When Erik and I sat down with Kevin and Aaron to record the podcast at Aaron’s office at Mentor in Ballard, I noticed that they had the easy chemistry of people who’ve weathered chaos together—in their case, the beautiful mess of running a design chapter while sharing hotel rooms to save money and staying up until sunrise because the conversations were too good to end.

Kevin’s AIGA journey started like many: shy kid at UW, didn’t know how to break into the design community. A friend dragged him to an event where Terry Marks and Jesse Doquillo remembered his name and made him feel welcome. That moment sparked a decade-plus commitment to paying it forward.

Aaron joined after moving from Charlotte’s AIGA board, interviewed in a room full of skeptical board members after a portfolio review. The interview went well enough to land him volunteer director—a role that turned out to be perfect since he was teaching and had access to eager students who'd do anything you told them to.

Together, they ran back-to-back leadership terms and turned Seattle into the chapter other chapters studied. Their approach was refreshingly practical: fix the financial bleeding first, then focus on building the kind of community that naturally leads to 3 AM conversations in hotel lobbies.

The reality they inherited wasn’t pretty: $80 in the bank account and a history of losing money on every event. Aaron discovered this delightful detail after Kevin convinced him to sign up for four years of leadership—a minor oversight in the recruitment pitch.

“We can’t be losing money on everything we do,” Aaron realized. “That’s not sustainable.”

Their solution was ruthlessly practical: treat the chapter like a business that actually wanted to exist next year. They launched “Schmooze”—simple social events that required one volunteer and actually made money. Because sometimes the most revolutionary idea is just “let’s not lose money on drinks.”

They also tackled “Into the Woods,” their local conference that people loved but consistently lost money on. After Minneapolis got territorial about them calling it “design camp,” they rebranded and moved venues, always chasing that mythical break-even point.

Kevin and Aaron attended leadership retreats together in Omaha, Minneapolis, Chattanooga, and Denver—always sharing rooms because budgets were tight and friendship was free.

Their first retreat blew Aaron’s mind: “You’re in these rooms with all these people that have the same amount of passion and think the same way you do. You can’t replicate that at normal design conferences.”

The infamous Denver hot dog story became Erik’s initiation: 3 AM, downtown chaos, street fights breaking out around them while they silently consumed processed meat and nodded knowingly at each other. Sometimes bonding happens in the strangest moments.

But the real magic was in the pyramids—human pyramids that evolved from spontaneous hotel lobby formations to coordinated architectural experiments across multiple cities. Because apparently, when you put 300 design leaders in one place, the natural outcome is recreational human engineering.

In Chattanooga, they organized pyramid flash mobs via text message: “Pyramid at this place at this time.” Everyone would show up. In elevators (weight distribution was discussed like a UX strategy). Between hotel beds. In the middle of downtown streets, while confused locals watched what appeared to be a very organized cult activity.

Aaron’s legendary swim-off challenge against Matt Munoz from Raleigh revealed the kind of tactical thinking that made him perfect for AIGA leadership. The challenge: Aaron didn’t actually know how to swim. The solution: “I just grabbed onto him and dragged him down. I never said there were rules.”

The entire retreat showed up to watch. Including Ric Grefé and Denise Wood. Because nothing says “professional development” quite like watching two grown men engage in aquatic psychological warfare.

The best connections happened when they were too tired to perform—the 6 AM Club in hotel lobbies, wearing yesterday’s clothes, saying goodbye to people catching early flights while simultaneously wondering if room service was open yet.

Then there was Denver karaoke and Aaron’s signature Proud Mary performance—complete with backup dancers who’d never rehearsed but somehow channeled the collective spirit of Tina Turner. “I don't really sing very well, but I can perform,” Aaron explains with the confidence of a man who once challenged a swimmer to aquatic combat without knowing how to swim.

Both eventually stepped back—life got complicated with agencies to run and kids to raise. But their influence outlasted their tenure. They’d proven that authentic community beats aggressive recruitment every time.

As Aaron puts it now: “My daughter’s 10 and the agency’s 10, almost 11. So they’re both running on their own now. I’m a certified charter captain now.”

Because apparently when you’ve successfully managed design volunteers, navigating actual waters seems like the logical next step. Kevin and Aaron now go on fishing trips together, proving that the best AIGA friendships survive long after the last pyramid collapses.

The lesson? Leadership isn’t about having all the answers—it’s about showing up consistently, caring genuinely, and never underestimating the power of a well-timed human pyramid. Also, when recruiting a VP, maybe mention the whole “you’re financially liable if we go under” thing upfront. Just a thought.g lasting is to focus on making it fun first. Everything else follows.

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