Havaianas is a brand people meet in dozens of different ways, in a store in São Paulo, on a website in London, through a reseller in Milan, on a delivery app, in a mall kiosk.

The problem was that no one inside the company could see all of those moments as one connected experience. Each touchpoint had its own data, its own team, its own version of the truth, and decisions were being made without a full picture of what customers were actually going through.

The brief was to build that full picture: an omnichannel view spanning every market where Havaianas operated across Latin America and EMEA, connecting the dots between more than 70 touchpoints so the company could finally see where customers were getting frustrated, where channels contradicted each other, and where the real opportunities for improvement were hiding.

Getting there meant more than a research sprint, it took over a year of fieldwork, mapping journeys market by market, channel by channel, and building a methodology from scratch to hold all of that complexity without collapsing it into something too simple to be useful.

What came out of it was a living framework: a CX-focused database feeding dashboards and KPIs, a repeatable structure for mapping any journey and prioritizing its friction points, and a growing knowledge library on how Havaianas customers actually think and behave.

For the first time, the company had a single, structured way to see its own customer experience across borders, and to act on it with real data instead of assumptions.

The methodology behind the project went on to win the Brazil Design Award for innovation in service design research, recognition for an approach built specifically to solve a problem most companies don't even know how to name.

Estação N, Netflix's virtual science fair, launched as part of the brand's Children's Day celebration: a free, immersive platform where kids could explore science experiments and activities inspired by their favorite Netflix titles, guided by influencers and creators they already knew from social media and TV.

Netflix wanted to understand the possible futures for Estação N and turn those possibilities into something tangible before committing to a direction. Rather than debating ideas in a meeting room, the strategy was to make the discoveries real: research grounded in how children actually engage with educational content, translated into a defined set of guiding principles, which then became three distinct prototypes — each testing a different direction for where the experience could go.

The prototypes gave Netflix a concrete way to compare futures side by side and make a more informed call about where to invest next. Estação N itself launched to strong public reception, reaching families across Brazil during a year when a fun, safe, at-home activity mattered more than usual, and the research behind it continued to shape how the team thought about the platform's direction going forward.

Most restaurant concepts start with a brand vision and hope customers connect with it. This one started backwards: with the people first, and the brand built around them.

Burger King wanted a flagship store, a physical statement of what "customer-first" could actually mean if taken literally. So before a single wall went up, the project began with an ethnographic study: understanding who the customers around the chosen site really were, how they moved through their day, what they needed, and what would make a restaurant feel like it was made for them rather than at them.

That meant mapping journeys, needs, and pain points across the full range of people who'd walk through the door, cyclists, dog owners, delivery drivers, remote workers grabbing a quick meal. Each profile came with its own logic, and the design had to hold all of them at once without diluting into a generic "for everyone" space that truly served no one.

The result opened in São Paulo, at Praça Panamericana, a store where every architectural decision traces back to something a real customer asked for: bike racks for the neighborhood's cyclists, a pet-friendly patio, a glass façade with open terraces, self-service kiosks, an open grill so people could watch their food being made, and a dedicated safe zone for delivery drivers.

Even the sustainability details, like rainwater reuse in the restrooms, came from what customers said they cared about.

The store opened, made the news, and, years later, is still running. Burger King liked the process enough to bring the same thinking into several other projects afterward.

In an industry where a single oversight can cost a life, safety has to be a practice, repeated correctly every single time, in every shift, by every person, without exception.

That was the starting point for this project: the company already had a safety program in place, built on real experience and real losses, but it lived largely on paper.

The challenge was to make an existing philosophy of safety impossible to ignore.

As part of a multidisciplinary team spanning multiple partners, I helped turn that manual protocol into a system built around one simple, non-negotiable idea: before any machine is shut down for maintenance, a mandatory sequence of safety checks has to happen first, and it has to happen fast enough that no one is ever tempted to skip a step under pressure.

Designing that sequence meant more than mapping a workflow. It meant understanding the psychology of a rushed shift, the weight of routine, and the small moments where corners get cut without anyone deciding to cut them.

Most of the work happened where the risk actually lived, inside the mines, alongside the people who would use the system every day. We watched how workers moved through the space, how they communicated under noise and time pressure, where existing habits helped and where they quietly worked against the goal. That field time shaped almost every decision that followed, from how the checks were sequenced to how the interface had to behave in gloved hands and sun light.

The protocol is now expanding across the company's global operations, carried forward as a reference for how safety systems can be designed rather than just enforced.

It's a strange kind of success metric, you're measuring accidents and lives that didn't happen, outcomes that are only visible in their absence.

But the trust it earned in the field was immediate and continues to compound, project by project. The work went on to be recognized at the Brazil Design Award, among other industry honors, a nice confirmation, though the more meaningful measure has always been the one that plays out quietly, shift after shift.

Death is not a subject most industries want to rethink. It's wrapped in ritual, religion, and a kind of cultural silence that discourages questioning how things have always been done. But this cemetery group was going through real change, new leadership, structural shifts, and a market where competitors were beginning to innovate in ways the industry hadn't seen before.

The work started far from any interface or workflow: understanding how the funeral sector itself was evolving, new cemetery formats, emerging rituals, materials, technologies, market trends elsewhere in the world.

From there, we moved into the field, interviews, workshops, and real conversations with the people living this experience from both sides of the counter: families making impossible decisions, and employees trained to be composed in the presence of someone else's grief.

Brazil complicates this kind of project in ways a generic playbook can't anticipate. Religiosity here doesn't look like it does in other places, and how people relate to death, quietly, ritually, practically, shapes every decision they make about it, long before and long after the moment it happens. That nuance had to live inside the research or the resulting recommendations would ring hollow.

What came out of it was a full transformation roadmap. New internal registration systems replaced outdated processes. A model store opened, letting families see and choose services in person, with the dignity that decision deserves. Frontline service was redesigned from the ground up, along with a new set of service offerings shaped directly by what the research uncovered. Every part of it moved from recommendation to reality.

It was one of the more delicate projects of my career, and also one of the most meaningful, proof that even an industry built on tradition can be redesigned with empathy.