. With the technology ready and the need being obvious… it’s about time we build something that actually makes a difference.