Without a doubt, the best thing to come out of design school was the relationship with my very first design mentor—a woman with 30+ years in the design industry (whose real name has been changed within this post for privacy purposes). Not only did she teach me the core foundational skills I would need as a designer, but also what supporting creatives looks like in practice. She helped me begin to navigate the industry in a big-picture way, with the guidance from someone who’s been there—from someone who had navigated the struggles of being a woman in a male-dominated field and thrived. From someone who had evolved in real time with the field and used some of the first versions of the design programs she was now watching me attempt to figure out. From someone who took me under her wing when she didn’t have to and helped me understand the importance of giving what you have to offer generously while taking no shit. From someone who instilled in me how supporting and helping one another find spaces of joy and meaning in our creative work makes the field a better place for all of us. 

The insights shared by today’s designers and creatives are unquestionably necessary and valuable; however, what my mentor offered me was rare and unique in that it came from someone who had seen the field evolve over 30+ years and who took the time to have in-depth, in-person conversations. Today, in a world where we find ourselves working more remotely, are largely surrounded by peers and colleagues who fall within our own general age range (give or take 5-10 years), and are part of online communities with fellow creatives who typically possess (somewhat) similar experience levels, I’ve found these kinds of mentor relationships and perspectives are truly hard to come by—they’re the kind that leave mark far deeper than the work we do, all the way to the heart of who we are.

So what I offer fellow creatives today are five lessons from my design mentor. Lessons that have been tried and true pillars of support over the years and have had the greatest impact on my creative practice, design business, and outlook on creative work as a whole. My hope is that you not only find as much value in them as I have, but more importantly, that you pay it forward—that you know, as my favorite poem reads, “Even with an empty hand, I have the means to give.” And to my mentor— thank you for showing me what this means firsthand, and for leading the way.

LESSON I: Invest first in your skills, then in your process.

Whenever I would come to our conversations bursting with questions about marketing yourself as a designer or managing client work, I remember my mentor looking at me and saying, “We need to back it up. A great process doesn’t mean anything if you don’t have the skillset to match it. Get the basics mastered and build from there.” In all my new designer excitement, she could see me getting distracted with the shiny outside of life as a designer and helped remind me to stay focused on the reason I was there in the first place—to do great design work. 

She insisted on mastering the basics of the design program suite (Illustrator, Photoshop, and InDesign)— down to literally making flashcards to memorize key commands and would send me file folders of complex black and white silhouette images of various countries, trees, and flowers to trace with the pen tool until they were pixel perfect. She helped me understand that investing time in mastering the basics until they became second nature and part of my muscle memory was the foundation on which everything else had to be built. 

Takeaways: My mentor also made sure to let me know our design programs are constantly evolving and that I would never be too good or too experienced to go back and keep brushing up. If you’re looking for good ways to brush up, stay up to date, or learn something new, LinkedIn Leaning (formerly Lynda) has tons of excellent options from beginner to advanced and offers a free trial. (Not sponsored or affiliated in any way, I just truly think these courses are awesome and a fairly under-utilized resource.) 

LESSON II: Look at great design and articulate why it’s great.

At the end of every class, over the sound of chairs being pushed out on the linoleum floor and laptops closing, I’ll never forget how Claire would always chime in, “Don’t forget to make time to look at great design!” I always wondered what that was about. I thought, “Ok, cool. But shouldn’t we be making great designs instead of looking at them?” 

The thing is, my mentor knew while most of us had our own styles and aesthetic preferences, we had absolutely no idea how to communicate about design and, more importantly, how to articulate what makes a design (objectively or technically) ’good’ or why a certain design drew us in over another. This was a language had to be learned. 

She encouraged me not only to notice design everywhere, but to spend time looking at design work long enough to articulate why. She taught me to question what the designer and the brand’s goal was with the design and to pinpoint what they wanted me to feel—what story they were telling (and selling). She advised me to make lists exploring what I was drawn to and notice not only how it evolved and shifted over time, but also what remained constant. This was, and continues to be, the practice I come back to when I feel my style (personally and professionally) is undergoing a shift or transformation: notice, look, look some more, stay with it, ask questions, articulate, stay curious, repeat.

Takeaways: The next time you feel stuck or like you’re being influenced by trends, try exploring design you adore or are particularly intrigued by and truly sit with it long enough to fully articulate why. Think about the story the designer is telling and how they wanted you to feel. (It’s  interesting to think as well, “Who benefits from me feeling this way?”) Some of my favorite go-to resources to browse design work I love are architecture and interior design coffee table books, typewolf to browse typography and website layouts, retail interiors (product packaging & how brand feel translates to physical space), and photography books/websites.

LESSON III: Stay organized. (It will save you.)

After learning how to use the actual design programs and covering the fundamentals of design, one of the first things my mentor took the time to instill in me (to the point of being more than a little annoying) was the importance of building a strong system of organization—something super un-sexy but so important and not often discussed.

She insisted I come up with a standardized way to name files, showed me ways to organize my desktop, helped me understand the importance of backing up files on multiple devices and hard drives, how to properly package files so others could actually use them, and got me in the habit of hitting ‘command+s’ every few minutes. (And taught me how to not lose my shit when the infamous Adobe ‘spinning rainbow wheel of doom’ popped up…AKA deep breaths, hands off the keyboard, and say a prayer to whatever or whoever you believe in that you remembered to save your work. (Designers, you know what I’m talking about.) 

Takeaways: It’s not glamourous, but keeping your digital design world organized will not only save you time, but more often than not, your sanity. Try standardizing how you name files, design yourself a screensaver for organizing desktop files, (Example: sections for Studio, Client Work, and Personal) and getting yourself a reliable external hard drive, or two, or three. (A boring but worthy investment.)

LESSON IV: Lead with generosity, and take no shit.

Make no mistake, the world of design is competitive. Everywhere we turn, especially in a time where creatives use platforms like Instagram and Pinterest as primary marketing tools, there are wildly talented people with unique outlooks, skills, and creative practices. In this market, it’s easy to slip into scarcity mindset and find ourselves with the strange but very real urge to hoard resources, knowledge, and tools.

And it’s a fine line, isn’t it? The space where the mindset of abundance and giving of ourselves with generosity turns into exploited emotional labor. (Which disproportionately falls to women, even more so, women of color.)  When I think about this fine line, I often think about watching my mentor work with a group of design students. How she would offer her time and resources  outside the scope of her job requirements, answer questions with detail, transparency, and intention, and offer paid design opportunities when she could have just required us to do the work for free as an assignment. But then I also think about the time she told an entire section of the class to get the hell out for repeatedly talking over her. Or how she laid out guidelines for critiquing others work and outlined a zero tolerance policy for disrespecting the creative learning and growth of others. Or how paid opportunities were presented to those she knew were reliable and committed to following through. She was generous, kind, and gave of herself with abundance—and at the same time, took no shit. My hope is we all find the same ground to root ourselves in.

Takeaways: Establish boundaries and check in with your capacity. It’s cliche, but remember that saying ‘no’ AKA ‘taking no shit’ gives the capacity to say ‘yes’ AKA ‘give generously’ to someone or something else—even if (especially if) that someone is you.  I know this can be incredibly vague and unhelpful, so a real life example: for me, this looks like taking no shit when it comes to things like random DM requests or questions with no context/intention from strangers and giving generously when trusted colleagues ask for design feedback, a peer needs support in a tough client situation, or my close creative friends need a safe space to vent after a long day, a shoulder to lean on, or someone to commiserate and laugh with about this wild journey of entrepreneurship.

LESSON V: Trust yourself.

Like almost all designers, my first freelance job was for a pathetic amount of money—fifty bucks to be exact. But when the offer came in, I was so excited you would have thought they were paying me tens of thousands. Truth be told, I was still so fresh and so new I could barely believe someone would actually pay me for my designs and I probably would have worked for “exposure” at that point. (Enter, mentors everywhere.) 

When the brand emailed late one Friday evening inquiring about my work, I had not a literal clue how to respond. All I remember thinking was that I knew every damn Illustrator key command but I couldn’t put together a single coherent sentence about my actual work. Shit. I promptly emailed my mentor with something in the subject line like, “HELP!” and closing my laptop praying to god she was the kind of person who checked her email on a Friday night. She must have sensed how clueless I was, because she dedicated her Saturday morning to emailing me back and forth giving me crash course as I chugged coffee on things like standard industry rates for my experience, how royalties work, wording to communicate design rates, and how I could scrape together the bare bones of a contract. 

All this was helpful, but to this day, it’s what was in her final email that I’ll never forget. Before signing off, she wrote, “At the end of the day, I have to ask, do you want to do it? Is it worth it to you? Does it make you feel excited? I’ll tell you, based on standard industry rates and your experience/education, this is worth much more than 50$, but this is about what you want. Trust your gut, not mine.” 

At the end of the day, I only made fifty bucks, but what I learned was priceless and has shaped to the core how I approach creative work. Yes, l walked away with the tools to begin to advocate for myself, but more importantly, I witnessed true support looking like helping someone trust themselves; because more often than not, we know what we want to do, we just also want to know we’re not alone. 

Takeaways: When a fellow creative comes to you for advice, try asking questions and listening more than you speak. Ask before offering feedback or insight. Encourage them to trust their own instincts, hold space, and be a witness to the journey of following what’s true for them. (And celebrate it, often!)