You’ll save yourself a world of pain by doing everything I didn’t.
It’s easy to fall into the trap of building the perfect portfolio site. I’ve done it more than once. I’ve spent months coding sites that looked impressive, loaded with animations and clever layouts, only to realise the actual content was either missing or completely neglected. I’m not even a developer, yet I invested an incredible amount of time into something that ultimately distracted from the work it was meant to showcase. The site became the project, when it should have simply been the frame.
A portfolio site isn’t there to prove your design skills or make you look like a genius. Its job is to present your work clearly, consistently, and credibly. The site itself is not the point. When the container becomes more important than the content, it undermines the purpose entirely. I’ve made this mistake repeatedly by prioritising design over documentation and perfection over clarity. While others were building up a strong body of case studies, I was fussing over hover states and breakpoints.
The work should always be the hero. The presentation should support it, not compete with it. And that means focusing on the story behind the work, not just the visuals. I neglected that for too long. I didn’t document enough of what went into each project. I didn’t track the brief, the challenge, the process, or the decisions that shaped the final outcome. I didn’t capture the lessons or the mistakes. And as a result, much of the value was lost. Years later, those details are gone, and with them, any real way to show how I think or why certain choices were made.
I also failed to archive work properly. Instead of saving raw assets and scalable source files, I cropped screenshots to fit whatever site layout I was building at the time. Those compressed images made sense back then, but they’re useless now. On modern displays, they’re nothing more than blurry thumbnails. Some of the best projects I’ve worked on can no longer be shown in a meaningful way because I didn’t treat them with the respect they deserved. The lack of proper archiving has left gaps I can’t go back and fix.
Another oversight was not capturing working versions of digital experiences. So many of the sites I designed are no longer live, and I have no way to show what they were really like. Even a simple video walkthrough would have been enough. A short screen recording could have preserved the experience and allowed me to showcase it long after the site disappeared. Instead, I moved on to the next thing, assuming I’d always be able to find it later.
I also didn’t follow up on projects once they launched. For a long time, I only cared about awards. If the work didn’t win something, it didn’t matter. I never thought about the real-world impact. I didn’t track performance or measure outcomes. That mindset robbed me of valuable proof points that would be far more persuasive than any trophy. Sharing results is far more powerful than relying on subjective industry recognition. Awards can help, but they are not the goal. Results, feedback, and real-world impact carry more weight.
The way a project is presented also matters more than I used to think. There are many ways to structure a case study, but clarity always wins. I prefer starting with a simple summary of what the project was, then outlining the client, the challenge, the constraints, and the core problem. From there, I explain the friction points, the thinking behind the solution, and the final result. If possible, I include data or qualitative outcomes to show what the work achieved. It doesn’t need to be long, but it does need to be consistent. Portfolio content should be scannable, supported by strong visuals and clear writing. For those who want more depth, separate articles can offer a more complete story.
Too many people treat their portfolio as something to update only when they need a job. That approach is always a mistake. A portfolio should evolve constantly. It should be part of your practice. Sharing your work, reflecting on it, and keeping it visible is not a luxury or a side project. It’s part of your career. Waiting until you’re on the market creates unnecessary pressure and forces you to work from memory. That’s when things fall through the cracks.
I never wanted to be someone who had to worry about this stuff. I wanted the work to speak for itself. But over time, I’ve learned that presentation, documentation, and visibility are just as important as the work itself. If the work can’t be found, can’t be understood, or can’t be measured, it gets overlooked.
So I’m writing this to make sure someone else doesn’t fall into the same trap. Focus on curating your work. Save assets in usable formats. Record what you’ve built. Track the outcomes. Share consistently. Let the work speak, but make sure you’ve given it a voice.