12+ years of designing across consumer products, enterprise, wearables, novel devices, and third-party partnerships. Currently leading high-stakes Safety programs for Roblox Studio.
Led internal program to support junior ICs, tackling imposter syndrome, taste, and comparison bias.
Led internal programs and management workshops that support managers to cultivate strengths-focused career progression. 25+ attendees, all-time-high ratings.
Defined Roblox Design culture by educating how to give and receive feedback, and how we make better decisions every day with the help of our peers.
Elevated craft on the Studio UX team by leading a week to focus on polish, taste, and what makes great design great.
"Leah is an incredible mentor whose guidance has been instrumental in my professional development. Her support during design exercises, design reviews, and stakeholder conflicts has helped me find my voice and gain renewed confidence as a designer. Leah's greatest strength is her ability to simultaneously grow others while delivering exceptional work herself. Her feedback is consistently clear, actionable, and specific, focusing on design trade-offs and surfacing blind spots in my work. She truly believes in the potential of those she mentors, providing the psychological safety and technical guidance necessary to navigate my role with confidence. Her commitment to fostering design excellence makes her an invaluable asset to any team."
"Leah has been such a phenomenal mentor. She is immensely dedicated and passionate about her role. Since I started at the company, she has helped me (and several other new graduates) work through challenging team-matching decisions, advocate for opportunities, and strengthen our craft with tactical advice, honest assessments, and thoughtful guidance. I always admire the quality, sharpness, and impact of everything she produces. I'm so excited to continue learning from her breadth of experience."
"The fidelity of her designs makes idea communication seamless. She has made my life as a Product Manager far easier. Would happily work with her again."
"Her openness to feedback and ease in collaborating across disciplines makes her a valued teammate. I've genuinely enjoyed working with her."
"I consider Leah to be one of the most valuable designers at Roblox."
"Leah gets stuff done. She has always been highly responsive to new tasks and requests, always going above and beyond with attention to detail."
In the last 3 years, I've led four different projects at Studio, the platform that powers one of the world's largest user-generated content ecosystems. When I joined in February 2023 to lead New User Education, Studio resembled a 1990s-era dev tool. My multi-year roadmaps transformed many of its surfaces into a vibrant, engaging learning and creation platform that serves millions of creators daily.
The impact was measurable: within one year, I grew daily active users to 400,000 (a 22% increase) and drove daily time spent up 29%. I reduced crashes and hangs by 19% through efficient design decisions that prioritized stability alongside new features. I moved the needle on players too: the onboarding curriculum produced 8% more playtime for creators who had taken it.
I continue to lead internally through design culture initiatives. Managing an intern and mentoring junior designers became central to my role and transition into leadership, extending the same growth-oriented approach I applied to the platform itself.
Roblox's creator economy has exploded during my tenure. In 2024, creators earned $923 million, up 25% from the previous year. The top 1,000 developers made an average of $820,000, representing 570% growth since 2019. I designed the educational foundations that help new creators enter this economy. My work on New User Education addressed the full spectrum of creator maturity, from complete beginners to professional game developers managing teams.
Studio Safety directly addresses the platform's most pressing challenges of child grooming and exploitation while maintaining its creative accessibility. This work responds to significant external scrutiny, including Bloomberg's investigation into safety concerns and NPR's coverage of platform safety measures.
The safety rollout restructured how Studio creators approach age-appropriate content. We introduced comprehensive parental control systems, age verification, trusted relationship verification, and content maturity labels. These updates mandate parental permission for Studio collaboration. For creators, these changes mean building with explicit content safety parameters from the outset. The Studio interface now integrates content labeling workflows, helping developers understand age restrictions before publishing.
The combined impact shows in adoption metrics and external validation. Studio's collaboration tools support thousands of professional game development teams, while the safety infrastructure earned acknowledgment from organizations like the Family Online Safety Institute.
The safety rollout required designing new creator-facing interfaces that surface content maturity ratings, age-restriction warnings, and policy guidance at key decision points in the publishing flow. The challenge was making compliance feel like clarity rather than friction — embedding safety thinking into the creation experience itself rather than bolting it on at the end.
Working closely with Account Trust & Safety, Legal, and Policy, I translated regulatory requirements into interface patterns that creators could understand and act on without needing to read documentation. The result was a system that kept everyone safe while maintaining the accessibility that makes Studio approachable for first-time creators.
I was tasked with building the bridge between imagination and creation. In 10 essential lessons, we unlocked the creative potential of an entire generation, transforming the very first moments a creator opens Studio into the start of their game development journey.
For years, aspiring creators hit the same wall: install Studio, stare at hundreds of buttons and panels, feel overwhelmed, and give up before ever building anything. We watched countless potential developers walk away, intimidated by the gap between "I have an idea" and "I built something real."
With this tour, we're minting a generation of creators who wake up with ideas and go build them. Studio Tour is the inflection point, where "I wish I could make that" becomes "I just made that." We aimed to turn the world's largest gaming platform into the world's largest game development academy.
The Studio team launched a completely redesigned start page in October 2024, replacing outdated UI frameworks that caused persistent performance issues and hangs. The new interface streamlines creator workflows with improved loading times, dedicated recents tabs, and Team Create status visibility. This foundational work enables faster iteration on safety features by modernising the technical infrastructure that supports millions of daily creators.
From 2019 to 2023, I designed many experiences for Meta Portal, a family of smart video calling devices that transformed how millions stayed connected. Starting as the Product Designer for Out-of-Box Experience and Boot-up, I designed the first-touch experience users had with their Portal devices. This foundational work ensured that setup was intuitive and delightful from the moment someone powered on their device for the first time.
As Lead Product Designer for AI Assistant and Voice Experiences, I became the design gatekeeper for all Meta Assistant experiences on Portal. I created comprehensive style guides and component libraries that teams across multiple verticals used when shipping voice experiences. My work spanned the full spectrum of voice interaction, from natural language processing and dictation to voice search and Alexa integration. Portal's Smart Camera feature, which automatically panned and tracked people during calls, became one of the product's signature capabilities, eventually adopted by FaceTime. The device supported video calls with up to 50 people and integrated streaming services like Netflix, Spotify, and Prime Video.
During the pandemic, Portal gained significant traction as remote connection became essential. Meta announced Portal for Business in fall 2021, bringing Microsoft Teams integration and enterprise-grade device management to the platform. I crafted multi-year strategies across social, utility, and privacy pillars while building performance audits across all Touch and TV devices. Portal TV, which transformed any television into a video calling device, represented a unique product category that I helped shape through careful consideration of living room dynamics and family use cases.
The partnership work extended beyond Amazon's Alexa integration. I collaborated directly with cross-functional teams at Amazon, balancing two voice assistants on a single platform while maintaining a coherent user experience. My role required constant prioritization to move the needle on Task Success Rates and Monthly Active Users, ensuring that voice features genuinely served user needs rather than adding complexity.
Designed the complete out-of-box experience for both Portal TV and Portal Touch (internally known as Portal Mini and Portal Go), transforming complex multi-step hardware setup into guided, approachable onboarding flows. Each device had a distinct interaction model — Portal TV lived in the living room, controlled by remote; Portal Touch was a handheld touchscreen device. The challenge was creating flows that felt native to each context while sharing a coherent setup language across the product family.
As Lead Product Designer for AI Assistant and Alexa on-device, I became the design authority for all voice interactions on Portal. My responsibility was threefold: leveraging the Assistant Design System, defining the nuanced intelligence of the conversational experience, and surfacing the social graph data that Facebook, WhatsApp, and Instagram provided.
Portal occupied a competitive position: smart speakers existed, but none with the depth of our social graph. The device persona was "the smart houseguest" — it doesn't interrupt, responds respectfully when spoken to, and is approachable rather than technical. Designing to that persona meant restraint: the assistant needed to feel present without being intrusive, and capable without being overwhelming.
I worked both vertically with the device Human Interface teams and horizontally as Portal's voice SME across the company's natural language strategy. The work covered the full interaction spectrum: natural language understanding, wake-word design, utterance routing, task success optimization, and the challenge of running two assistants — Meta Assistant and Amazon Alexa — on a single device without creating confusion about which handled what.
I created comprehensive style guides and component libraries used by teams across multiple verticals when shipping voice experiences, and established design patterns for handling out-of-domain utterances — a critical quality signal, since every misdirected "Hey Portal" eroded user trust in the platform's capabilities.
Designed the Reminders feature for Portal — a voice-first experience that let users set, manage, and receive reminders through Meta Assistant. The challenge was creating a system that felt lightweight and natural in a living-room context, where the interaction model differs significantly from mobile: no persistent home screen, no lock screen, and a shared-device dynamic with multiple household members.
The work spanned the full voice interaction loop, from utterance to confirmation to notification delivery. I collaborated with the Alexa team to ensure the experience worked consistently across both Meta Assistant and Amazon Alexa, including edge cases around disambiguation when multiple assistant platforms were active on the same device.
As a Portal user, I want to enter text efficiently and accurately so I can save time.
Typing on Portal is hard. The screen sits at a 105° tilt, the keyboard hadn't been meaningfully updated since 2018, and it was never designed for the surface. Community upvotes for voice-to-text were high enough that the feature appeared in users' top requests — and when typing is aversive, users avoid actions that require it: bugs go unreported, feedback goes unsent.
Three pain points defined the design challenge: inconsistent transcription accuracy, awkward error correction, and users feeling less in control the moment they activated voice input. These compounded — inaccuracy amplified the correction burden, and a clumsy correction flow erased whatever efficiency dictation was supposed to provide.
The key design decisions: an explicit education and consent flow before first use; a Keyboard Glowbar to make the active listening state unmistakable; mic button placement that required re-arranging existing keyboard keys; and a post-session feedback mechanism with opt-in transcription sharing to improve accuracy over time.
From 2015 to 2019, I designed enterprise mobility and wearable systems at Samsung Canada. My most significant work was Knox Configure for Wearables — the world's first enterprise MDM platform built specifically for Tizen wearables, enabling organizations like Disney, the FBI, ADT, and USPS to deploy and manage Galaxy Watch devices at scale.
A core design challenge was balancing enterprise control with personal ownership: ensuring users felt they were wearing their device, even within strict security and compliance requirements. I designed both the cloud-based admin console and the on-device interfaces for first- and second-generation Galaxy Watch. The patterns I established continue to underpin Samsung's wearables strategy.
15+ across Design, UXR, Engineering, PM, PMM, and TPM — spanning 5+ timezones and offices including Samsung HQ.
Galaxy Watch (on-device), Desktop admin console.
UI Design, Interaction Design, 0-to-1, Third-party Partnerships, Systems Thinking, Novel Devices, User Research & Accessibility Testing.
Walt Disney World, FBI, ADT, USPS.
For seven years, I had Lyme disease. During that time, I noticed something about the conversations that happen around chronic illness: they're not just hard — they're structurally broken. Healthy people, even well-meaning ones, don't have a framework for what sustained, invisible suffering looks like day to day. Caregivers go quiet because they're afraid to say the wrong thing. Patients go quiet because explaining feels exhausting, and the exhaustion is already a symptom.
More Spoons is a card deck. I built to give both sides something to hold onto. It's not a script, but a companion for intentional conversation and unfolding. Open-ended prompts that meet people wherever they are.
Spoon theory is shorthand many people with chronic illness use to describe limited energy: you start each day with a finite number of spoons, and every activity costs one. By the time a patient has gotten dressed and eaten breakfast, they may already be running low. I wanted the name to carry that weight without requiring explanation. The challenge was making sure the deck didn't feel like it was just merchandising someone else's metaphor. The name references spoon theory; the deck doesn't depend on it. Someone who's never heard of it can still use the cards.
Seventy cards across seven categories: Community, Healing, Optimism, Fate, among others. Ten prompts each. The categories were chosen to cover different emotional registers, from gratitude and connection to harder questions about identity and acceptance, so there's something useful at different points in an illness journey, not just during a crisis.
Tone was the hardest thing to get right. Clinical language would have been alienating. Overly cheery, "you've got this" language would have felt condescending, maybe even cruel, to someone in real pain. I landed somewhere I'd call honest and gentle: prompts that take the experience seriously without dramatizing it.
Open-endedness required discipline. Every time a prompt leaned toward a specific answer, I cut it or rewrote it. The card isn't meant to tell you something. It's meant to give you a starting point for a conversation you might not have been able to start otherwise.
The full visual system of the cards and product. I partnered with one illustrator on the box, and another on the Shopify site. The site needed to feel personal and specific, not like a wellness brand, but like something made by someone who had actually been through it.
If I was to revise this project with a second version, I'd revise the visual language. I think this could be improved. Right now, the conversation happening on top of the box looks like it could be happening between two healthy individuals. I don't feel like the "chronic illness warrior" concept is shining through as brightly as it could.
This talk is about what chronic Lyme disease taught me — and about why Lyme specifically demands a different kind of conversation than the one we are currently having.
Chronic Lyme is a circular problem. It does not move in a straight line from infection to treatment to recovery. It cycles: hope, relapse, misdiagnosis, the grinding work of convincing providers that something real is occurring. Inaccurate testing methods fail up to half the time. Even with a positive blood test, research shows nearly 80% of physicians remain skeptical of the patient in front of them. I felt it was necessary to say this out loud — publicly, on a stage — because most conversations about Lyme treat it like an acute illness with a clear endpoint. Chronic Lyme is not that. The gap between how the medical system imagines it and how patients actually live it causes its own damage, on top of the disease itself.
The body knows before the mind does. The hypersensitivity Lyme forced on me became a kind of biological literacy — pain as a litmus test for what was and was not serving me. Learning to read that, rather than override it, was the first shift.
Putting your needs first so you can show up with your glass at least half full for others. Resting instead of pushing through. Advocating for your health and finding providers who actually listen. This is not selfishness — it is the precondition for being useful to anyone else.
We shrink ourselves constantly — agreeing when we disagree, staying in rooms where we cannot be our full selves. Lyme made that kind of contortion biologically untenable. Healing required choosing inner harmony, which turned out to mean choosing honesty.
I hit remission after seven years. When I finally crushed a tick between two rocks on a walk with a friend — heard the exoskeleton pop — something closed. Not everything. But enough. The thing that had taken years from me became the clearest teacher I have had. Not because suffering is instructive in some tidy way, but because it strips out everything that was not load-bearing, and what remains is worth paying attention to.
Remission did not restore who I was before I got sick. It gave me someone more deliberate.
Many of us experience work as a series of small emergencies. A deadline shifts, someone changes their mind, a cascade of consequences follows. Something fails during the crunchiest moment. The natural response is to match that urgency.
The most effective people I work with do not fight chaos. They don't subscribe to it, move through it without getting tangled, and don't get swept away. Something in them stays quiet even when everything around them is loud. They aren't passive or checked out. More specifically, they know what actually matters right now, and are consistently willing to let go of what doesn't. They ask: are we solving the right problem?
When you're genuinely grounded, you can tell the difference between noise and signal. The meeting that derails isn't derailing you. Your ability to make this distinction depends on whether you're centered or scattered. If you're scattered, everything feels equally important — which means nothing gets proper priority, and everything is queued with a layer of fear. If you're centered, the priority becomes obvious.
What does this look like in practice? Before responding to the next crisis, pause. Thirty seconds is enough. Feel your feet on the floor. Ask yourself what this moment actually needs — not what it appears to need. Most of the time the answer is simpler than the urgency suggests: an acknowledgement, a timeline, an opinion.
Teams sense whether you're panicked or clear. Groups with someone genuinely calm make better decisions faster. They don't waste time on performative urgency. This creates real space for thinking.
When I worked at Meta, we were slowly but surely outgrowing the "move fast and break things" mantra. As we matured and became more deliberate, we assessed risk much more carefully. We gave ourselves space to focus on polish, and create delightful experiences — not just what got the task done or fit the requirement.
The organizations that actually work aren't always the ones moving fastest. They're the ones where people can stay focused on what matters. That focus comes from individuals who refuse to let the chaos become their internal state. They hold a boundary with it. They let it exist without letting it take over.
This matters practically: when you're not exerting energy on agitation, you have energy for problems. When you're not executing under stress, you can actually think about solutions. When you're not reacting to surface turbulence, you can see the deeper patterns that create the turbulence in the first place.
In every company I've worked, ICs have thrown around a very familiar sentence: "Because [HIPPO] said so." The Hippo is the Highest Paid Person's Opinion — a senior leader with a vision who may not be executing alongside UXR, necessarily familiar with the tech debt, or speaking from a place of universal truth. Sometimes they're just riffing. But they hold power, and ICs interpret their ideation as prescriptive. When ICs follow leadership directions at face value without considering the why, simply out of fear of controversy, they make less deliberate decisions. What follows is a "fix it later" culture, cycling through Fast Follows indefinitely.
I think the next few years are going to require us human designers to practice this skill of stillness more than ever. Organizations are getting more complex, more distributed, more responsive to things no one controls. The old command-and-control approach is breaking down. What comes next won't be tidy. It will be something like organized adaptation — where individuals stay grounded enough to make good decisions moment by moment without needing permission for everything.
The people who will actually feel alive in that environment are the ones who've learned to be still inside it — not frozen. You can move decisively from a place of quiet. In fact, that's when your movement works best.
The chaos isn't going away. But your relationship to it can change. That change starts with deciding that your internal stability matters. It's not a luxury — it is a practical tool, and a daily practice. It's how you do the work that actually means something.
This framework gives designers and their managers a shared vocabulary for strengths-based career development. It supports individuals in identifying where they generate the most value, and helps managers have more specific conversations about growth.
Most designers lead with one or two archetypes. The goal is to understand your primary orientation.
We discussed: "What kind of creative identity do you lead with, and why does it matter?" We created a gallery walk where participants identified archetypes in their direct reports and thought through how to leverage their strengths. Additionally, a live practice conducting archetype-based 1:1 conversations. Participants left with a practical playbook and a shared vocabulary for use in performance conversations, hiring decisions, and ongoing development discussions. The session had 25+ managers/directors and earned all-time-high ratings.
Each archetype represents a distinct orientation toward design work. Designers are responsible for charting their own growth; managers are expected to understand each person's strengths and provide ongoing feedback. Growth paths should be flexible and acknowledge individual uniqueness.
This session was designed for the Roblox Creator and Engine UXDR teams in April 2024. The core argument: feedback isn't just a performance tool — it's the mechanism through which design culture stays honest, iterative, and high-quality. Without it, designers work in a vacuum and teams drift apart.
The session covered why we rely on feedback, what happens during a feedback exchange, and cultural considerations around giving and receiving it well.
Feedback is our mirror. Designing in isolation leaves us dependent on our own imagination to assess quality — which isn't enough. Feedback keeps us proactive, surfaces ideas and fixes we've overlooked, and motivates us to keep sharing work. It enforces trust: a positive feedback exchange signals to the giver that their perspective is valued, and opens the door for them to seek feedback in return.
Feedback lands somewhere along a spectrum. At one end: blurry feedback — too vague, too indirect, too focused on managing the other person's emotions. Downgrader language like "kind of," "sort of," "maybe." Hard to decipher, easy to ignore.
At the other end: harsh feedback — direct to the point of being inflammatory, micro-managey, amplifier language like "totally" and "completely." The relationship takes damage even if the feedback was accurate.
The sweet spot is middle-right: clear and concise, but not inflammatory. It names what happened, explains why it matters, and invites a response.
Start with a short question. It's a pacing tool — it lets the other person know feedback is coming, and gives the amygdala a moment to register context rather than threat. "Do you have 5 minutes to debrief?" or "I have some ideas — are you open to hearing them?"
Name exactly what you observed. Cut blur words — "you could be more proactive" becomes "I needed that email by noon." Specificity tells the person precisely what to increase or reduce, rather than leaving them guessing.
Explain how the behavior affected you or the work. "I was blocked" or "I understood the concept quicker" — impact is what transforms observation into something the other person can actually act on.
Wrap with a question: "How do you see it?" or "What are your thoughts?" This creates commitment rather than compliance — a joint problem-solving situation rather than a one-directional directive.
Stay present until the person is done. Don't design in Figma, side-chat in Slack, or multitask through the conversation. The behavior signals whether their input is actually valued.
Acknowledge what it takes for someone to give feedback in the first place — the courage required to initiate a potentially uncomfortable conversation. If it landed with emotional weight, ask yourself why.
Once the feedback has been implemented, tell them. If it was behavioral, set an agreed-upon check-in period so the giver can see whether their feedback was adopted. Closing the loop builds trust.
I was lucky enough to be managed by Justin Stahl during my first year at Meta (fka Facebook). One of the core pieces of his philosophy he shared with the team was: show care. Design with intention. Sweat the small stuff. Escalate what needs to be resolved. The user's attention is important. Treat it as such.
I've carried this philosophy with me throughout my career, with my own twist. My approach to show care is to orient towards work that I already care about. This means picking projects intentionally, and having discernment about what I work on. As a result, I produce the highest quality work because I'm aligned with the goal. It's not designing for design's sake — it's building what I believe should exist.
The work should stretch us. I'm not a designer for ease, or work-life balance. I'm a designer for purpose. Because I'm a systems thinker, and can immediately understand where the gap in the loop is. Design is creating what doesn't exist. Making something from nothing. I'm highly familiar with circular problems, chicken-and-eggs, and am driven by solving complex, multilateral problems that involve both humans and tech. And that takes real effort.
There are active discussions in the industry about designer burnout. About AI replacement. I believe if you genuinely love what you do and the problem you're solving, this is the greatest protection against burnout there is.
After 12 years in design, I've reached a confidence around capital-D Design that I can approach just about any project. That's a privilege — and I take it seriously. It took me over a decade to get here, so I want to shorten the gap between novice and mastery in the people around me.
This is why I mentor. For the last three years at Roblox, I've had four mentees, all of whom have grown immensely in their craft, confidence, and conviction. We've focused on early-career problems like imposter syndrome, cross-functional team navigation, leadership reviews, and managing up.