As I approached the micro-teaching session, I was apprehensive. The relentless work schedule left no time for a rehearsal. This intensified my views and feelings on the task itself.
I have long been sceptical of micro-teaching. How can anything be meaningfully condensed into 20 minutes?
To me, micro-teaching reflects a worrying “TikTok-fication” trend of education, where we’re encouraged to “do things differently” – effectively making our delivery faster and cheaper for universities, and more digestible for audiences who lack skills to focus, rather than helping develop these skills. It all risks making learning superficial without depth and reflection.
I did though question this cynicism before undertaking the task. I looked over the origins of microteaching, specifically the work of Dwight W. Allen, James M. Cooper, and Lorraine Poliakoff (1966). Although this was ironically done with some haste, it challenged my perspective and set out rationales for reframing the model as a method for refining skills through focused, manageable exercises. I recognised there was something appealing about isolating small elements of practice without the weight of an entire curriculum.
Yet, delivering to my fellow peers added another layer of complexity. Distilling a topic into a standalone 20-minute session, without the broader scaffolding, felt disorienting. I chose to present on vintage Halloween masks, an area of my own research, but quickly encountered an ongoing personal dilemma: how to balance depth with brevity. Without a practice run, I completely underestimated timing. What I had imagined as a rich discussion felt like a hurried delivery, and key points felt rushed.
Despite this, the participants seemed to engage enthusiastically. One described it as “an amazing and timely topic,” affirming that a sense of curiosity had been sparked. The session encouraged critical thinking, inviting participants to analyse objects through different cultural, historical and contextual lenses. Although my objectives may have been overly ambitious for the timeframe, the discussion that did emerge appeared somewhat thoughtful and generative.
I also, as I always do, fixated on the design of the slides. It’s a personal view that if we expect students to meet high standards of presentation, I must practice what I preach. I try to draw on Kristen M. Naegle’s (2012) 10-point guidance and Undrill and McMaster’s (2015) warnings against “the slide to damnation,” aiming for clarity, accessibility, and minimal text. Positive feedback on the “branding” and “aesthetic” was gratifying. And although there was no black text on white backgrounds, there was feedback that some text was too small or too dense. This is valid and highlights areas for improvement.
Overall, the feedback was both affirming and constructive. Participants praised the interactivity, pacing, and integration of pop culture, literature, and personal research. While I remain unconvinced that micro-teaching fully aligns with my pedagogical values, the experience proved a valuable exercise in reflection, focus, and growth.
References
Allen, D.W., Cooper, J.M. & Poliakoff, L., 1966. Microteaching (PREP-17). ERIC Clearinghouse on Teacher Education, Washington, DC.
Naegle, K.M., 2012. Ten simple rules for effective presentation slides. PLOS Computational Biology, 8(12), e1002764. Undrill, M. & McMaster, M., 2015. PowerPoint: Avoiding the Slide to Damnation. Cambridge University Press, 2020. Available at: https://www.cambridge.org/core/books/abs/clinical-topics-in-teaching-psychiatry/powerpoint-avoiding-the-slide-to-damnation/608AF7E867649CA4E422A4D5041D00B6
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