An AI-native sleep companion that reads your body and your room, then composes each night — adaptive light, sound and a two-minute wind-down — without ever behaving like a chatbot.
A waning moon that reads, at a glance, as a closing eye. The stroke of the ø is the eyelid mid-descent — the wordmark performs the product.
Norwegian for sleep. The ø makes the name ownable and quietly non-tech; the glyph is one shape subtracted from another — no gradient, no orb.
The interface is the room. Sømn has no “Ask AI” box, no personality, no conversation. The model reads heart rate, skin temperature, light and noise — and answers as behavior: the room dims to your actual rhythm.
The intelligence is the mechanic, not a mascot. It re-scores the night quietly in the background; you never address it, and it never addresses you.
Live prototypes — press, drag and hover. The craft brief: make the technical parts feel organic. Calibration looks like watching something breathe, not pairing a device.
One quiet minute. Nothing to pair, nothing to configure.
Four ambient signals root into one small model. It re-scores the night every 90 seconds and answers only through the room — the routing drawn the way it behaves: slow, branching, subterranean.
The puck rests on the nightstand, within arm’s reach. No mounting, no aiming — it senses the whole room from where it sits.
Sømn spends the first night only observing — your resting pulse, the room’s dark, its quiet. You do nothing but sleep.
From the second night, every descent is composed for you. If it’s working, you’ll forget it exists.
Role — concept, identity, product design & working prototype. 2026.