If I Were the Recruiter: Fixing the Broken Hiring Process

By a guy who’s been ghosted more times than an unpaid intern’s lunch order.

Someone asked me the other day—genuinely, not sarcastically, which was a rare treat:

“Alex, since you talk about Karens and recruiters all the time, what would you do differently? If you were the one hiring?”

And I’ll be honest… at first, I laughed.

Because the idea of me as the recruiter feels like putting a former hostage in charge of hostage negotiations.

But then I sat with it.

And the truth is… I’ve thought about this a lot.

Because I’ve been on the other side.

I’ve been the applicant sending résumés into the digital void.

I’ve been the guy refreshing his inbox 47 times a day, praying for something other than another “we’ve decided to move forward with other candidates” email that somehow sounds like a breakup letter from someone I never dated.

I’ve been left on “Seen.”

I’ve made it to final rounds only to be ghosted harder than a haunted house in November.

I’ve rewritten my résumé so many times it’s basically a memoir now.

So yes—if I were the recruiter?

I’d change things.

First, I’d treat people like people.

Not candidates. Not data points. Not “pipeline volume.”

Real people. With rent. With stories. With hopes tied to every application they submit.

Because no matter how many roles I’m hiring for, I’d remember there’s a real human behind every bullet point.

I’d stop saying “we’re a family” unless we actually act like one—supportive, communicative, present. Not the kind of family that disappears after the second interview.

Second, I’d close every loop.

Even if it’s a no.

Especially if it’s a no.

Because silence is not strategy—it’s just lazy.

It takes 30 seconds to send a rejection note. It takes years to rebuild someone’s confidence after months of ghosting.

And I’d personalize it.

You gave me your time, your energy, your vulnerable little hopes in a PowerPoint deck—I can at least give you feedback that’s more helpful than “you were great, just not the one.”

Third, I’d stop hiding salary ranges like they’re top-secret nuclear codes.

People are not applying for hobbies.

They are trying to feed families. Pay rent. Build futures.

Transparency isn’t a liability—it’s a mark of integrity.

Fourth, I’d ban jargon interviews.

No more “What animal would you be?”

No more asking someone to “sell me this pen” while they’re sweating through their blazer.

No more 17 rounds of interviews where each person asks the same question in a slightly different tone.

If I need six people to approve a new hire, the problem isn’t the candidate—it’s the system.

But more than anything? I’d bring the soul back.

Because somewhere between ATS systems, AI filters, and corporate jargon, we lost the humanity.

We forgot that the job hunt is deeply personal.

Every application is a whisper: “I hope you see me.”

Every interview is a risk: “I hope I’m enough.”

Every rejection hurts. Not because we’re fragile—but because we’re trying.

And trying takes courage.

So if I were the recruiter?

I’d be the kind who answers.

The kind who sees.

The kind who remembers what it felt like to be on the other side of the table—hoping, waiting, wondering.

Because one day, we’ll all be there again.

So let’s build a process that honors the journey.

Not just for the perfect candidate—

But for the people brave enough to apply in the first place.