Is That a Resume or Are You Just Happy To See Me? How to Network like a 24-Year-Old Italian Man With No Apparent Fear of Rejection, Death, or Prison
I don’t know if it’s because I’m American, because I’m a woman, or some heinous little cocktail of the two (my therapist would call it “internalized misogyny;” my father would call it “liberal guilt”), but when it comes to my career, I always look before I leap. An admirable quality, or so I was taught. Move boldly, but strategically. Do the work, send the invite, shake the hand, don’t get blacklisted— eventually the ladder will lower. I thought that was as fast as things could possibly go.
And then this motherfucker waltzes in and turns the whole thing on its head. An early-twenties, recently immigrated, still-in-grad-school, bull-headed, big-hearted, no-turning-back Italian I happen to live with. Someone with all the tact and charm of a typical European—which is to say: none and all. He is an endless curiosity, constantly charging forward against any and all advice that could prove contrary— and I’ve spent the last year watching him absolutely rail the New York network with a fervor almost as impressive as his success rate.
This man breaks every rule I was taught to obey. There is no waiting for introductions. There is no fear of wasting an executive’s precious time. If he can find a CEO’s email? He’s in their inbox by breakfast.
And it’s not without method—quite the opposite. He schedules weekly barrages of emails to specific teams at specific companies, a process he calls “an attack.” Which, as I’ve told him (begged him), is maybe not the best phrasing to be saying out loud in America. “Amore, I have the Attack for [insert bank here] on Tuesday” does not exactly sound like a quirky little metaphor in our current climate. But semantics aside, those emails pull a yield like you wouldn’t believe.
They go out Tuesday mornings at 8:30 AM sharp: a short introduction, a stock pitch, links to his portfolio and his LinkedIn (where he has over 4,000 followers). The subject line?
Stock Pitch II MILLION DOLLAR OPPORTUNITY II Associate Candidate
Looks like clickbait, right? Fun fact: it is. He is the clickbait. A 24-year-old Milanese grad student is clickbaiting executives at the top banks in the world.
And. It’s. Working.
He’s got seasoned professionals inviting him to meetings, offering him connections, even skipping straight to interview rounds like he’s found some golden— or sorry, Goldman— cheat code. And the cheat code is, apparently, emailing like you’re selling rhino pills. And, obviously, lying on your résumé, though I’m sure he’d never do that.
Never have I felt more like I was failing an open-book test. All these years, I thought I was networking like a man… Folly. I was nothing more than an American schoolboy, offering a polished apple and a “pleasure to have in class” attitude. Never once did it occur to me that the thing I was missing was a pair of big Italian balls to slam on the table.
And this epiphany would have been earth-shattering enough on its own, but the most fascinating revelation came when I started talking to my community. Because, as much as I felt stupid for not trying this Italian brand of insanity sooner, the Americans I knew were mostly in the same boat. Partially understandable, given that my community was largely in entertainment, and in entertainment, the higher-ups are so inundated with the overly optimistic that the mere threat of being blacklisted kills most unsolicited emails before they leave the drafts. But even beyond the hopeful performers of the city, I saw accountants, lawyers, and even real estate agents who shared this American restraint. So we wait for the introduction. We pay for the class. Some poor bastards even go to grad school.
And when you hear about the woman who pretended to be a courier and “just happened” to deliver a pilot script she “totally didn’t write” to the CEO of HBO Canada—you’re supposed to think she’s the exception, not the rule. And then you curse the bitch for coming up with such a genius fucking idea.
How did the land of the brave lose its balls? I’ll never pretend to be patriotic in the way our flag likes to represent in this unfortunate era, but I was raised to admire a country of opportunity and those brave enough to thrive in it. When did we start treading with care? It seems we may have come to the point where we look around and fear the risk more than we crave the reward. And I’m not sure if that means that those I know are already well-rewarded enough to know when to sit pretty— or if everyone’s suddenly gotten a lot more afraid of losing our chance to climb the ladder. Because the ambition is still there. All the guns are loaded. But no one is willing to put a finger on the trigger.
So maybe clickbait is our courier costume. Maybe we start dressing up résumés under neon subject lines promising cash, cocaine, and the solution to your impending divorce. All it takes is a subscription to one of those “unlock everyone’s email and address and STD results” websites and an eight-inch ego and suddenly you’re back in the money— literally.
I hate to tell you I’m going to be your test case, but now that I’ve put it in writing, it has to be true. I won’t say I’m not nervous, but my Italian friend calmed me down with some ancient Mediterranean wisdom: “It’s just a fucking email. What are they going to do? Even if you’re blacklisted, at least they know your name. And if they’re really petty enough to want to ruin someone like you, they’re a porco dio bastardo anyway.”
Ain’t that the truth. Maybe next we’ll expand to pop-ups. And then one day I’ll have an agent and a film studio, and we’ll be very rich and famous. Well, I’ll be rich and famous. If you ask him what he wants from all these emails, he’ll shrug and say:
“I don’t need to be very rich. I only need $10 million.”
Ah yes. To live simply.
