Cool, clean air is a lifeline. In June, Toronto Public Health blamed the summer’s first big heat wave for 42 hospitalizations, reinforcing the need for a new city pilot program that provides free air conditioners to low-income seniors. Meanwhile, those lucky enough to already enjoy AC at home and work turned their attention to on-the-go respite. Neck fans emerged as a new seasonal commuting status symbol; sporty high-end offerings with “HyperVortex technology” can run a steep $300.

The rising prevalence of wildfire smoke — which led to additional warnings to avoid the outdoors for portions of this summer — promises to eventually make filtration devices another necessary luxury. While Dyson recently discontinued its $1,000 Zone, an air purifying face mask attached to a pair of headphones, Jake Dyson told Wired in a June interview that he felt the concept was “completely ahead of its time” and “something we believe will come around in the future.” The main problem that Dyson identified was that the unit didn’t look right. Simply put, it felt too dystopian.

Photo by Marco Zorzanello

That’s not entirely the design team’s fault. The concept itself — survival gear as consumer tech — is unsettling. But as air quality worsens, solutions are only going to grow more ubiquitous. As they do, we should be wary of trying to make end-times gadgetry seem too, well, cool. Packaging short-term relief from climate change in the form of something shiny and new only continues to distract from the bigger problems at hand, and it feeds the same cycles of overconsumption and inequality that got us here in the first place. Architect Carlo Ratti made his own call to action this May in his Venice Biennale exhibition, which kicked off in a stifling room filled with worn-out air conditioning exhaust units that would normally be dispelling hot air outside. Every quick fix comes with lasting consequences — and their impacts are often unevenly felt.

Perhaps dire circumstances call for more provocative solutions. During Milan Design Week, Benjamin Hubert and his team at London design studio Layer attempted to navigate this by presenting a collection of prototypes for staying comfortable amid climate disaster — without any help from the electrical grid. Their designs still carried a certain degree of consumer appeal (after all, Layer’s big clients include brands like Bang & Olufsen), yet each one embraced craft production and low-tech operation. A cooling totem, for instance, leveraged the natural material properties of earthenware.

Similarly, a garment that Layer designed with British fashion brand Ræburn using recycled fabrics presented a “physical manifestation of survival,” transforming from a winter parka into a lightweight summer jacket with an integrated water-based cooling system and a pull-up face mask. It was stylish — but it was also upfront about the serious circumstances we must address. As governments abandon responsibility for meeting their climate targets, we need to focus on products that prompt honest reflection and actively shift the status quo. Otherwise, the more normalized and desirable we make doomsday tech look, the more inevitable the apocalypse becomes.