Dear Hiring Manager,
I am writing to express my feigned enthusiasm for the ambiguous position of—I think it was something like “Global Strategy Content Execution Associate”? A job title that contains bewilderingly vague descriptors and existential despair in equal measure. While I won’t say that this role is beneath me (I will, however, type it), I do believe we are both pretending that this is a good fit for reasons neither of us fully understands.
You’re looking for a “dynamic self-starter.” I am a deeply stationary person who applies to my work the same self-awareness I bring to therapy: just enough to fake momentum under observation. My résumé reflects a pattern of, let’s call it, erratic brilliance punctuated by long stretches of disillusionment, which I’ve cleverly framed as “consulting.” I once led a project to completion using only Slack emojis and a positive affirmation that I lifted from somebody’s tote bag.
Though I do not want this job, I need the validation that you—a faceless entity with a Canva-designed logo—believe me to be “undeniably accomplished and effortlessly adept.” Like the “g” in “gnocchi,” the “but ultimately went in another direction” will be silent. Still, I would like you to recognize that I am worth fighting to the death for behind a shuttered Best Buy. While, rationally, I understand that the direction you choose to go in will be toward someone who is better at pretending to care, you will notice that “rationality” is not listed as one of my additional skills.
I have, of course, long admired your company—ever since I skimmed the home page seven minutes ago. Your commitment to innovation is clear from the stock photos of a diverse group of people deeply engaged in what appears to be a breakthrough moment involving a laptop and some very enthusiastic pointing. While I am unsure what your organization actually does, I am absolutely willing to pretend that it is fulfilling my passion for a paycheck. I will not only “hit the ground running,” I will also “circle back,” “pivot,” and “touch base” so hard that I risk dislocating something.
Attached is my résumé, which I spent two hours reformatting and will resent you for never opening. Please let me know if you need references; I have several friends willing to lie on my behalf in exchange for me rewriting their website copy.
Thanks in advance for your consideration, which I will interpret as deeply personal even if it’s automated.
Sincerely,
The One Who Got Away ♦
