Cover Letters are just corporate fan-fiction
What I lack in skill I make up for in anger and enthusiasm.
I carried a mixture of hope and hopelessness returning to Melbourne from my USA adventure and started looking for suitable entry-level positions and turning my sticky-note-sized CV into something decent.
After scouring the internet for ‘how to write a CV’, I compiled a list of recommendations best read like in that scene of Trainspotting, music and all: start with a mission statement - career objectives are out, bullet points are in - use action verbs - use first person - use impersonal verbs - don’t talk about your skills, show them - keep it simple - make it unique - add a link to your LinkedIn - no links and no icons - include context and outcome - be succinct - use present tense - use past tense - add references upon request - drop names - who needs reasons when you’ve got to tailor your resumé.
I clicked on dozens of listicles on how to nail an interview, if and when to send recruiters a direct message, and how to negotiate your pay. I read somewhere, probably on Cosmo, not to attach a photo to a resumé because the best recruiter would hire the best fit for the team, not the best-looking person. I didn’t question how many best recruiters would be reading mine.
I thought Step 1 was to write a literal summary of everything I’ve ever learned and done.
As a Doctor, in Philosophy, I was trying to be a jack of all trades. I took up the role of the bard in the Dungeons and Dragons wonderless party that was my life. Some people preferred the opposite approach, they specialised and min-maxed their stats onto one skill. I stuck to my scrolls and targeted random job listings that sounded vague enough for me: from editing and copywriting to recruiting.
My very first draft of a CV was a Word document containing a bullet point list of all the school internships, party gigs, unpaid fraudulent jobs, plus all the extra classes I’ve ever taken and when. Ridiculous, I know, but you gotta start somewhere.
I purged every superfluous detail to fit inside the ‘one-page’ beauty standard. Yet, that Word document was not beautiful. I desperately wanted my resumé to resemble one of those I reviewed when I was employed by the scam company. I spent hours copying it with the Paint, crop and align skills of a Millennial without dial-up internet.
If I get shamelessly exploited by the CEO of Hogwash, I get to use insider information to my advantage too. As much as I felt bad for the person who wanted a job there, I really liked their design and felt zero regrets about copying it.
Step 2: All I knew about formal English was to avoid jargon and plagiarism.
When I was working for the dodgy boss, I had the chance to review CVs for poor unfortunate souls who wanted to work there. That was the highlight of my experience. I loved judging people. I got to look at how they presented themselves on the page, how they worded things, if they made any grammar mistake, who put a photo on the front page and what photo, some didn’t put their contact details at all, others didn’t answer my call and then texted me back with ‘who dis’.
I learned more from doing that than from the endless source of contradictory information online. And don’t get me started on Cover Letters! Those are just me writing fanfic about working for someone!
Luckily, I studied for the IELTS: the International English Language Testing System. Yet another literal scam. Students across Europe are made to believe it’s a mandatory English test to work or study abroad. There are specialised courses to prepare you for the test, and they are expensive! The test itself is the stuff of nightmares and it’s valid for only 12 months. Allegedly.
Have I taken the test after studying for it? No. Has anyone cared to check? Also no.
As a specific approach to learning English, the IELTS preparation included several realistic modules built around making assumptions, pretending to agree, using more words than necessary, skimming and speed reading, and most importantly: writing formal complaints.
Back then, without YouTube, non-English speakers weren’t often dealing with formal English, except for academic purposes like in my Erasmus year, when I wrote essays about Greek drunken Symposium dialogues and read fantasy fanfic on Tumblr. Writing a cover letter to an Australian recruiter shouldn’t be too dissimilar.
Step 3: Manifesting. I should have added it to my skills.
Typing on my newly bought laptop, I wondered if my attempt at formal English and disconnected social media presence would be red flags for recruiters. After all, their job was to glance at the font used in a CV and understand everything about the person. I would know! Plus, never underestimate the importance of first impressions. That’s why I bought a bag I intended to use as my work bag. It’s called manifesting.
It was a replica of the pink Birkin bag that Rory Gilmore has in the TV show and punched studs and spikes all over it. Bold but sneaky, professional but edgy. Scorpio but pistachio. I thrive on dichotomies.
Against the force of habit, I had to start logging onto my good e-mail address. It felt like wearing new uncomfortable shoes. When I created my first email address, the embarrassing one, not the good one, I was allowed to use the internet two hours a day and employment felt a lifetime away. Luckily, my mother, ever the visionary, created a Gmail address with my actual full name. No frills.
Oh darn it! no_frills@gmail.com would have been sick! Too late now I guess.
Directly from the archives, please enjoy this authentic photographic evidence:
Good luck with your endeavor, Barbs! ⭐The "sticky-note-size CV" was hilarious!
I saw the picture and was thinking you socialite dark horse with your Birkin bag. 🤣🤪 Applying for jobs is the worst! I thought you worked at a hospital? 🤔 Sending you manifesting vibes to find something exciting. 🫶🏻🤞🏻🤩