The Invisible Bouncer: Job Hunting Over 50
- Dani Lemonade
- 4 minutes ago
- 3 min read
At this point, job hunting feels less like a professional process and more like trying to get into an exclusive nightclub where no one explains the dress code, the bouncer won’t make eye contact, and you’re pretty sure your name is already on a laminated Do Not Let In list.
I am over 50. Which apparently means I am simultaneously:
too old
too experienced
too expensive
too intimidating
too something
A Schrödinger’s Candidate, if you will. Both desperately needed and absolutely unacceptable.
I apply anyway. Of course I do. I polish the CV. I tailor it.
I remove graduation dates because they scream prehistoric, back when we had just invented fire and believed fax machines were the future.
I rewrite bullet points until my soul leaves my body and files a complaint.
Then comes the ritual humiliation.
You upload your CV.
And then…you manually re-enter your CV!
Again.
Field by field.
Job by job.
Like a monk illuminating a manuscript that no one will ever read.
I now have roughly 100 Workday accounts. Possibly more.
At this stage, Workday has more detailed records of my career than I do.
Somewhere, a server knows my employment history better than my own mother.
Sometimes I use Quick Apply, which is adorable.
Quick for whom?
Not me.
Not my sanity.
Weeks pass.
Silence. Not even a rejection email.
Not even a cold, automated “we went with other candidates” lie. Just… nothing.
I half expect a pop-up asking if I ever truly existed.
So naturally, I start asking the reasonable questions:
Is AI screening me out?
Is it my age?
Is it my salary history?
Is it my name?
Is there a blacklist?
Because it feels personal. Deeply personal.
Like the algorithm looked at my profile and whispered, “Absolutely not. This one knows things.”
We were told experience was valuable. Turns out experience is only valuable if it comes wrapped in youth, insecurity, and a willingness to be underpaid with gratitude.
Being over 50 in the job market is wild.
You’re expected to have decades of wisdom but the energy of a 28-year-old, the salary expectations of an intern, and the enthusiasm of someone who hasn’t yet been crushed by corporate reality.
I don’t need a career coach.
I need the code.
The secret handshake.
The backstage pass.
The VIP wristband that gets me past the AI bouncer guarding the door, arms crossed, scanning résumés like fake IDs.
Until then, I’ll keep applying.
Re-entering my CV.
Creating Workday Account #101.
Standing outside the club, perfectly qualified, listening to the bass thumping inside, while someone half my age with less experience and better keywords gets waved straight through.
If anyone finds the cheat code, slide it under the door.
I’ll be out here. Still relevant.
Still capable.
Still waiting to be let in.
Open to Work (Read Carefully)
I am open to work.
Not in the inspirational LinkedIn way where everyone pretends to be “excited about new opportunities” while quietly panic-refreshing their inbox.
I mean actually open.
What you see is what you get. No corporate rebrand. No personal “pivot” into nonsense. No sudden passion for being “scrappy” or “hungry.”
I bring experience, pattern recognition, institutional memory, and the inconvenient habit of spotting problems before they turn into disasters. I ask questions. I connect dots. I don’t need hand-holding or motivational posters.
I also don’t come with:
delusions about “work being a family”
tolerance for chaos dressed up as strategy
interest in working 60 hours for the honor of it
If you want someone cheaper, younger, quieter, and easier to ignore, keep scrolling.
The algorithm will happily serve you a dozen.
If you want someone who knows exactly what they’re doing, has survived multiple corporate extinction events, and won’t pretend everything is “fine” when it very clearly isn’t, then hello.
This is me.
Still standing.
Still sharp.
Still not invisible, no matter how hard the system tries.
Open to work.
No filters.
No apologies.