When we started thinking about Offbeat Fest, we had one clear intention: create a space for L&D professionals that felt more human, more connected, and a lot less like a typical conference. We didn’t want polished keynotes and endless slides. We wanted conversations, honesty, and a sense that everyone in the room mattered.

Turning an idea into reality

The jump from idea to reality happened fast. We listed every possible task and kept asking ourselves one question: how do we stay true to Offbeat? That mindset shaped everything, from the sponsors we partnered with, to the kind of venue we wanted, to the speakers we invited.

As a location, we considered Barcelona and Madrid, but London felt like home. Most of our community was nearby, it was easier to get around, and we knew friends who could step in if things went wrong. The venue search was about finding a place with soul, not formality. Big Penny Social was perfect: multiple rooms, cozy corners, a garden, and a payment structure that didn’t force us to take huge risks. Plus, catering, tech, and even a bar under the same roof. It all added up to a smoother, more enjoyable experience.

Speakers who didn’t just “speak”

One of the things we cared about most was inviting speakers who wanted to connect, not just present. We gave them around 30 minutes to share the whole story of their projects, what worked, what didn’t, what they’d change. 

To support them, we held dry runs ahead of the Fest, helping shape their talks while keeping them authentic. And after stepping off stage, our speakers didn’t vanish. They stayed in the room, joining roundtables, chatting over breaks, and continuing their conversations. That human presence was one of the things participants appreciated most.

Roundtables at the heart

If there was one defining element of Offbeat Fest, it was the roundtables. We set aside four 75-minute blocks across the two days, two per day, where small groups could dig deep into real challenges.

To choose the topics, we asked participants ahead of time what mattered most to them. The final list included everything from integrating AI into learning to proving ROI, managing L&D with tiny budgets, and building internal learning communities.

We then matched people to four conversations, based on their preferences where possible, and printed the topics right on their badges to make navigation simple. Our facilitators were people we trusted, briefed lightly to hold space, spark reflection, and make sure every voice was heard.

It wasn’t flawless. Roundtables started in the same space, which made it hard to hear, and a facilitator dropped out last-minute. But the result was powerful. People walked away not just with ideas, but with the feeling that their voices mattered.

Experience by design

​​Exactly one year before Offbeat Fest, I (Lavinia) was sitting in a cozy space in Copenhagen, immersed in the Kaospilot Experience Design program. Something about that learning space stuck with me. The framework felt honest, spacious, and refreshingly human, and I knew that when the time came, I’d want to put it all into practice on a bigger scale.

Offbeat Fest became that opportunity. For those of you unfamiliar with the Kaospilot model, the 5E of Experience Design is a framework for creating experiences that are holistic, intentional, and emotionally meaningful. It’s not about bells and whistles. It’s about the subtle ways an experience makes people feel. It helps you move from “what should happen” to “what should stay with people once it’s over.”

If you want to dig into the model in more depth, you can read more about it here. But for now, here’s the very human version of how we used it.

The process starts with three simple (but not easy) steps:

－ Define the meaningful outcomes

－ Define the emotional journey

－ Design what happens

For us, the three meaningful outcomes were connection, inspiration, and feeling good. Everything was filtered through those lenses.

We mapped the emotional journey people might go through, excitement before arriving, nervousness walking in alone, curiosity during conversations, and exhaustion by the end of long days. For each moment, we asked: what can we do to make this feel easier, warmer, more human?

That thinking led us to dozens of small but intentional design choices:

• Before the Fest: We sent participants a Miro board with all the practical details (directions with photos, agenda, roundtable topics, and even LinkedIn profiles of other attendees). A WhatsApp group and a light pre-event call gave people a chance to connect before walking into the room. These little steps helped melt away the awkwardness of arriving at a conference alone.
• Arrival: Instead of stiff formality, the welcome was playful. Badges were handed out by smiling volunteers, and screens inside the venue displayed rotating messages like “This is a safe space for unpopular L&D opinions” and “You belong here. Even if you’re not sure why yet.” It set the tone immediately.

• Opening: We originally planned a traditional speech but ended up replacing it with a playful, grounding opening led by Rubens Filho. It created a sense of curiosity and wonder that carried into the rest of the Fest.

• Transitions: Between sessions, we introduced “human voting activities”, quick, playful check-ins like raising a hand if you had a great roundtable, or clapping if you still had energy. They weren’t icebreakers, but little resets that helped people re-center before shifting gears.
• Reflection: We experimented with the Offbeat Fest Time Capsule, where participants reflected on challenges and hopes for L&D, then swapped reflections across groups. While the timing wasn’t perfect (end-of-day fatigue hit hard), the idea gave people another layer of collective meaning-making.

Not everything worked exactly as we planned, but the model gave us a compass. Whenever we were unsure about a decision, whether it was about food, format, or flow, we asked ourselves: does this bring people closer to connection, inspiration, or simply feeling good? If not, we let it go.

Lessons we learned

Designing Offbeat Fest was full of big wins and small missteps. Some of the lessons we’ll carry forward:

• Agenda flow matters. Our schedule was too packed, and some reflection activities came at moments when people were too tired to engage fully. Next time, we’ll do less but create more space for depth.
• Small details make a big difference. Single-sided badges flipped constantly, sponsor visibility could’ve been better, and our plan to capture candid Instax photos fell flat without a dedicated volunteer.
• Energy is everything. Frequent breaks, good food, and the option to grab a drink at the bar kept people energized even when the schedule was tight.
• Flexibility pays off. From allowing people to switch roundtables onsite to dropping an entire speech to make space for something better, being open made the event stronger.

We couldn’t have run Offbeat Fest without our volunteers. About 10 people stepped in to handle everything from welcoming participants to supporting facilitators and capturing content. They didn’t just do their tasks, they took ownership. That generosity lightened the load for us and shaped the whole experience.

Offbeat Fest didn’t end in London. We followed up with photos, quotes, and resources, and invited participants into the Offbeat Fellowship to continue the conversations. And of course, this very playbook (and now this article) is part of how we wanted to keep the spirit alive, by sharing what worked, what didn’t, and what we’d do differently next time.

If you want to learn more in-depth details about how we planned Offbeat Fest 2025, check our playbook!

What’s next

Yes, we’re doing it again. Offbeat Fest returns in 2026 on May 18-19, built on everything we learned this time around. We don’t have the exact lineup yet, but we know the spirit will be the same: thoughtful design, real conversations, and a little weirdness on the side.

Because for us, events aren’t about stages or slides. They’re about people. And Offbeat Fest is our way of reminding L&D professionals that they’re not doing this work alone.