It started with an email. Not one I received—but one I sent.
After taking part in the FLUI Hackathon in 2024, I found myself thinking about everything that had gone on behind the scenes. The scale of the event, the way it brought students and professionals together, the systems that made it all happen—it left me curious. So when applications for the 2025 executive team opened, I reached out. I asked for an interview. And I pitched myself for the role of External President.
There were only two positions for the team being sought after at the time. It was student-led, fast-paced, and full of unknowns. But I knew I wanted in.
Because FLUI 2024 had already shifted something in me.
As a participant, I had networked with complete strangers, worked on a real-world brief, and pitched a solution to clients who were actually listening. It was my first taste of the industry—just a sliver, but enough to feel like something I could build a strong career within.
So when I stepped into the External President role, it wasn’t just an opportunity. It was a challenge I didn’t know I needed until it found me.
Wearing the Hat I Didn't Know Fit
My role wasn’t about coding, designing screens, or shipping features. It was about connecting people—sponsors, mentors, judges, clients—to a student-run hackathon that was still shaping its identity.
I quickly realised: this was UX design. Just off the screen.
I was designing systems of communication. Information flows. Expectations. Feedback loops. Everything we build as designers—empathy maps, journey flows, service blueprints—those were tools I used daily, just repurposed for people instead of pixels.
But it didn’t come easy.
What followed was months of late nights, long emails, spreadsheets, cold messages, warm wins, and so many lessons. Some were tough. Most were humbling. But all of them shaped how I now understand design, leadership, and the work it takes to build something that matters.
If I had to distill it all down, it would come to three things:
1. Leadership Isn’t About Knowing Everything—It’s About Holding the Weight Anyway
Taking on the role of External President came with a kind of accountability that was new to me. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t even official in the corporate sense. But I felt it—every time I represented our team in a call, sent an outreach message on our behalf, or made a judgment call that would shape how others saw us.
Leadership, I learned, isn’t about being the best at something. It’s about being the one who’s willing to carry the weight when things go wrong—and still show up the next day.
Managing a team of students, most of whom were my peers, wasn’t always easy. We were all navigating the same uncertainties, the same semesters, the same chaos. But I had to learn how to rise just enough above it to offer clarity when others needed it. To be the person people could turn to—not because I had all the answers, but because they knew I was listening.
I took the time to structure things that made collaboration easier—shared trackers, intro meetings, wrap-up summaries, everything I could think of to reduce friction. I tried to give people agency, but also knew when to step in. There were times I doubted myself. At times I felt like I had to exaggerate my enthusiasm. But slowly, I began to trust that accountability wasn’t about control—it was about care.
2. Teamwork Is Less About Titles, More About Showing Up
Wrapping up the Ceremony: It Takes a Village...And Three Backup Plans
Working with a student-led team meant I wasn’t managing a set of polished professionals. I was growing alongside people figuring things out in real time—just like me. And in that kind of space, teamwork isn’t just about who has the right skills on paper. It’s about who shows up.
Yes, there were moments of friction. Delegation didn’t always go smoothly. Some people delivered more than others. But over time, something shifted. The teams started working. People started owning their roles. And I began to notice patterns in the ones who truly helped carry this thing forward.
It wasn’t always the most experienced. Or the most confident.
It was the ones who pushed a little further than what their title asked of them. The ones who took initiative—quietly, consistently. The ones who weren’t afraid to speak up when a decision didn’t feel right, but who did it respectfully, with the team in mind.
Some didn’t come in with all the skills their roles demanded. But they worked their way into it. I saw it happen—how a little nudge, a quick check-in, or space to talk things through helped someone find their footing. And I tried to create that space where I could. I wasn’t always there to give answers, but I wanted to support the process.
Because I’ve been there too.
I didn’t walk into this role knowing everything. I was figuring it out along the way—just like they did. And that shared sense of learning in motion, of growth without ego, is what made our teamwork real.
During this, when I spoke with senior designers—during coffee chats and portfolio reviews—those were the same values they told me to hold onto. That showing up, even when you're unsure, mattered. That being proactive, accountable, and open to feedback will always stand out in the industry—sometimes even more than technical skills.
And hearing that made something click.
Because it meant what I was learning in this role—sometimes the hard way—actually mattered. Not just for FLUI. But for whatever comes next.
3. The UX Work No One Sees
I won’t sugarcoat it—leading external operations meant a lot of uncertainty. I had to navigate conflicting timelines, missed emails, awkward cold messages, and the classic “let me get back to you” that sometimes turned into silence.
There were moments I felt out of depth. Times when I wasn’t sure if I was doing enough, saying the right thing, or making the right call.
But those were the moments where I learned the most.
From onboarding docs that worked like user guides to communication plans that mirrored service blueprints, I found myself leaning on my UX instincts constantly. I approached meetings like usability tests—spotting friction, listening for confusion, and adjusting the experience one interaction at a time.
I learned that vague messaging doesn’t build trust—and trust is what makes people stay. Whether my team and I were drafting a sponsor outreach strategy or setting up a mentorship pipeline, I found myself falling back on the same principles I use in design: clarity, empathy, and iteration.
And through all of it, I started seeing the work not just as coordination, but as design.
Designing an experience that feels human. One where every touchpoint—from a calendar invite to a thank-you email—adds up to something people want to return to.
But these lessons didn’t come out of nowhere.
They were shaped by the various challenges my team faced—situations that pushed us, stretched our plans, and revealed gaps we didn’t know existed. Looking back, there were a few moments that taught me the most about what it really means to design experiences, not just deliverables.
Making Sure FLUI Could Survive Financially
Sponsorship was tough. We were building something ambitious, but asking busy professionals to take a chance on a student-led event isn’t always an easy sell—especially when emails go unanswered or team members disappear halfway through a conversation thread.
There was a moment where a miscommunication cost us nearly $750 in potential sponsorship. It stung. It wasn’t about the money—it was about what that mistake reflected: missed expectations, lack of clarity, and gaps between external partners and internal teams.
After that, I took a step back and rewrote how we approached handovers and documentation. I created templates that included sponsor requirements clearly, tips for communicating tone, and even common red flags. I learned that when communication slips, so does trust. And that’s something we couldn’t afford to lose—not financially, and not as a team.
Navigating Stakeholder Negotiations Without Losing Our Direction
There was a point where one of our stakeholders requested significantly more involvement than we’d agreed on. It put us in a tough spot—because we wanted to keep them happy, but we also couldn’t compromise the overall experience for everyone else involved.
We had to stand our ground as a team. It meant coming together, aligning our priorities, and having the difficult conversations. Being students made it harder. There’s an unspoken power imbalance when you’re negotiating with someone more experienced or connected.
But we did it. We were respectful, clear, and firm. We found a middle ground, without giving up what mattered to us. And in that moment, I realised that negotiation is just another design constraint—one where you’re designing for alignment, not just outcomes.
Keeping It Together When It Really Counted
A Buzzing Gathering - From Cold Calls to Warm Seats!
The opening and closing ceremonies weren’t just about presenting slides. They were about setting the tone and leaving a mark. But even the most detailed prep doesn’t account for last-minute chaos.
On the day, we had last-minute changes in attendance numbers, materials missing, and sudden university room policy issues that almost derailed things. We had to act fast—and quietly. No panic. No visible stress. Showcasing just smooth handling, even when it wasn’t.
At times like these, it was important that we leaned on the relationships we had built over months—like leveraging our connection with the interim Senate executives, who helped us resolve financial conflicts with reserving spaces in the university.
A mentor once told me: “Mistakes will happen. So don’t try to avoid them. Just be ready with the resources and people to solve them.”
And that’s what I kept in mind. During the ceremonies, I tried to ensure our team portrayed no visible disagreements in front of the stakeholders. No breakdowns in front of guests. Just calm, quick thinking. Because sometimes the best design work is the kind that no one even notices.
Looking Back, and Ahead
Stepping into the External President role taught me far more than I expected. I thought I was signing up to help run a hackathon. What I got instead was a crash course in leadership, systems thinking, and service design.
The product wasn’t digital. But the thinking was deeply design-led.
And it reminded me that UX doesn’t start with a screen. It starts with people.