A Year of Job Hunting: Finding My Place in the Design World (2025)

There was a time when I thought I had life figured out. I moved cities, made friends, worked at a few known/unknown companies, and even confidently ordered my food and drinks at a cafe in German, “Ah, Hallo. Ich hätte gern einen …..” or “Ich möchte eine …”.

However, after a year of job hunting, reality has humbled me in ways I didn’t expect. I’ve had plenty of time to reflect — not just on my career but on the quirks of the design world itself. And let’s just say, for someone who thrives on creativity, the process of finding a job often feels like an exercise in survival.

The design world often feels like an ecosystem of people who have their lives together — polished portfolios, impeccable social media presence, and opinions on typography that could fuel an academic dissertation. Meanwhile, here I am wondering if it’s normal to need a nap after every social interaction.

For those of us who prefer watching dog and cat videos over crafting the perfect LinkedIn post, here’s my survival guide for navigating the chaos:

Disclaimer: These opinions are strictly my own, shaped by an overactive brain trying to piece together a career. Any resemblance to your emotions, experiences, or existential job-hunting crises is purely coincidental.

1. The art of staring at the snack table — networking paralysis in full effect

In the few design events that I have found the courage to attend, I have noticed a rhythm to them. People clumped together in professional circles — where some already know each other, passionately talking, casually mentioning a keynote they gave at a global design conference and design jargon floating around. I only listen in admiration.

Put me in a room full of designers at a networking event, and suddenly, I forget how to human. Them: “So, what do you do?”

My brain: SAY WORDS. BE NORMAL.

My mouth: “Uh, I design… things?” cue awkward laughter and an overwhelming urge to disappear into the floor.

Eventually, there’s me, making deep, meaningful eye contact with a plate of hors d’oeuvres (if, at all). Let’s be honest: networking is easier when you have food as a shield. Holding a drink? An extra layer of protection.

Best-case scenario? Finding someone equally awkward so you can stand together in silence, nodding along as if you too have strong opinions about the future of skeuomorphism. (I googled it again to avoid spelling errors).

2. The delicate art of begging for referrals, without sounding like a lost puppy

Referrals are the golden ticket to job hunting — especially when you’re searching as a non-fluent German speaker in this market. But for a socially anxious person like me, asking for one feels like sliding a “Do you like me? Yes/No” note across the table and hoping for the best. I tried playing it cool once:

Me: “Hey, I saw your company is hiring. No pressure, but like… would you maybe… possibly… vouch for my existence?”

Them: “Of course! Just send me your resume.” (Everyone I have asked has always been so nice!)

Me: “Awesome! I’ll just… uh… spend five hours rewriting my email subject line first. No big deal.”

At this point, I’ve developed a solid A/B testing strategy:

• Version A: Polished, professional, straight to the point.

• Version B: Self-deprecating humour + a sprinkle of existential dread.

Version B wins every time. Nothing makes people want to help you like the phrase, “I promise I’m competent even though I’ve spent 30 minutes debating how to sign off this email before eventually using chatGPT”.

3. “Do I have to post something?” — The overthinker’s guide to online presence.

My friend has been asking me to make a post.

The great paradox of being a designer today: If you don’t post about your work, did it even happen?

Some designers have a system — weekly LinkedIn insights, Twitter threads about design ethics, and perfectly curated Instagram carousels. Consistency, strategy, engagement. Truly inspiring!

Meanwhile, there’s me, still debating whether I should finally upload my 2023 travel photos — because obviously, they need to be in chronological order, but also, I’d rather scroll through reels and procrastinate indefinitely.

Today, I sat down to write something about my job search. 90 minutes later:

• Wrote a draft. Deleted it.

• Rewrote it. Sent it to friends for a peer-reviewed anxiety check.

• Overthought whether it sounds too desperate.

• Deleted it again.

• Decided memes are safer and resumed sharing reels instead.

At this point, I’ve accepted my personal brand: A LinkedIn presence so sporadic that people assume I’ve either gone on a soul-searching sabbatical or simply ceased to exist; occasionally surfacing only when I’m job hunting — at which point, my profile experiences a miraculous resurrection.

4. Keeping up with the Kard*** design trends — send help, I’m drowning in aesthetics

Every week, there’s a new trend.

Meanwhile, I’m still trying to figure out why Figma keeps updating itself every time I blink. Then I go find a video of it online to learn or be lost.

My strategy?

• If someone asks my opinion on a trend: I nod wisely and say, “I prefer timeless design.” (A safe answer.)

• If forced into a discussion: I throw in, “Have you considered brutalism?” (A conversation killer.)

• If completely lost: I say, “You know, Dieter Rams had it figured out.” (No one will question it.)

All three phrases I have picked up during my days at the National Institute of Design, Bangalore.

5. The illusion of the perfect designer — and why no one has it all together.

There is always that designer — the one with a sleek portfolio, a thought leadership podcast, and a photographic memory of every typeface in existence.

And then there’s me, aggressively Googling “what does a UX Designer actually do” midway through writing a cover letter for application number 420.

Do I have to be that person?

Even if I tried, I wouldn’t have a perfectly polished portfolio, a TED Talk-worthy opinion on UX ethics, or a Figma file so meticulously organized that it belongs in a museum.

What matters is that I keep learning, keep exploring, and keep designing.

Design is messy. Growth comes from iteration, feedback, and sometimes hearing, “Have you considered a different approach?” for the hundredth time.

Critique isn’t rejection; it’s redirection. The more I embrace it, the better I become.

The past few months — writing applications, giving interviews, and facing rejection after rejection — I’ve gone back, sought feedback, and worked to improve. It’s been frustrating, exhausting, and at times, demoralizing.

But it’s also proof that I’m still in the game, still learning, still evolving.

So here’s what I’ve learned: don’t be afraid to stand out, don’t be afraid to take up space, and don’t be afraid to embrace what makes you different. Keep learning, keep experimenting, and most importantly — stay in the game.

And when in doubt — find the snack table. That’s where I’ll be. ☺️

Danke und Tschüss