dress for success

Today I am meeting a couple of people from a very large real estate firm.  It’s my first real interview in years.

It’s a miserable day.  Heavy rain.  My hair is out of control.  The roots are starting to show.  I feel fat.  And I have been explicitly told via email, “Please bring a résumé with you and do dress for success.”

I no longer own a power suit. So I wear what has become my go-to outfit: black Prada boots, Thakoon wool skirt, black Wolford top, and LV scarf.  Ah, when I used to have money to spend on such luxuries. 

I ask Alexander to take a picture. 

He does, but reluctantly, and not before adding, “You should make an album of photos of yourself.  Here’s me going out to dinner. Here’s me meeting Zelia to see a movie.  Here’s me returning from Agata’s.  Here’s me about to brush my teeth.  Here’s me after brushing my teeth.”  He makes his point.

Because of the weather, subways and buses are slow, and I am five minutes late.  Not to worry, others are later.  That’s right.  Others.  I am one of about fifteen invited into a big conference room to watch a 45-minute presentation, including three different speakers, on how great the firm is.  I needn’t have worried about what to wear.  One woman, in a too-tight-too-low-cut black evening dress sits near me.  She looks like her next appointment may be at a speed-dating event for over 50’s.  Then there’s the guy in jeans.  Was I the only one sent instructions on how to dress?

The presentation finally ends.  We are then told we will be interviewed by a firm principal.  Only two of us are interested in “only sales” (as opposed to rentals).  We are scurried out of the room.  The remaining 13 are to be interviewed one by one.  While they wait, someone who used to be a stand-up comedian enters the room to keep everyone entertained.  I don’t remember being entertained while I waited over an hour for an interview at Discovery years ago.  Perhaps this is a new trend.

My interviewer tells me he doesn’t need my resume (the one I was asked to bring).  He doesn’t have one and knows nothing about me.  He asks why I am interested in this firm.  I repeat some of the highlights I just heard in the presentation.  I tell him a couple of things about myself, though he doesn’t ask.  He concludes I’d be great.  He says he’ll arrange for me to meet the manager of the branch office on the Upper Eastside.

I ask him if he ever rejects anyone.  He says yes.  I imagine they are the ones with no teeth, eating corn, and taking calls during the interview.

Our meeting ends about seven minutes after it starts.  I must have dressed right.  I wonder if the woman in the cocktail attire made it to the next level?  Probably.