Ten years, countless conversations and a whole lot of heart: how three Yorkshire designers built one of the UK’s most enduring grassroots creative networks.
Wilson’s Republic began life as a small huddle of designers, chatting over coffee in Huddersfield’s Media Centre. At that time, no one expected it to become a decade-long creative institution.
But 10 years later, this independent design community—founded by Aidan Nolan, Darren Evans, and Katy Ennis-Hargreaves—is still thriving, still evolving, and still proving that the north’s creative pulse beats as loudly as ever.
“Back then, it was just a bunch of us working in the same building,” recalls Darren, who co-founded Wilson’s Republic alongside Aidan in 2010. “You’d go for a coffee, chat to other designers, photographers, illustrators. Everyone was doing brilliant work—often for huge brands—and it made us wonder why no one was talking about it.”
That casual curiosity became the catalyst for something bigger.
Café chats to creative catalyst
The first event drew around 40 people — “and we were shocked they turned up,” Darren laughs. Six months later, the follow-up attracted more than double that. “We realised there was something happening here. The creative scene was thriving, but everyone was working in isolation.”
Aidan, founder of A.N.D Studio and a senior lecturer at Huddersfield University, agrees. “Huddersfield sits between Leeds and Manchester, so it’s easy for people to disappear into those bigger cities after graduating,” he reflects. “But there’s incredible creative talent right here. Illustrators, copywriters, animators are often living streets apart without knowing it.”
For Katy, who runs her own studio, Boldism, that local connection is what makes Wilson’s so powerful. “It’s not about exchanging business cards; it’s about finding your people,” she stresses. “The person across the field might be an illustrator you’ve never met, or someone at your favourite café might be a brilliant copywriter. Wilson’s gives us a way to connect.”
Always different, always the same
Over the years, Wilson’s Republic has hosted an impressive roster of speakers, from design luminaries like Tony Brook and James Somerville to up-and-coming creatives. Yet the core ethos has never changed: keep it social, keep it real, and keep it inclusive. “We’ve never called it networking,” Darren says firmly. “It’s a community. We don’t have a mission statement or business plan. We just love bringing people together.”
What started as designer-focused has since expanded into a multitude of creative forms. “We’ve had textile artists, animators, typographers, copywriters,” Aidan explains. “Every event feels familiar, but different. The format stays relaxed — no rigid structure, no pressure to perform — but the voices and perspectives keep evolving.”
Katy nods. “There’s no single way to present. One speaker might perform half their talk; another might bring 120 slides. Both are brilliant. That openness helps people feel comfortable showing up as themselves.”
The team also switches venues each time—sometimes unusual spaces, sometimes intimate ones—adding a fresh twist to each gathering. “It changes the energy,” Aidan says. “And we’re not precious about it. We just want to make sure the experience feels cared for. Good sound, great visuals, a welcoming atmosphere.”
The art of staying power
Keeping a volunteer-led community alive for 10 years is no small feat. Behind the scenes are all the unglamorous tasks: ordering portaloos, wrangling event logistics, and working long nights for free. So what’s kept the three of them going?
“Tenacity,” says Aidan without hesitation. “You have to keep it fresh. Many creative networks become closed: the same people, the same format. And suddenly there’s a barrier to entry. We’ve worked hard to stay open. Change the theme, the speakers, and the designer for each event identity. That variety keeps the water flowing.”
Darren agrees. “Someone once said Wilson’s Republic is ‘always different, always the same’. And that’s exactly it. There are certain things we always get right — the curation, the atmosphere, the care — but everything else can flex.”
Consistency, they all agree, is less about doing the same thing every time and more about showing up with integrity. “People trust us because they know it’ll be thoughtful,” says Aidan. “That encourages speakers to say yes, even when we’re just a small Huddersfield event asking them to trek up north.”
Zero hierarchy
Part of what makes Wilson’s special is its mix of speakers and attendees, from students fresh out of uni to industry veterans. “We’ve never wanted to only platform the ‘design gods’,” says Aidan. “Someone who’s three years into their career can be just as inspiring. When students see someone only a few steps ahead of them, it feels attainable.”
Katy agrees. “There’s always something to learn, no matter your level or discipline. A copywriter who half-sings her presentation can teach a designer about confidence. A young animator might remind an older creative what excitement feels like. It’s humbling.”
That humility runs through everything the founders do. “Designers are naturally curious,” Darren says. “We’re nosy by nature. Wilson’s has always been about that: being genuinely interested in how people work, how they think, how they got where they are.”
Routes, not roots
This October, Wilson’s Republic celebrates its tenth anniversary with a full-day event, aptly titled WRXL (Wilson’s Republic Extra Large). The theme: routes. “In 2017, we did ‘roots’, looking back at where we’d come from,” Aidan explains. “This time, it’s about looking forward. Where we’re heading, how the industry’s changing, and how we move together through it all.”
Katy adds, “There’s a lot of negativity in the industry right now. AI, automation, uncertainty. But we want to focus on optimism. There’s still so much good work being made. So this event is about celebrating that and talking honestly about where we go next.”
The day will feature six speakers across different disciplines, from graphic artist Anthony Burrill and illustrator Lisa Maltby to change-maker Benaiah Matheson and BAFTA-winning animator James Carbutt. “It’s a proper mix,” says Katy. “Different backgrounds, different stories, all with something to offer.”
There’ll be live music at the afterparty too, curated by a local music collective. “We’re collaborating with the music version of Wilson’s in Huddersfield,” Aidan says. “It’s going to be a long day, but a good one.”
Lessons from a decade of community
Reflecting on the past 10 years, all three founders admit they’ve learned as much about themselves as about the creative scene around them. “I’ve realised how resilient creative people are,” Darren says. “No one’s looking out for us. So we have to look out for each other. That’s why communities like this matter. They make us stronger.”
“And more hopeful,” Katy adds. “This year’s event is all about optimism. Yes, the industry’s changing fast, but there’s so much positivity out there too. You just need to get people in a room and let them talk about it.”
For Aidan, the biggest surprise is how candid and generous people have been. “We’ve had speakers share deeply personal stories, talk openly about failure and uncertainty,” he reflects. “I don’t know why they feel so comfortable doing it, but I’m glad they do. That honesty is rare, and it makes the nights special.”
Why it works
If Wilson’s Republic has a secret sauce, it’s authenticity. No marketing agenda. No hierarchy. Just curiosity, care, and the act of showing up. “It’s a labour of love,” says Katy. “But the energy in the room makes it all worth it. You leave feeling part of something bigger.”
And while the industry changes at a breakneck pace, Wilson’s remains grounded in what really matters: people. “At its heart,” says Darren, “it’s about that golden thread that connects creative folk. Whether you’re a designer, illustrator, photographer or musician, we’re all problem-solvers, all adaptable, all endlessly curious. That’s what keeps us going.”
Ten years in, Wilson’s Republic has proven that creativity doesn’t just thrive in the big cities, but wherever people care enough to nurture it. Or, as Aidan puts it, “We didn’t set out to build a movement. We just wanted to talk to each other. Everything else grew from there.”
