Artemis II is cruising toward one of the scariest moments of any spaceflight: reentry, when the Orion capsule has to deal with Earth’s atmosphere and the crew gets hit with terrifying forces. And because people can’t see the whole thing from the outside, the public is paying attention to the inside—screens, bathroom fixes, and the surprisingly “small” decisions that end up mattering when you’re moving at almost 25,000 mph.
Getting glimpses into the capsule during the mission, Misryoum newsroom reported that the features of the astronaut’s lives are visible in a way you don’t really expect—down to how interfaces are laid out and even how a broken bathroom component was handled. The underlying idea is pretty consistent: every piece of technology in the Orion capsule has been designed not just to survive launch and landing G-forces, but to work smoothly for the humans using it. Those human factors—the personal, sometimes hard-to-explain feeling of interacting with technology that just makes sense—are now a headline in spacecraft design, not a footnote.
Safety is the first rule. That means safety for the crew, and also safety for the spacecraft, because one problem can chain into another. But the surprising part is how rigorous that safety thinking gets for objects that look mundane until the moment you need them. When you’re preparing to smash into the atmosphere at nearly 25,000 mph, you better be sitting in a well-designed seat.
Seats can save lives, Misryoum newsroom reported, quoting Olga Bannova, director of the space architecture graduate program at the University of Houston. Seats have to handle massive impact loads while transferring as little force as possible to the astronauts—especially during emergencies. They also have to be comfortable, even when extreme G-forces are pushing astronauts into them during reentry, while still supporting natural movement. Orion’s seats are “designed to accommodate nearly 99 percent of the human population,” and they’re adjustable for individual variation and to help astronauts reach key controls even in a pressure suit. They can also be dismantled and packed away to give the crew more room in the cramped capsule.
Of course, those same forces make everyday motion harder than you’d guess. During reentry, the Artemis II astronauts can’t always lift their hands to touch a control screen. So they’ll rely on control devices like a rotational hand controller—sort of like a joystick—and a cursor control device with inputs similar to a gamepad, giving them a way to interact even when larger movements are difficult or impossible. And if you’ve ever sat in a chair that squeaks when you shift your weight—well, imagine designing so that nothing important squeaks at exactly the wrong time. One flight hardware hiccup can be replaced by an actual fix. In Orion’s case, the odor control system for the toilet “had a few teething issues,” Misryoum editorial desk noted.
But human factors don’t stop at physical safety and basic functionality. Designers are also considering psychological comfort and privacy—like giving astronauts choices about sleeping options. Misryoum newsroom reported that Artemis II commander Reid Wiseman says he likes to sleep under Orion’s displays, close enough to react quickly if something goes wrong. Christina Koch prefers to sleep “suspended like a bat,” while Victor Glover likes a small nook near the ceiling. And because living closely can mean dealing with noises, odors, and another person’s movements—designers factor in acoustics and odor control, plus small pockets of privacy where possible. Bannova frames the approach as “thinking about comfort as a requirement for productive work and for fulfilling mission goals.” Astronauts are skilled and resilient, she says, but “we don’t need to squeeze them!”
That wider perspective—human factors as a design requirement, not a nice-to-have—also shows up in how interiors are built to reduce clutter and confusion. Misryoum analysis indicates Sebastian Aristotelis, lead architect at SAGA, sees a well-designed environment as part of safety metrics too. He argues it’s psychologically reassuring, because it signals the project hasn’t skipped functions or requirements. The details can be subjective: whether you like exposed fasteners or want smoother minimal surfaces. And the design differences can be obvious when comparing capsules—Orion’s more pragmatic engineering approach versus a more vertically integrated, branded look in another vehicle.
Information design is another big area, especially as software takes on more tasks. Misryoum newsroom reported that Dragon uses three large touchscreens, while Orion has many more buttons, switches, and inputs. It isn’t just visual style; it ties into mission needs, like Orion handling deep space exploration and requiring more cargo capacity, plus flexibility for more than four astronauts if needed. At a glance, more data might seem helpful—but too much information can overwhelm and make it harder to spot what matters. So designers aim to deliver the right information at the right time, and not drown the crew in what they don’t need. Aristotelis put it plainly: a lot of design is organization of information—whether it’s phones or spaces or products.
Misryoum newsroom also reported that astronauts remain essential even as onboard systems become more capable. Victor Glover said in a video about Orion that software is “the primary flyer of the spacecraft,” comparing it to how software assists pilots, while adding that crew members should still be able to override when needed. The idea is simple but not guaranteed by default: software can assist, Bannova says, but the crew should be able to override. They need a way to make unconventional decisions in emergency situations. Temperature control is one example astronauts want individual access to, Aristotelis noted—because the ability to control your own environment helps more than people think.
Not everything is adjustable, though. Misryoum editorial team stated that life support systems, atmospheric generation systems, and water recycling have to be designed “as close to perfect as possible,” because certain parts can’t be user-tuned without risking reliability. Even then, crew quarters and daily living elements can still be personal—lighting, temperature, decoration—so the spacecraft feels like home. Bannova said engineers and architects need help from psychologists and sociologists: “That is what will make them think of that spacecraft or that space habitat as home.” And beyond comfort, even autonomy in daily scheduling—like choosing task order on longer missions—feeds well-being. The end result, Misryoum newsroom reported, is a design that supports safety, community, pride, and purpose, not just “public relations and pretty pictures.” Beauty, apparently, is part of the engineering too… or at least it’s meant to be.