When I was in fifth grade, I took part in my first history fair. It was my first year living in the U.S., and the whole concept was new to me — there was no such thing as a school fair in Venezuela, where I’d grown up.
My parents were always deeply involved in my schoolwork, and for this project, my dad really went all in. Our trifold display board was a masterpiece: the background painted in the colors of the Venezuelan flag, with a story told across panels from the discovery of the Americas to Venezuela’s independence. He even gave it depth by adding cardboard boxes that stuck out at different angles, turning facts into little 3D scenes.
One of those boxes featured El Dorado, the mythical city of gold that drove explorers mad in search of it. My dad had included it as an interesting side note — not central to the story, but intriguing nonetheless.
On the day of the fair, I was set up at the school library. My board was easily one of the most eye-catching in the room. The judges were walking from student to student, asking them to explain their boards. I was ready. I delivered the spiel I’d practiced, my new and shaky English carrying me through.
Then one judge pointed to El Dorado. “What’s this about?” I looked at it for what felt like forever (probably why it’s committed to memory). “I don’t know,” I had to say. I really didn’t know. I had no idea.
Because while I had helped make the board, I hadn’t created it. It wasn’t my vision or my outline. My dad had explained it all, but I hadn’t internalized it. It wasn’t my work because it wasn’t my thinking, and when it came to speaking about it, that gap showed.
Fast-forward to today.
For a recent project, I had to analyze a massive dataset to create student personas. I started with AI, curious about what clustering it might suggest. But after spending too long cleaning the data, the AI output was flat and uninspiring. I discarded it all and opened up an Excel spreadsheet instead. Armed with pivot tables and =CORREL(), I started manipulating the data myself to answer my questions. Every result led to more questions. And the answers to those questions led to more questions. Hours and hours later, I understood the dataset inside and out.
I built the personas, and I built the slide deck. When I presented it, I didn’t even have to prep: I remembered exactly what came next and every point I wanted to make. Because I created it.
Had I relied solely on AI, I’m certain I would’ve had another El Dorado moment — smart-looking content, but no deep grasp of where each insight came from.
I’m not opposed to AI; I use it every day. For this project, it helped me write cleaner sentences and ideate personas. But the thinking — the mental map of how each piece fits together — stays with me.
That’s the part I don’t outsource.
In higher ed marketing, what matters most is being able to stand behind your own decisions. And when a president, board member, or campus leader asks me why I’ve made a certain recommendation, I can answer with confidence because I’ve done the thinking myself. Looking smart is easy, but knowing your work inside and out is what sets you apart.
