I Built a System to Make Students Better. They Asked Me to Make It Easier.

I knew people were going to complain.

I just didn't expect them to complain about exactly the thing I was trying to build.

It started with something that was supposed to be simple: presentation training.

The existing system was straightforward. Students came up with their own topics, wrote them down on paper, and were assigned to present them according to their roll numbers.

There was nothing particularly wrong with the idea.

But over time, the training had become predictable.

Students chose their own topics, which meant they could almost always choose something familiar. There was no real validation of whether the topic was actually useful for presentation practice. The order was predetermined. Everyone knew roughly when their turn was coming.

And there was a lot of manual work.

Paper had to be collected. Topics had to be maintained. Presentation schedules had to be tracked. Attendance and completion had to be managed.

But the paperwork wasn't actually the biggest problem.

The bigger problem was that the system was gradually becoming a process of getting the presentation done, rather than a system designed to make someone better at presenting.

The training existed.
The learning wasn't necessarily happening.

That was the breaking point for me.

I started thinking about what presentation training would look like if the system itself were designed around skill development.

What if students didn't always choose their own topics?

What if the topics were curated and validated?

What if the student selected to present was random rather than predictable?

What if the system could introduce uncertainty deliberately, because real communication rarely gives you complete control over what you're going to be asked?

What if the whole thing could be managed without piles of paper and manual tracking?

That was the beginning of Faber.

Then I put it into practice.

I didn't build the entire platform.

I built a fraction of it and started using it for presentation training.

And that's when I encountered something I wasn't expecting.

People hated it.

Not because it was broken.

Not because it didn't work.

In fact, the reaction was almost the opposite.

The system was doing exactly what I had intended it to do.

It was making the training harder.

Students wanted the system changed.

“Make the topics easier.”

“Remove the randomness.”

“Make the process more predictable.”

“Reduce the uncertainty.”

At first, it was easy to interpret this as simple resistance to change.

But the more I observed it, the more I realized there was something deeper happening.

The system wasn't just challenging their presentation skills.

It was exposing them.

The old system was comfortable

Imagine you're asked to prepare a presentation.

You get to choose the topic.

You have time to prepare.

You know roughly when you're going to present.

You can pick something you're already comfortable talking about.

You can structure everything beforehand.

If you're not particularly good at spontaneous communication, you can compensate for it with preparation.

That's not necessarily bad.

Preparation is an important part of communication.

But when the entire training environment works this way, it becomes possible to practice presentation without confronting many of the situations that actually make communication difficult.

Then change the rules.

You don't choose the topic.

The topic might be unfamiliar.

You don't know exactly when you'll be selected.

You have to think.

You have to organize your thoughts.

You have to speak.

And suddenly, weaknesses that preparation used to hide become visible.

You discover that you struggle to think on your feet.

You discover how often you use filler words.

You discover that your thoughts aren't as organized as you thought they were.

You discover that knowing something and communicating it effectively are two completely different skills.

And that's uncomfortable.

But it's also useful.

Because now you know what you need to work on.

Faber was never supposed to test whether you were good.

It was supposed to help you become good.

This distinction is easy to miss.

A student sees an unfamiliar topic and thinks:

“I'm being tested.”

I see the same topic and think:

“This is practice.”

Those are completely different interpretations of the same experience.

A gym isn't designed for people who are already strong.

A driving school isn't designed for people who already know how to drive.

A training ground isn't designed for athletes who have already mastered their sport.

You go there precisely because you aren't there yet.

You struggle.

You make mistakes.

You discover weaknesses.

You get feedback.

You try again.

That's what training is.

So why should presentation training be any different?

The purpose of practice isn't to prove that you're good.

It's to expose where you're not.

That's one of the uncomfortable truths about learning.

If every practice session makes you look competent, it may not be challenging you enough.

A difficult topic can reveal that you don't know how to structure an argument.

A random topic can reveal that you can't organize your thoughts quickly.

A short preparation window can reveal that you rely too heavily on memorization.

Being recorded can reveal habits you didn't know you had.

Feedback can reveal the gap between how you think you performed and how you actually performed.

That's the entire point.

But there is a dangerous alternative

When people encounter a difficult challenge, there are two ways to respond.

The second option feels much better.

If the topics become easier, the training becomes easier.

If you know the topic beforehand, the uncertainty disappears.

If you know exactly when you'll present, the anticipation disappears.

If randomness is removed, the unpredictability disappears.

And suddenly the experience is much more comfortable.

But something else disappears too.

The opportunity to practice the thing that was difficult.

This is the trap

Suppose you're bad at spontaneous speaking.

There are two obvious ways to solve that problem.

Become better at spontaneous speaking.

Or:

Make spontaneous speaking less necessary.

The second solution is extremely tempting.

And sometimes it is the correct solution. Not every difficulty is useful. Bad design creates unnecessary friction, and unnecessary friction should absolutely be removed.

But there is an important distinction between removing friction and removing the challenge.

Faber was designed to remove the first.

The reaction I was seeing was sometimes asking me to remove the second.

And those are very different things.

We often confuse comfort with progress

This isn't really a problem unique to presentation training.

It's a much broader problem with learning.

When something is difficult, our instinct is often to ask:

“How can we make this easier?”

But the more useful question can be:

“What ability do I need to develop to handle this?”

Those questions lead to completely different outcomes.

If someone struggles with unfamiliar topics, we can give them easier topics.

Or we can help them become better at handling unfamiliar topics.

If someone freezes while speaking spontaneously, we can remove spontaneity.

Or we can give them controlled opportunities to practice it.

If someone struggles with thinking under pressure, we can eliminate pressure.

Or we can gradually train them to think under it.

The first approach makes the environment easier.
The second makes the person more capable.

That's what I want Faber to be.

Faber isn't supposed to be a system that makes everyone look like a great presenter on day one.

That would be a terrible measure of success.

Instead, I want it to be a place where someone can be a terrible presenter on day one and have a structured path toward becoming a good one.

You might give a terrible presentation.

You might speak too fast.

You might fill every silence with “um.”

You might lose your train of thought.

You might have no idea how to structure your argument.

You might get a topic you absolutely hate.

That's okay.

In fact, that's useful.

Because the first attempt isn't the final product.

It's a baseline.

The question isn't:

“Were you good?”

The question is:

“What can we improve before your next attempt?”

A cradle, not a stage

I think of Faber less as a stage and more as a cradle.

A stage is where you perform after you've learned how to walk.

A cradle is where you take your first unstable steps.

You fall.

You get back up.

You try again.

Eventually, walking becomes normal.

Then you start running.

And maybe one day you're running a marathon.

That's how I want Faber to work.

If you're already good at presenting, it should give you harder challenges.

If you've never been comfortable speaking in front of people, it should give you somewhere safe enough to start.

If you're somewhere in between, it should help you identify what's holding you back.

The goal isn't to keep the difficulty permanently low.

The goal is to increase your capability until the difficulty becomes manageable.

People will sometimes fight the system that is trying to make them better

I don't think the students who pushed back were irrational.

If you put someone in an uncomfortable situation, their instinct will often be to escape the discomfort.

That's human.

The interesting part is what happens next.

Do we change the environment so the discomfort disappears?

Or do we recognize that the discomfort is telling us something about a skill that still needs work?

That distinction matters enormously in training.

Because if we continuously reduce the challenge whenever we struggle, we can end up building systems that protect our weaknesses instead of developing our abilities.

The easiest training session is not necessarily the most useful one.

And the most uncomfortable training session is not necessarily the best one either.

The goal is somewhere in between:

That's the environment I'm trying to build with Faber.

Build the ability, not just the assessment

We already have plenty of systems that measure what people can do.

Tests.

Exams.

Interviews.

Presentations.

Assessments.

What interests me is what comes before all of that.

How do you actually build the ability?

How do you take someone who freezes when given an unfamiliar topic and give them enough practice to become comfortable?

How do you take someone who constantly uses filler words and help them become more deliberate?

How do you take someone who has ideas but can't structure them and teach them to communicate those ideas clearly?

How do you take someone who is already confident and push them toward becoming genuinely effective?

And perhaps most importantly:

How do you create an environment where being bad at something isn't treated as evidence that you shouldn't do it?