Diane disappeared behind a dressing screen.
I was watching my husband rebuild a stranger’s résumé.
When she emerged, she wore a navy jacket and black pants.
She stopped in front of the mirror.
Immediately, her face fell.
“This makes me look huge.”
Marco said nothing.
“My hair looks awful.”
Still nothing.
“I look 60.”
Marco stood.
Then he walked over and turned the mirror toward the wall.
“This makes me look huge.”
Diane gasped.
“Marco!”
“We’re not interviewing your reflection, Diana.” He pointed toward the chair. “Sit.”
She did.
For the next 20 minutes, he asked questions.
“Tell me about yourself.”
Diane stumbled.
Again.
“Why do you want this position?”
She apologized halfway through.
Again.
“Describe a difficult situation you handled.”
“We’re not interviewing your reflection, Diana.”
This time, Diane talked about caring for her mother while managing three children and a household.
Her voice steadied.
Marco asked another question.
Then another.
Eventually, she stopped looking at him for reassurance.
Only then did he turn the mirror back around.
“Now tell me what the employer sees.”
Diane looked at herself.
Eventually, she stopped looking at him for reassurance.
Same jacket.
Same face.
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Same woman.
But she was standing straighter.
After a moment, she whispered, “Someone who knows what she’s doing.”
Marco smiled. “Exactly!”
Diane laughed.
Then cried.
Then laughed again because she was crying.
I remembered another review.
He made me feel beautiful again.
“Someone who knows what she’s doing.”
It had never been about Marco telling women they were beautiful.
He was teaching them to stop looking at themselves as if they were the problem.
Diane hugged him.
Marco immediately stepped back afterward and handed her the folder.
“Go get the job.”
She wiped her face.
