I Couldn’t Recommend Them

 You’re checking your email for the day when a familiar name catches your eye. It’s someone you knew back in college. You haven’t spoken in years, so seeing their name in your inbox throws you off.

The message starts light. A quick hello. A little catching up. Then it shifts.

The company they’d been with for the past five years was acquired. Teams were merged. Roles were cut. They didn’t make it.

They’ve been searching for months and wanted to know if you had any freelance or part-time design work while they continued looking.

You wish you did. You’ve signed your next contract, but it hasn’t started yet. There’s nothing to pass along.

So you offer what you can. You invite them to a networking event you attend regularly. You ask what kind of roles they’re looking for. And you ask them to send over their portfolio so you can see who might be a good fit to introduce them to.

Later that night, the link comes through.

You open it expecting to see five years of senior-level growth.

You don’t.

The title shifts between senior product designer and UX lead, as if they mean the same thing. Projects jump across industries with no clear direction. Case studies move from problem to polished screens without showing how decisions were made, what trade-offs were considered, or what constraints shaped the work.

Nothing feels current. Nothing reflects the last five years they just described.

You spend more time reviewing it than you expected. The problem isn’t their experience. It’s how that experience is being communicated.

When you speak the next day, they admit the portfolio is outdated. They’ve been focused on rewriting their resume and sending applications.

You understand why. When pressure is high, people chase speed. But speed in the wrong direction still costs time.

You explain what they hadn’t considered: in design, the portfolio is the first conversation. The resume just supports it.

There’s a pause.

Then you say the part you didn’t want to say.

You’d like to introduce them to people—and you probably could—but in its current state, you can’t confidently recommend their work. Not because they aren’t capable, but because what they’re showing doesn’t reflect what they’ve become. And when you refer someone, your name goes with them.

The silence that follows feels different. Less defensive. More honest.

They admit they hadn’t touched their portfolio in years. They assumed their experience would carry them, that their title would speak for itself.

You tell them that’s a common assumption—until the market forces you to translate your experience again.

So you give them a starting point. Not everything at once, just enough to move forward.

Right now, their work is scattered across too many industries and problem types. It’s hard to tell what kind of designer they are. So before fixing anything else, they need direction—not based on where they’ve been, but on what their strongest work is pointing toward.

Then you tell them to narrow it down. Not eight projects. Three.

Three case studies that reflect the level they want to be hired at. And this time, not just polished UI—the thinking behind it. Why decisions were made. What options were considered. What trade-offs shaped the outcome. Not just what was built, but why it was built that way.

They don’t say much after that. You didn’t expect them to.

Two weeks pass.

Then another email comes through. Shorter this time. Different tone.

They’ve started. They’ve cut things down. Rewritten one case study. It’s not finished, but it finally feels focused.

They tell you they didn’t realize how scattered everything had become until they tried to explain it clearly. And they thank you—not for trying to find them opportunities, but for helping them see what was getting in the way of being considered in the first place.

Sometimes the problem isn’t a lack of experience.

It’s an outdated version of how that experience is being presented.

Helping UX Designers bridge gaps and grow