I was at a networking event recently and ended up talking to a job seeker who I’d already met on a few separate occasions. Despite the fact that our meetings were spread out over the course of almost six months, this job seeker (from now on, JS) unfortunately still didn’t have a job. It can be tough out there, especially in “this economy” (one of my new, least favorite phrases), and JS was hard proof of that. I offered my support and whatever advice I could. Walking away from that encounter, I wondered why this particular job seeker was having such a tough time of it—after all, JS was, it seemed, showing up at all the right networking events. Then a friend I was with cut to the chase:
“From what you know, would you recommend JS for a job or pass along an opening?”
I admitted I would not. And not because of a lack of qualifications or skills (in fact I knew very little about JS’ qualifications and skills) and not because I wasn’t impressed that JS was taking a lot of initiative to come to all these events (I was impressed) but rather, frankly, because JS made a very poor impression: came off as a whiner, appeared to have no confidence, and was dressed poorly and unprofessionally. JS’ tactic at this and other events seemed less like networking and more like fishing for sympathy; a discussion of job search difficulties came across to me more as unhelpful whining; and JS’ appearance, dressed in a pilled sweater and frumpy corduroys, and rocking some fantastically disheveled hair, didn’t do much to help the cause. The cumulative effect was none too impressive and rather off-putting.
In this bluntness, I don’t mean to downplay the difficulties of a job search nor suggest that some righteous bitching and moaning isn’t a key part of staying sane during the process. But you need to pick and choose those moments, and a networking event is not it—rather, that is the time to buck up, shine your shoes, and put your best foot forward. I was reminded of this encounter by an article on Monday in the Chronicle of Higher Ed. advocating for this idea: “Can’t we be smart and look good, too?” A pretty funny and fascinating article (subscribers only, sorry). While I’m still unsure of the effects Botox, highlights, and sparkly lotion will have on my self-esteem (they seem to have worked wonders for the author, Rachel Toor), I appreciate Toor’s greater point that, in all professions, appearance, and thus the impression you make, matters. Says Toor:
For years, as an acquisitions editor, I traveled to campuses, knocking on doors and visiting professors in their book-lined lairs. What I remember most about those encounters was the ugly shoes…I also attended the annual conferences of a number of disciplines, seeing academics in their dress-up duds…Men wore badly fitting suits, or ancient corduroy sport coats and food-stained ties. Professorial jewelry tended toward “interesting,” which usually meant big, clunky, and inexpensive; there’s rarely anything shiny on an academic woman. Those clad in tailored jackets and pencil skirts, with glossed lips and flat-ironed hair, were either publishers or graduate students on the market for their first job.
A friend finally made Toor realize that “I could be both a thoughtful person — indeed, a feminist — and care about how I looked. I could even look good.” But, Toor was still conflicted. Even though she felt good when she looked good, she felt like she was doing something wrong:
Why, then, did it feel like a betrayal of academic values?…Because we’re supposed to be above all that.
