A Loose Yellow Sweater — REFINE Magazine

By Grace DiMeo

My alarm rang and I rushed out of bed, already awake in anticipation. My signature, yellow sweater hung loosely around my frame. I rushed to tuck the bottom into my power pants with vertical lines running up my legs to tower over my doubts. The illusion intensified after I slipped on my high heels and rushed out of my house. I darted down the stairs, my feet flying down the pavements of South Philadelphia.

My heart was pounding and I was unsure if it was the run or the nerves. I had prepared for this day for what seemed like an eternity—researching, questioning, planning, sticking to a skincare routine, and shaking as many hands as possible to perfect that critical first impression.

It was 9:30 a.m. outside of Morgan Hall. My heart was still pounding as I sat silently in the waiting room. A man walked out and called my name, and suddenly the lump in my throat dropped to my stomach. My skin got cold. It was… it was really hard to move. I prepared for this moment. I knew what I was doing. It was going to be fine. This was what I had been anticipating for two months.

“Well, thank you for coming in today. Do you have any questions for us?”

I paused and asked, “In one word, how would you describe the culture of the Owl Team?”

The man smiled and said, “Accepting.”

I wasn’t accepted.

I didn’t get a phone call. And when my inbox displayed the subject line “thank you for applying,” the rock in my stomach leaped back into my throat and I cried. It didn’t matter how hard I studied, or how prepared I was. I just wasn’t the right fit.

I applied for another leadership position. I coveted the title “art director,” displayed proudly on my resume on the desk of an agency well before I graduate. Once again, I wore my yellow sweater and a contagious smile. Although the president of the club interviewed me for half an hour, it took just half a minute to read the email.

“Although your skills are impressive, we would like to see you apply for another position. Thank you for applying.”

No big deal, right? They said I could apply for more. I wasn’t a fit for them and that’s okay. I held my breath and applied for a social media marketing position. I lovingly created a portfolio of my progress and treasured work. Surely, they would see I knew what I’m doing: yellow sweater on, striped pants ironed, smile wide.

“Thank you for applying.”

I looked at the stripes of my pants and they blurred through the tears. Another rejection from a position I was willing to devote my time and passion to. All the work I’d put into these interviews fell onto deaf ears. It felt isolating and doubt consumed me, and imposter syndrome adopted my abilities.

Scrolling through my social media I saw an ad that read, “Join our e-board and become our graphic designer.”

The leap of faith stretched over a bottomless canyon, my confidence was shaken. Nonetheless, I dove into my email and sent them my interest, as well as a portfolio and resume. Just 15 minutes passed before an email popped into my inbox.

“We’d love to interview you.”

I blinked and my interview was at 11:30 a.m. I looked at my watch, 11:26 a.m. Shit. I booked it to Saxbys in black sweatpants and a sweater with Frenchie dogs in yoga poses printed on it. No lucky yellow sweater in sight. The interview went so well—I was rejected as a graphic designer. I became the marketing director. The sunshine was finally from the inside out instead of a yellow sweater that hangs loosely around my frame.

It felt weird to go to an interview process and acceptance all in less than three hours. I’d wondered why the job I was not prepared and studied for was handed to me with a smile. The student organization took a chance on me and landed a hard working woman. I was confident in my ability to deliver content and crank out ideas. I had this renewed outlook on life. I’m often too hard to myself and I doubt my abilities. Once I realized I’m just as valuable to them as they are to me than I was more concrete with my statements and promises.