Tori Witter did not plan to stay in Indiana.

Raised in Elkhart and shaped by years as a competitive athlete, she arrived in Indianapolis with discipline, ambition, and a quiet assumption that she would eventually leave. Instead, she built something here.

Today, as executive director of Indy Design Week—returning April 20–25—Witter has become one of the city’s most committed champions of design as infrastructure: not decoration, not trend, but strategy. Under her leadership, the volunteer-led festival has paused, listened to the community, rebuilt its purpose, and returned as a connective force across disciplines. Graphic designers, architects, UX strategists, fashion designers—she sees them not as silos, but as a web.

Witter leads the way she learned to compete: show up, outwork everyone, study the data, improve the system. Collaboration is not a buzzword for her. It is a method. Design thinking is not aesthetic. It is problem-solving in public.

A former “I’m getting out of here” transplant with a New York tattoo, she now speaks protectively of Indianapolis—not defensively, but proudly. She chose Indy. And through her work, she is helping more creatives choose it, too. - Polina

Per usual, we’ve edited the transcript for clarity and brevity.

Special thanks to Cinderwood for being a beautiful backdrop for Witter’s photoshoot!

Polina Osherov: Tell me about your path into design.

Tori Witter: My path to design was honestly pretty different than most designers. I did not grow up as a creative child. I didn’t consider myself an artist. I drew as much as any typical kid draws, but it wasn’t this calling.

My entire identity growing up was as an athlete. I played competitive soccer from eight to eighteen. My goals were simple: get good grades so I could leave my hometown and be a good soccer player. That was it.

Looking back, though, there were signs. I loved magazines. I collaged an entire wall of my bedroom with magazine covers. I tried to write a story once and spent days on the book cover and never actually wrote the story. So now I look back and I’m like…okay, maybe design was always there.

In high school I joined yearbook just to fill a class. I ended up editor-in-chief. I was teaching myself Adobe, designing soccer T-shirts, photoshopping my friends before editing apps existed. But I didn’t know that was a career.

At Butler, I took an intro to graphic design class and the professor pulled me aside and said, “You’re an art major, right?” I said no. He said, “This is art.” And I remember thinking, wait… people will pay me for this? That was the moment everything shifted.

I added a design minor, studied abroad in New Zealand at Massey University, and really dove into art school culture. New Zealand changed me. Their advertising is bold and witty and sometimes dark. They take risks. They don’t care if everyone gets it. That really shaped how I push myself and my teams today.

PO: You talk about showing up. That seems central to your story.

TW: I’m a big believer in showing up. I always loved that quote about success being mostly about just showing up. I’m also a worker. That’s my comfort zone. I’ll put my head down and work.

For a long time I felt insecure that I didn’t express myself in the “traditional artist” way. I don’t paint on weekends. That’s not me. But I’ve leaned into being strategic. I’m very data-driven, especially for a creative. I don’t go off gut feelings alone. I want to know what problem we’re solving. I want the research. I want to know what the audience actually needs.

That mindset has helped me relate to clients, too. I understand when someone says, “I don’t know how to talk about art.” I didn’t either, for a long time.

PO: Walk me through Indy Design Week and how it evolved under your leadership.

TW: I attended the first two years and I always laugh about this now—I left thinking I had signed up for the wrong thing. It felt very UX-focused and I’m very graphic design. I remember thinking, oh no, I don’t belong here.

That feeling, that someone might walk in and think they don’t belong, is my worst nightmare now as executive director.

I joined as a volunteer in 2020. Then Covid hit. Everything went virtual. It was chaotic. The software wasn’t ready for it. Nobody really knew how to do virtual events yet. But I fell in love with the mission and with connecting people.

By 2022, ticket sales had dropped and the board was burnt out. The founder, Stephanie Poppe, didn’t want to see it die. I had just recruited Alli Donovan to the board. Suddenly it was like…are we going to do this? The two of us?

We decided to pause 2023 and survey the community. If the community didn’t need this, we were okay walking away. But we got hundreds of responses. People wanted it. That told us it wasn’t that Indy didn’t care, we just weren’t giving them what they needed.

So we blew it up. We reimagined the programming. We leaned into being a connector instead of a conference. I always describe us as a spider web. We’re not here just for graphic designers or architects or UX designers. We’re here to bring everyone together. A fashion designer can teach a UX designer something. An architect can teach an illustrator something. When we break down silos, we elevate Indy.

That clarity changed everything.

PO: Tell me about the theme of this year’s Indy Design Week.

TW: Our 2026 theme is Field Guide. A lot of it comes from this feeling that people think they know us. Cornfields. Crossroads. Flyover. A place you pass through, not a place where things happen.

And honestly, they underestimate us—and that’s fine.

Because while the rest of the world has been looking past Indianapolis, we’ve been building. Creating. Collaborating. Designing. For people, not prestige.

A lot has been happening here while no one was looking. And now people are starting to pay attention—the Pacers’ Finals run, IU winning, athletes choosing to live here and embrace the city. That doesn’t just happen randomly. That’s culture. That’s community.

Field Guide is really about documenting the work behind the work and the work before the work. What’s happening in studios, in alleys, behind closed doors? What’s been shaped by real needs, by real people?

Design has always been here. You can see it in the architecture, the mid-century homes, the historic buildings. It’s been part of the fabric of this city for a long time.

We’re just taking a breath and saying, let’s record it. Let’s celebrate it. This is our collective record of what’s been happening all along.

PO: What does success look like at the end of Design Week?

TW: Attendance matters. I won’t pretend it doesn’t. I always say I want butts in seats. That’s how we sustain it.

But attendee experience is at the top for me. I would sacrifice a giant event to make sure people walk away feeling connected.

We’ve had people who were unemployed find jobs through Indy Design Week. People make friends. They find collaborators. Building a supportive community is the real win.

And then our partners—they’re everything. It’s a 100 percent volunteer festival. Without partners, it doesn’t happen.

PO: What’s next for you guys?

TW: We’re in the middle of that strategic shift right now. It finally feels real. We brought on a director of development. We’re building a three-to-five-year plan.

The goal is to make it free by 2029. That’s the dream. To have companies in Indianapolis investing in design so that access isn’t a barrier.

I’d love for us to grow into policy conversations eventually. To have a seat at the table where decisions are being made about the city’s future. But we have to grow carefully. We have to stay accessible. That’s the tension we’re working through—how to expand impact without losing what makes it special.

This story was made possible thanks to the generous support of our friends at Life in Indy.