This summer, the Americans with Disabilities Act turned 35. It’s hard to believe it has been that long since President George H.W. Bush signed the ADA into law on the South Lawn of the White House, declaring that people with disabilities would finally have the same rights to access and opportunity as everyone else. In officeinsight magazine this week, we have a wonderful piece about the legacy of the ADA written by Molly Klimas. Don’t miss it.

For those of us in the design and furniture industries, the ADA was a wake-up call, not just another piece of legislation. It forced us to stop thinking of accessibility as an afterthought and start treating it as the foundation of good design.

We often celebrate the next workplace trend, but in truth, the ADA has had a bigger impact on how we shape the places we live and work than any market cycle or style shift. Ramps, curb cuts, accessible restrooms, elevators, automatic doors—these are lifelines for millions of people each day. And they remind us that design is not about the few, but about the many.

One of the great lessons of the ADA is that accessible design rarely benefits only those it was “intended” to serve. Take the curb cut, originally created so wheelchair users could move from street to sidewalk. Today, parents pushing strollers, travelers pulling luggage, delivery drivers with carts, and even distracted pedestrians glued to their phones benefit from that same design choice. Accessibility, in other words, is universal.

I think of Jim and Marianne Rogers of Michigan, who author Molly Klimas profiles in her story, a couple that transformed their home after Jim was paralyzed in a tree-cutting accident. They built a house that works for his wheelchair but also is a beautiful residence, without the clinical feel. Years later, when the home was sold, those features helped Klimas and her husband during his knee-replacement recovery. What helps one, helps all.

The ADA laid down the law, but compliance is only the beginning. Too often we still see spaces that technically meet the code but fail in practice. Anyone who has tried to maneuver a wheelchair into a hotel bathroom knows what I’m talking about. Roll-in showers that aren’t truly roll-in. “Accessible” sinks with no clearance for a chair. Elevators that work fine — until there’s a fire and suddenly the only option is the stairs.

Thirty-five years on, we must ask a harder question: are we just checking boxes, or are we creating environments that welcome everyone with dignity?

Designers and architects were critical to shaping the ADA, and they remain on the front lines of making it real. Groups like the AIA, ASID and IIDA have championed universal design — going beyond the minimums, blending function with beauty and treating accessibility as a civil right rather than a technical hurdle.

As designers, it’s not enough to design for the average. Our responsibility as an industry is to create for the margins; for those who are too often overlooked. Because when we design for the most vulnerable, everyone gains.

There’s no question we’ve made progress, but gaps remain. Accessible housing is still far too rare. Transportation systems — especially air travel — continue to frustrate, if not outright endanger, passengers with disabilities. Hospitality too often treats ADA requirements as a checklist rather than an opportunity. And underlying it all are persistent ableist attitudes that see people with disabilities as burdens rather than equal participants.

As Theo Braddy of the National Council on Independent Living put it, “People with disabilities are not the problem; it is the way society is designed and the attitudes it holds that must change.”

So where do we go from here? If the first 35 years of the ADA were about building ramps and adding grab bars, the next 35 must be about inclusion in its fullest sense. That means workplaces with adjustable desks that work for every body type. It means homes designed for aging in place. It means hospitality spaces that consider every guest, not just the able-bodied. It means rejecting the idea that accessibility is a burden and embracing it as an opportunity to design better.

The ADA is not a relic. It’s a living promise. And anniversaries are not endpoints. They are reminders of the work still to be done. As we look back on 35 years of the ADA, let’s also look forward to a world where accessibility is not a feature but a given; not an obligation but a joy.