When belief quietly slips away

This project might never have happened if not for a shared loss.

I was catching up with Lander, an old and close friend, shortly after the death of our fathers. Our conversation drifted through family, mutual friends, and the usual markers of time passing. Knowing he was working on a new venture, I asked how it was going.

“It’s really hard.”

Not dramatic. Not performative. Just flat. And before I could work out how to respond, we moved on.

That sentence lingered. Not because starting a business is hard - that’s expected - but because of who Lander is, and how deeply he believed in what he and his co-founder Kelvin were building. He was working two jobs to fund it. He was all in. Something didn’t sit right.

So we invited Lander and Kelvin for a coffee over Zoom - the post-pandemic equivalent of saying, let’s just talk. No agenda. No deck. Just a conversation with David and me, to listen properly.

The conversation ranged widely. Martial arts, where Kelvin and Lander first met. The strange reality of starting a business in a post-pandemic world. Education systems that struggle to support non-English speaking students. A shared love of gaming. Slowly, the shape of the business emerged - not through a pitch, but through lived experience. What was working? What wasn’t? Where energy appeared, and where it drained away.

What struck us wasn’t a lack of ambition or quality. It was the opposite. Kinjugo already had a strong product and a clear purpose. But that purpose was buried under the weight of explanation, expectation, and the quiet pressure to sound like every other EdTech company in the room.

We felt a genuine connection with Lander and Kelvin, and with what they were trying to change. Before we signed off, we asked a simple question: could we come back to them if some thoughts occurred?

Two weeks later, we met again.

This time, we shared three slides.

One was a clear articulation of why Kinjugo exists. One was a logo concept. The third was four words: The Power of Play.

That was it.

There were no benchmarks. No focus groups. No exhaustive sector research. We didn’t try to reverse-engineer credibility. We listened carefully to what had already been said - and just as importantly, to what hadn’t. We trusted our instincts and moved quickly, while the energy of the idea was still alive.

We didn’t know how it would land. But it landed strongly.

As Lander later said, that was the moment they nearly fell off their chairs.

What shifted wasn’t the product. It was the story they were telling themselves about it. Play stopped being something they had to defend or justify. It became the source of confidence. A lens, not a feature. Something to lead with, rather than apologise for.

Momentum followed naturally. A website gave Kinjugo a voice that matched its intent. The tone changed. The posture changed. The founders changed.

Twelve months on, Lander is speaking on stages, not seeking permission. He’s travelled to the UAE with BESA to present at GESS Dubai. He’s spoken at BETT UK about the role of play in learning. Kinjugo is now in dialogue with education groups across Asia and South America - conversations that could bring the product to tens of thousands of students.

From outside, it might look like growth driven by branding or visibility. From inside, it feels simpler.

Kinjugo was always a strong product. Lander and Kelvin have always had the ability to champion it. What they needed wasn’t fixing - it was re-framing. A moment of being truly heard. A shift from trying to explain their value to trusting it.

A lot has changed since those three slides. But the most important thing hasn’t: the belief that play isn’t a distraction from learning - it’s where learning comes alive.

Project deliverables

Brand & Design Strategy, Identity design, Website design & build, and Pitch materials.