Dear Hiring Manager,
I hope this finds you well, though I’m not sure it will find you at all. After all, my application didn’t seem to make it past your automated systems, so why would this?
But I’m writing anyway because I have some things I need to say. Not in anger, though I won’t lie and say I’m not frustrated. Not to complain, though it might sound like that at times. I’m writing because I genuinely want to understand something that’s been bothering me for months now.
When you rejected my application 90 seconds after I submitted it, did you see my portfolio?
I’m asking because I put a lot of thought into those links. They weren’t just thrown in there to fill space. Each one represents hours, sometimes weeks of work. Projects I built. Problems I solved. Real evidence of the skills you said you were looking for in your job description.
But 90 seconds isn’t enough time to click a link, let alone review a project. So I’m left wondering: did you even see them? Or did your ATS filter me out before my application ever reached a human?
I Need to Ask You Something
Your job posting said you wanted someone who’s “innovative” and “passionate” and “a self-starter.” I remember reading those words and thinking, “Yes, that’s me. I should apply.”
So I did. I spent hours tailoring my CV to match what you were asking for. I made sure every keyword was there. I formatted it to be ATS-friendly because that’s what all the career advice says to do now.
But here’s what I’m struggling to understand: if you want innovation and passion, why does your system screen for exact keyword matches and precisely 5-7 years of experience? Not 4 years. Not 8 years. Exactly 5-7.
Do you want someone innovative, or do you want a clone of whoever sat in that chair before? Because those feel like very different things to me, and I’m getting mixed signals about which one you actually value.
I’m genuinely asking because I want to understand the rules of the game we’re playing here.
About That Portfolio You Never Saw
Let me tell you what was in those links you didn’t click.
There was the project I built from scratch when my previous team said it couldn’t be done. The one that’s still running in production today, handling thousands of users without breaking a sweat. I spent three months on that, teaching myself new technologies along the way because the problem demanded it.
There was the open-source contribution that got merged into a major library. The one where I spent nights debugging an issue that had been plaguing developers for months. The maintainers thanked me. Other developers use that fix every day. But it’s not on my CV because “contributed to open source” doesn’t capture what that actually took.
There was the case study where I reduced system latency by 60%. Not through some magic trick, but through careful analysis, testing, and iteration. The kind of problem-solving you said you valued in your job description.
But you didn’t see any of that, did you? Because 90 seconds isn’t enough time to understand what someone can actually do. It’s barely enough time to skim a resume, let alone evaluate whether someone would be good at the job.
So what were you looking at? A list of previous employers? Whether I worked at companies with names you recognized? The number of buzzwords I managed to fit into two pages?
I Have to Ask About the Job Itself
Is this position actually available?
I know that sounds cynical, but hear me out. I’ve started noticing patterns. Jobs that stay posted for months. Applications that get rejected within minutes. Positions that seem perfect on paper but never result in interviews, no matter how qualified the applicant.
And I’ve heard the stories. The ones about companies that are required to post jobs publicly even when they’ve already selected an internal candidate. The ones about building “talent pipelines” that are really just resume databases that rarely get used. The ones about keeping postings active to make it look like the company is growing, even when they’re not actually hiring.
So I have to ask: was this real? Or am I just participating in corporate theater, playing a role in a process where the outcome was decided before I ever clicked “submit”?
Because if that’s what this is, I’d rather know. It would save us both some time. Put it in the job description: “This position may or may not exist. We’re collecting resumes for future reference. Apply anyway.” At least then I’d understand what I’m signing up for.
What Does “Qualified” Even Mean Anymore?
Your rejection email said you were “moving forward with candidates whose qualifications more closely match our needs.”
I’ve read that sentence about fifty times now, trying to understand what it means. Because I looked at your requirements. I have the degree you asked for. I have the technical skills. I have experience with the tools and technologies you mentioned. I’ve solved the exact types of problems you said you needed help with.
So what am I missing?
Is it that I haven’t worked at one of the big-name companies? Is it that my job titles don’t match exactly what you searched for? Is it that I learned some skills on my own instead of in a formal work setting?
Or is “qualified” just corporate speak for “we don’t really know why we rejected you, but the system told us to, so we did”?
I’m not trying to be difficult. I genuinely want to understand. Because if I knew what “qualified” actually meant to you, maybe I could become that. Or maybe I’d realize that what you’re looking for isn’t about capability at all, and I could stop wasting my time applying.
Here’s What You Don’t Know About Me
Since you never looked at my portfolio, let me tell you a bit about what I can actually do.
I don’t give up when things get complicated. When everyone else walks away from a problem because it’s too hard or too tedious, I’m the one who stays. Not because I’m a martyr, but because I genuinely want to understand how things work and how to make them better.
I learn fast. Give me a new framework, a new language, a new tool, and I’ll figure it out. I don’t need everything spelled out for me. I can read documentation, ask good questions, and piece things together until they make sense.
I work well with others. I’ve mentored junior developers and watched them grow into confident professionals. I’ve collaborated with designers, product managers, and stakeholders. I know how to translate technical concepts for non-technical people and business requirements into technical solutions.
I care about quality. Not in a perfectionist way that never ships anything, but in a “let’s do this right so we don’t have to fix it later” way. I write tests. I document my code. I think about edge cases and error handling and all the unglamorous stuff that makes systems reliable.
And yes, I’m passionate about the work. Not in the “I’ll work 80 hours a week” way that some companies seem to expect, but in the “I actually enjoy solving problems and building things” way. I read about new technologies because I’m curious, not because someone’s making me. I have side projects because I like creating things, not because I’m trying to impress anyone.
But you don’t know any of this, do you? Because none of it fits neatly into a resume format. None of it shows up in an ATS keyword search. None of it matters when your system decides in 90 seconds that I’m not worth your time.
I’m Trying to Understand Something
When did hiring become this automated? When did we decide that software could replace human judgment in evaluating whether someone would be good at a job?
I’m genuinely curious about this because it seems like somewhere along the way, we optimized for efficiency and forgot what we were optimizing for. We made the process faster, but did we make it better? We reduced the time spent on each application, but did we improve the quality of our hires?
From where I’m sitting, this system isn’t finding the best people. It’s finding the people who are best at gaming the system. And those are not the same thing.
You say you can’t find qualified candidates. But I’m right here. So are thousands of other talented people who keep getting filtered out before anyone actually looks at what we can do. Maybe the problem isn’t a talent shortage. Maybe the problem is that you’re not actually looking for talent. You’re processing applications like they’re data points, and then wondering why all your hires feel the same.
Does This Bother You?
I’ve been wondering about this. Do you ever think about the people behind the applications? The hours spent crafting resumes and cover letters that you’ll never read? The care taken to match keywords and format everything perfectly for your ATS?
Do you think about what it feels like to be on this side of the process? To send out application after application and get nothing but automated rejections? To wonder if you’re even qualified for work you know you can do? To question your entire career because a computer algorithm decided you don’t measure up?
Or is this just business as usual now? Just how things work in 2025? Nothing personal, just efficient?
Because I’ll tell you what it feels like from here: it feels like screaming into a void. It feels like being invisible. It feels like everything I’ve learned and built and accomplished doesn’t matter because it doesn’t fit your template.
And honestly? It’s exhausting.
What Would It Take?
I’m not asking you to revolutionize your entire hiring process. I know you’re busy. I know you have hundreds of applications to review. I get it.
But what would it take to just look? To click on a portfolio link before you reject someone? To spend five minutes understanding what a candidate can actually do instead of just checking boxes on a keyword list?
Would it really kill your efficiency to see people as more than just resume formats? To remember that the best candidate might not be the one with the perfect CV, but the one with the right skills, mindset, and potential?
I’m genuinely asking because I don’t think what I’m requesting is unreasonable. I’m not asking for special treatment. I’m just asking to be seen. To have my work considered. To be evaluated based on what I can do, not just whether I have the right keywords in the right places.
Is that really too much to ask?
I’m Still Here
Despite everything I’ve said here, despite the frustration and the exhaustion and the feeling of being invisible, I’m still here. Still applying. Still building. Still learning. Still trying to find a place where what I can do actually matters more than how well I can format a resume.
I’m writing this not because I expect you to respond. I’m not naive enough to think this letter will change your process or make you reconsider my application. That ship has sailed.
I’m writing this because someone needs to say these things. Someone needs to point out that this process is broken. Someone needs to ask whether efficiency is worth it if it means missing the people who could actually help your team, your product, your company grow.
And maybe, just maybe, the next time you’re about to auto-reject someone, you’ll pause. You’ll click that portfolio link. You’ll spend five minutes actually looking at what someone has built. You’ll remember that behind every application is a person with capabilities, potential, and value that can’t be captured in keyword density.
Maybe you’ll start seeing candidates instead of just processing applications.
Or maybe you won’t. Maybe this will just be another voice in the void, another complaint from someone who “doesn’t understand how hard your job is.”
But I had to try. Because if I don’t say something, nothing will ever change. And I’d rather be the person who spoke up than the person who stayed silent and wondered what might have happened if I had.
In Closing
I still have those portfolio links. The projects are still there, still working, still solving real problems. The code is still available for anyone who wants to look at it. The case studies are still online, documenting not just what I built but how I think about problems and solutions.
You never saw any of it. And that’s your loss as much as mine.
Because somewhere in that portfolio is the solution to a problem you’re about to face. The skill you’re going to need in six months. The perspective that could have changed how your team approaches challenges. But you’ll never know, because you never looked.
And that’s the real tragedy here. Not that I didn’t get the job. Jobs come and go. I’ll find something eventually.
The tragedy is that we’ve built a system where talented people and companies that need them can’t find each other because there’s an algorithm in the way. Where potential goes unrecognized because it doesn’t match a predetermined pattern. Where the future gets filtered out by systems designed to find the past.
So thank you for taking the time to read this, if you made it this far. I hope it made you think. I hope it made you question. I hope the next time you’re about to reject someone in 90 seconds, you remember this letter and decide to look a little closer.
The talent you’re looking for is out there. We’re right in front of you. We just need you to actually see us.
Sincerely,
A Candidate With the Skills You Need, the Experience You Want, and the Portfolio You Never Saw
