What 'More Senior' Hid

I once told a candidate we went with someone more senior. It wasn't true.

Or it was true the way a press release is true. Technically accurate, built to end the conversation, not to tell her anything she could use.

What actually happened in that room had nothing to do with seniority. She had more years than the person we hired. The issue was that nobody on the panel could say, in one sentence, what she'd be the best in the building at. We'd spent forty minutes and come out with a blur. Strong everywhere, sharp nowhere.

The person we picked was less experienced and easier to describe. One of us said "she's the one who'll fix the onboarding mess," and everyone nodded, because we could all see it. That sentence is what won it. Not the resume. The fact that we could finish the sentence.

So "more senior" was the kind thing to say. The useful thing would have been: we couldn't summarize you, and a panel that can't summarize you can't fight for you when you're not in the room.

That's the part candidates never get to hear. The rejection language is designed to be safe, which means it's designed to be useless. "Went with someone more senior." "Not the right fit." "Closer match." These are doors closing quietly so nobody has to have the hard conversation.

The hard conversation is almost always the same. When the panel talked about you after you left, could any one person say what you'd own better than anyone? If the answer is no, the kindest-sounding rejection in the world won't tell you that's why.

If you keep hearing some version of "we went another direction," try asking the one question that gets past the script: what would you have needed to see to make the call obvious? Most people won't answer. The ones who do will hand you the sentence you were missing.

What's the line you'd want a panel to say about you after you left the room?