I’ve been debating whether to write this or not. After almost 20 years in design — the last decade running a studio in New York, working with some of the biggest companies — you’d think I’d feel confident about what I’ve built. But honestly? I still second-guess myself all the time.
I’ve thought about keeping this private, worried it might backfire. Maybe I won’t get invited to speak again. Maybe some people won’t like hearing it. But I keep coming back to these feelings, and bottling them up doesn’t help.
A few years ago, I started getting invited to speak about my work. I’ve been on dozens of stages, big and small. Every time, right before I step up, I think: What the hell am I doing here? Why do I even do this? Then I start talking, and it goes well. People connect, they clap. I get through it every time. It’s never as bad as I imagine.
Still, public speaking has always felt complicated. I grew up in Brazil where talking too much about yourself is seen as a bad thing. You have to be humble. Then I moved to the US and everything flipped. To get an artist visa, I had to prove I was “extraordinary.” I needed awards, press, recommendation letters — all just to keep living where I worked.
I’ve always felt like I had to prove myself twice: once with the work, and again just to be taken seriously.
I did all of it. Got the visa. Won awards. Worked with big clients. Built a studio. Hired a team. But I still don’t fit the usual founder mold. I don’t sound like a typical founder. English isn’t my first language. I didn’t grow up with money. Public speaking was never taught. I’ve tried to “play the part,” but it’s not really me.
A few months ago, I was invited to close the main stage at one of the biggest design conferences in the world. A huge moment, right? But the process was intense: rounds of content feedback, multiple rehearsals, back and forth. I went with it, but it didn’t feel great.
Then, two nights before the talk, at the speakers’ dinner, someone pulled me aside to say they wanted another rehearsal. They hadn’t even seen my talk — just passing along the message. It felt off, out of context, and kind of undermining. Like what I’d done so far wasn’t good enough.
I rehearsed on my own. Not because I needed to — but because I felt I had to prove something. Again.
The talk went great. I got a huge round of applause. So many people — especially other immigrants — told me it meant something to see someone like them up there.
But I shouldn’t have had to go through all that just to feel like I belonged on that stage.
This isn’t just about conferences. It happens with clients too. Last year, we lost a big project because someone in leadership thought we didn’t “sound” like the kind of team to present to executives. A few months later, they came back saying they’d made a mistake. We took the project, the work spoke for itself, and the client was all in. It’s one of our favorite case studies. So why that extra layer of doubt?
I’m not complaining. I know how this industry works. But I also know I’m not alone in feeling like you have to prove you belong — over and over.
Design talks a lot about inclusion, but it still expects people to perform confidence in one very specific way: polished, loud, sales-y.
But that’s not the only way to lead. You can be thoughtful, vulnerable, speak with an accent — and still be taken seriously. You can do things your way and still be a strong voice in the room.
Maybe what the industry really needs isn’t more speakers who sound like they came from a pitch deck. Maybe it needs more people who are just being themselves.
We’ve proven we can do the work. Now it’s time the industry catches up and starts paying attention to what actually counts.
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