I’m sitting in what was supposed to be a “game-changing product demo,” and I can’t figure out where to look.

There’s a tiny floating head in the corner (presumably the presenter), a busy software screen taking up most of my view, and a sidebar that’s having its own party. Chat messages are flying by in a small window, to which I can only read one at a time. Three different polls want my attention. Pop-up questions keep appearing like digital whack-a-mole.

And I’m thinking: “Wait, what problem are they solving again?”

Seven minutes in, I’m shopping for throw pillows instead of paying attention to their revolutionary solution.

Here it is: I could tell this company had a genuinely good product. But they’d fallen into the trap that kills more webinars than bad Wi-Fi: they confused “because the platform can” with “the audience should.”

Let me walk you through what was happening on my screen, because understanding the specifics helps us figure out what went sideways:

The layout was trying to do everything at once. The main content area was split between a small video of the presenter and a screen share of their software. Meanwhile, the sidebar was packed with:

They were asking for commitment before building trust. Within the first two minutes—before I even understood what the product did—they were already guiding me toward a consultation. It reminded me of my restaurant days: you don’t hand someone the check before they’ve had a chance to look at the menu.

The flow felt more like software training than storytelling. Instead of walking me through how their product solves real problems, they were clicking through features like they were giving me a tour of their dashboard. I kept waiting for the “why should I care?” moment that never came.

After producing virtual events since 2016—from intimate 67-attendee typography interviews to massive Adobe Creative Jams with thousands of participants—I’ve learned that people don’t just remember what you tell them. They remember how the experience made them feel.

This webinar made me feel overwhelmed when I wanted to feel informed.

Honestly, I could tell this company had built something genuinely useful. Buried underneath all that digital activity was probably a solution that could actually help people.

But their delivery approach made it nearly impossible to focus on the value they were trying to share.

Your audience doesn’t want to feel like they need a manual just to follow along. They want to feel like they belong somewhere, even if they’re joining from their kitchen table in pajama pants.

Let me share what I've discovered from years of hosting events that people actually want to attend:

Start with welcome, not sales. Just like when I managed restaurants, the first interaction sets the tone for everything that follows. Create a moment where people feel settled before you start sharing information. I always begin my events with a countdown timer and ambient music—it informs people when we’ll begin and gives them a chance to get comfortable before we dive in.

Design your stage intentionally. Think like a director: what should people be looking at right now? Show the speaker OR show the demo, but give people a clear focal point. When I’m hosting, I make sure the audience knows exactly where their attention should be at every moment.

Time your interactions thoughtfully. Those polls, offers, and resource links can be valuable, but they work best when they support your story rather than competing with it. One thing at a time. Let people absorb what you just shared before asking them to do something else.

Build a clear narrative. Build a clear narrative. For our Adobe Creative Connections shows, we loosely followed the storytelling framework AIDA—Attention, Interest, Desire, Action—but not in a rigid way. We’d start by grabbing attention with a use case relevant to their world, build interest by showing real work from real professionals, create desire by demonstrating how the tools could solve their actual problems, and then offer a gentle way to take the next step. But the key was staying flexible enough to follow the conversation where it naturally wanted to go.

Here’s what struck me most about that webinar experience: I think I actually need what they are selling.

I had the problem they claimed to solve. I was genuinely interested in learning more. But instead of feeling excited about the possibilities, I felt confused about what I was supposed to be paying attention to.

They had a potential customer sitting there, ready to be convinced, and the experience itself got in the way of the connection they were trying to make.

So here’s what I keep coming back to when I’m planning any virtual event:
Just because we can, doesn't mean we should.

Your platform might offer dozens of engagement features. Your marketing team might want to capture every possible touchpoint. Your product team might want to showcase every capability they’ve built.

But your audience just wants clarity. They want to understand how you can help them. They want to feel like a real person is talking to them about something that matters.

Sometimes the most powerful choice you can make is deciding what to leave out.

I’ve been on both sides of this—frantically managing multiple elements while trying to host live, and sitting in the audience wondering if I’m in the right session. The experiences I remember fondly, the ones that actually influenced my decisions, were the ones that felt like conversations rather than software demonstrations.

The companies that do this well understand that attention is precious. Trust develops over time. And just because technology makes something possible doesn’t mean it’s necessary for your specific audience in that specific moment.

They treat their attendees like welcome guests, not like targets to be captured.

Now, I’m curious: what’s the most overwhelming webinar you’ve ever attended? The one where you couldn’t figure out what you were supposed to be focusing on? I’d love to hear about it—these stories help all of us think more clearly about how to create better experiences for the people who show up for our events.

Because if we’re going to keep asking people to spend their time with us virtually, we might as well make it worth their while.