The Pep Talk

I don't remember exactly when I started doing it. At some point, I realized that preparing someone for an interview and preparing someone to walk into an interview are not quite the same thing.

The first is practical. Here's who you're meeting. Here's what the conversation will cover. Here are the competencies. Here's what to expect. Here are the things you might want to think through before you get there. All important.

But then we're done with the logistics, and sometimes I can still feel it. The nerves. Because interviewing is weird.

You can be incredibly good at what you do and suddenly forget how to explain something you've done a hundred times. You can prepare for days and have your mind go completely blank. You can want something so badly that you start trying to figure out who you need to become in the next 45 minutes to get it.

That's usually when I give the pep talk.

You are already impressive enough to be here.

That's the first thing I want candidates to remember. You did not accidentally wander into this interview. Something about your work, your experience, your perspective, your conversation with us, you, got you here. So don't abandon all of that now trying to become impressive.

The interviewers aren't waiting for some perfectly calibrated version of you to appear. They're people. They're doing interesting work. They have questions. They want to understand what you've done, how you think, what you care about, what you've learned. And I can't tell that story for you. That's the part that belongs to you.

So my question is usually some version of:

Not, How do you think they want you to answer? Not, What is the perfect interview version of you? How do you want to tell your story? Because everything you need to talk about is already yours.

Interviews make people forget that they're people.

I think that's part of what makes them so stressful. The stakes start getting louder than the conversation.

I really want this. What if I mess this up? Was that answer good enough? Why did they make that face? I should have said this. Why didn't I say that?

And then, if the outcome isn't what you hoped for, the post-interview archaeology begins. You can excavate a 45-minute conversation for days trying to find the exact sentence where you supposedly ruined your life. I don't want that for people.

I can't promise someone an offer. I can't promise that they're going to be the right person for this particular role, at this particular company, at this particular moment. But I can remind them that an interview outcome is not a referendum on their worth.

So before they go in, I want them grounded in something they can actually control:

If you do that, whatever happens next, you don't have to wonder whether you left yourself outside the room.

This is part of recruiting, too.

The pep talk isn't an official stage of the process. There isn't a competency attached to it. It isn't particularly sophisticated. It doesn't require technology, budget, a new program, or a meeting to discuss whether we should have another meeting about implementing it. It's just a conversation. And I think sometimes we underestimate those.

Recruiting has become increasingly interested in efficiency, automation, process, scale, and speed. I am interested in all of those things, too. But there are only so many places in a hiring process where we get to look directly at another person and say:

I don't want to automate all of those moments away. I want technology to make more room for them. Because candidate experience isn't only the architecture of the process. It's what happens inside it.

I think of them as pockets of sunshine.

Little moments where someone feels considered. Sometimes it's the pep talk. Sometimes it's following up exactly when you said you would. Sometimes it's sending an update even when the update is, I don't have an update yet. Sometimes it's telling somebody how excited the team is about them instead of assuming they know. Sometimes it's having a real conversation after a disappointing outcome instead of allowing a templated email to be the final word.

None of these things are revolutionary. That's kind of the point. Care doesn't always announce itself with some grand gesture. Sometimes it looks like consistency. Sometimes it looks like warmth. Sometimes it looks like remembering there is a whole person on the other side of the process you're running.

And it doesn't require endless time. I've had candidates I've known for months and candidates I've interacted with only briefly. I don't think the length of the relationship determines how thoughtful I should be inside it.

Whatever time we have, I want it to feel human.

And then I send them into the room.

We've covered the process. We've answered the questions. We've done the prep. Now there isn't much left for me to do. This part is theirs.

So I remind them: You are already impressive enough to be here. Don't spend the interview trying to become somebody else. Tell them what you know. Tell them what you've built. Tell them what you've learned. Tell them what you're curious about. Let them meet you.

And if you need another pep talk before you go in? I'll make time.

Because sometimes the smallest thing a recruiter can give someone is also one of the most human:

In Practice