A large membership association was launching a nutrition magazine, and wanted a companion app to carry that content further — surfacing the magazine's food stories, letting subscribers track what they eat and follow an exercise routine tuned to their goals. My job was to turn that ambition into a functional prototype their executives could hold in their hands. Client anonymized to "AMPL" under NDA.
Print launches once a month. An app can be part of someone's day. The client saw their new nutrition magazine not as the end product but as the seed of an ongoing relationship — and they wanted to know, before committing, whether a companion app could carry that content into a daily routine subscribers would actually keep.
The brief had two halves. First, surface the magazine's food content inside the app, available through the reader's subscription. Second, make it useful every day: let people log what they eat, follow an exercise routine matched to their goals and current state, and — crucially — feel like the content was chosen for them, not pulled from a generic database.
Because this was a proof of concept for their executives, the output wasn't a spec — it was a working prototype plus a concept deck laying out the approaches, so leadership could react to something real before funding the build.
Health tracking is a crowded, mature category — which is a gift for a POC. I benchmarked existing food- and fitness-tracking apps to separate the table stakes (logging, search, streaks) from the openings where a curated, magazine-backed experience could feel different.
Fast meal logging, search, and progress tracking — if these aren't effortless, nothing else matters.
Most trackers feel like data entry: calorie math that turns eating into accounting and burns people out.
Nobody was pairing tracking with genuinely curated, editorial content. The magazine was the differentiator — if the app could make it feel personal.
In the first stage I built the full sitemap for the core mobile experience. Rather than grouping screens by feature, I grouped them by the user's intent in the moment — five experience zones, each framed as something the user is asking the product for.
The complete core-experience sitemap. Five zones, each anchored to a user need rather than a feature set.
Onboarding, dashboard, my program — the tools and structure to hit a goal.
Exercises, commitments and achievements that show momentum over time.
A daily refresh — recipe, activity and challenge of the day — to build the habit.
Discover and curated content: eat right, meal plans, workouts for every situation.
Community, sharing and support — a sense of belonging and motivation.
Before any visual design, the key flows were wireframed in low fidelity — onboarding, dashboard, the daily refresh, discovery, meal plans and recipes — so structure and navigation could be pressure-tested cheaply and agreed on early.
The first thing the app says is that this isn't a diet. Onboarding gathers what it needs to curate — protein intake, foods to avoid, goals — while actively reassuring the user that nothing is off-limits. It's a 10-step flow that feels like a conversation, not an intake form.
The category's biggest friction is logging. The concept's answer was an AR "smart camera": point it at a plate, let it identify the ingredients, confirm, and log — turning the most tedious task in every tracker into a single gesture.
Tracking tells you what you ate. The Protein Finder helps you decide what to eat next — search a food, then swipe to compare options side by side on protein, calories, fat and fiber, with recipes one tap away. This is where tracking turns into guidance.
A proof of concept has a different job than a product: it has to make an idea feel inevitable. The tracking features were table stakes — what sold the concept was the feeling that the app knew you, from the "no restrictions" welcome to the curated comparisons. I learned to design the demo around the one moment that makes a stakeholder lean in, and to build everything else in service of getting them there.
The highlighted line is a placeholder in your voice — replace it with the lesson that feels most true to you.