I went to a holiday networking event with my friend Emily; we drove together in her car. It was a great event. The energy was fantastic and I saw half a dozen people I knew, and met another six or seven fascinating new folks. When I finally stopped to check the time, it was already 9:30 p.m. and time for Em and I to dash. I swept the room with my eyes and spotted Emily in the corner, smack in the middle of a five-person conversation circle.
I made my way over and stood just outside the ring, trying to make eye contact with Emily and let her know it was time to bolt. As I stood, I couldn’t help but listen to the conversation in the group. One woman in particular made me take notice. She was super-smart and funny, making great observations on everything from Google‘s phone business and the Wall Street bailout to “Paranormal Activity.” Who is that lady? I wondered. I wanted to meet her, but there wasn’t time — when Emily glanced in my direction, I tossed my head toward the door. She got the message. We made our exit.
“Emily,” I asked in the car, “who was that lady in the velvet jacket, standing next to you?”
“That’s So-and-So,” said Emily, giving me the velvet-jacket-wearer’s name. I was startled. “Gosh,” I said, “I know her name. Perhaps you’ve talked about her before. I’ve never met her, though. I’d like to. She’s fantastic!”
“I might have mentioned her name,” said Emily. “She’s a terrific person, and an incredible marketer. Very, very smart and funny, nice, insightful, well-connected. Amazing background.” I sat and stewed on the lady’s name. I had seen it before – I knew that. But where? I knew we hadn’t met in person, before tonight – we hadn’t even met tonight, in fact.
When I got home, I checked out the lady’s LinkedIn profile. It was unremarkable (boring even) and didn’t give me any hint as to how the lady’s name had burrowed its way into my memory banks. Then, I thought ‘What the heck?’ and I used Google Desktop to search my own hard drive.
Bingo! There on my hard drive was Velvet Jacket’s resume, sent to me one year ago. The lady had applied for a Marketing VP job that I had posted as a favor for a friend of mine. Part of the favor was that I’d post the job. The other part of the favor was that I’d screen the resumes, and so I had. As I reviewed Velvet’s resume, I could see that I’d had every reason to send her a quick ‘No Thanks’ note. And I had done that, too, one year ago.
Velvet Jacket in person: clever, articulate, well-read, witty, and incisive. Velvet Jacket on paper, in the form of her resume: wet blanket. “Results-oriented professional.” “Team player.” “Proven track record of success.” “Bottom-line orientation.” [Read: Ten Deadly Resume Phrases]
The lady who is nothing but life and energy and snap, crackle, pop in person, fades utterly from view on the page. What a shame! She’s cool. Her resume is not.
How many brilliant job candidates have been hamstrung by tepid, boring resumes? Velvet Jacket is one dramatic example. Can we make a resolution in 2010, to bust out of the FA&D resume format once and for all? (FA & D, of course, is short for Fall Asleep and Die.)
Without waiting for Lent, can we give up “Proven track record of success?” Is there such a thing as an UNproven track record of success? Or a track record of failure?
Can we put aside the dog-tired “results-oriented professional?” Can we let a little of ourselves – a little life, a little spark – into our resumes this year?
If I were the velvet jacket lady, I’d speak this way in my resume:
I’m a Marketer who makes small consumer-products brands big. At XYZ Organics, I engineered our first national distribution deal (with Whole Foods) and got us covered by USA Today, Real Simple and the New York Times. Dramatic sales and branding results on small budgets are my strong suit. I’m passionate about transforming tremendous product ideas into nationally-recognized, $100+M businesses.
We can lose the boilerplate this year, and put a human voice into our resumes. We have nothing to lose. The brilliant and witty Velvet Jacket lady didn’t get to first base with her corporate speak resume when she sent it to me, and who can be surprised at that? Those awful things are a dime a boring dozen.
It’s a new year, and a new decade. We can say “Enough!” to FA&D resumes, and put our voice and our power into the page.
What are we waiting for?
