Resume Tips

Seven videos by one recruiter. Farah Sharghi ran technical recruiting at Google, Uber, TikTok, Lyft and the New York Times, and puts her lifetime screening count past a hundred thousand résumés; before that she interned on OCR software — her dad’s field — writing the kind of machine-readable search strings people imagine the “resume robot” runs. So when she says what happens after you hit submit, she has stood on both sides of the machine.

These are my notes on the whole set, taken while working up the nerve to rewrite my own CV. The argument that holds the seven together is from her hundred-thousand-subscriber video, and it’s a writing rule, not a hiring rule: the goal is not to be understood — it is to be impossible to misunderstand. Every tip below is that rule pointed at a different part of one document.

#RuleCarried by
1A tired human decides in about five seconds6 Résumé Secrets, Beat the ATS
2The ATS is a filing cabinet, not a judgeBeat the ATS, Resume Masterclass
3A resume is a claim of business value, not a to-do listBest Candidate, Masterclass
4Every bullet: X, measured by Y, by doing ZMasterclass, 6 Résumé Secrets
5Translate your work; never invent it“Lying” On Your Resume
6Boring formatting winsMasterclass
7The same rules apply out loud“Lying” Gets You Hired

1 · The reader

Nobody with a rubric reads your resume. A recruiter with two hundred applications to clear that day reads it, between meetings, under metrics — offer extends, offer accepts, time to hire. Her claim is that this person is not hunting for the most impressive candidate; they’re hunting for a safe pair of hands — someone who can step into a drowning manager’s week without creating more work. Vague résumés don’t read as modest. They read as risk, and risks get cut.

The corollary she keeps returning to: silence is also risk. A recruiter will never stop to investigate an unexplained gap, a three-month stint, a sideways title — they’ll write their own story, and it will be worse than yours. Anything on the page that raises a question gets its one-line answer on the page: “position impacted by departmental reorganization,” “career break, family caregiving, now available full-time.” The gap already got you the interview — they saw it, they still called — so the gap is rarely the problem. Making it weird is.

You’ve read that; now fail it. Two candidates, five seconds each.

Live · the five-second pass, scored
Both pages describe the same person doing the same job. One is written as duties, one as evidence — and the recall test after each is the point: what you can't remember, a recruiter never saw. She gives you about five seconds; you're getting the same.

2 · The machine

The T in ATS stands for tracking, not Terminator. Her description of every system she used — and she used them at four of the biggest tech companies on earth — is a digital filing cabinet on twenty-year-old bones: it posts the job to the boards, builds a profile per applicant, parses your contact details, and shows recruiters the pile in roughly first-in, first-out order. Its search is Ctrl-F with a worse interface, and most recruiters don’t bother with it.

What it does not do, per both her and the Lever walkthrough she embeds from another recruiter (Sam — the auto-captions chew his surname): score your resume, rank you with AI, or reject you for missing keywords. The “80% match” numbers come from third-party audit-sellers — the videos name Jobscan — and no one on a hiring team ever sees them. The white-font keyword trick doesn’t beat the machine either; it survives extraction just fine and then arrives, fully visible, in the text a recruiter pastes to the hiring manager. And the one real auto-reject is mundane: knockout questions you answered at the top of the form — work authorization, visa sponsorship, are-you-over-18.

So the machine’s only genuine power over you is dumber than the myth: it extracts text, top to bottom, and it cannot guess what your layout meant.

Live · what the filing cabinet actually keeps

What you designed

What gets extracted

The two-column reading order is her specific warning — she names Workday as a system that can't read more than a single column. The skill dots aren't text, so they extract as nothing (“I don't know what those dots mean… it's like an interpretive dance”), the headshot extracts as nothing, and the hidden keyword block extracts as everything.

3 · The claim

Her bluntest video is the one about mindset. You are not a “pick me” — not Meredith Grey, her phrase — and a job search is not an audition for being liked. It’s one word, repeated until it stops sounding like a platitude: alignment. Skills, aligned to what this job needs, stated so the reader can’t miss the match. If the resume doesn’t demonstrate the business value of your labor, it’s a to-do list with your name on it.

The restaurant analogy from the masterclass is the version that stuck with me. A menu doesn’t list “stainless steel utensils, teakwood furniture, porcelain plates” — those are the entry conditions of being a restaurant. “Detail- oriented,” “excellent communicator,” “works well in teams” are the same silverware. Study the job description like a menu, work out which dish they’re ordering, and sell the sizzle, not the plate.

Two more cuts follow from alignment. The resume is a signal, not an autobiography: the last five to seven years carry the story, older roles get trimmed to two or three bullets or fall off entirely, and the college coffee shop goes. And the strongest pages show range on purpose — technical credibility, business impact, leadership — because any one alone reads as a builder without direction, fluff, or a suit. Her example of all three in one line: built a $200M product line by translating research into scalable platforms; shipped a Python tool 900+ engineers use, saving $2M a year.

The summary block at the top earns its space only when something needs explaining before the skim starts — a layoff, a relocation, a career change. Otherwise she skips reading summaries entirely and goes straight to experience.

4 · The bullet

The unit of a resume is the bullet, and her formula for it is the one Google uses internally: accomplished X, as measured by Y, by doing Z. Claim, evidence, method. “Increased regional sales 25% in one year by implementing new training programs, resulting in a $1.2M revenue increase.” The claim-evidence pattern scales up too — exceeded annual quota: $22M against $20M in 2020, $25M against $23M in 2021, on pace for $32M against $30M.

The other half of the formula is the first word, because in a skim the first word of each bullet is often the only one that registers. “Helped,” “supported,” “worked on,” “assisted with,” “responsible for” — passenger language. It marks you as present while things happened. “Led,” “built,” “cut,” “drove,” “launched” — and suddenly the same history reads a level more senior. Her line: one resume lists tasks, the other lists decisions, and the second person gets the call every time.

Live · the bullet forge — X · Y · Z, enforced
The forge reads your first word and sorts it — owner, passenger, or silverware — and it will not pass Y without a digit, because “improved efficiency” is a task and “improved efficiency 30%” is a result. It also flags menu-silverware phrases (“team player,” “detail-oriented”) wherever they appear. Nothing you type leaves this page.

5 · The line

The video with “lying” in the title is really about a line, and she draws it harder than the title suggests. On the far side — the offer-pulled, sometimes career-ending side — sit the things background checks and first weeks verify: your degree, the companies and dates, whether you were fired, skills and software you claim, languages (an interviewer may simply switch into one), and any invented title or direct reports. A candidate three credit hours short who wrote “bachelor’s degree” lost the offer for a role that didn’t even require one; the falsification mattered, not the credits.

On the near side sits translation, and her claim is that hiring managers expect it. Internal titles are written by HR for comp bands, not for meaning — her TikTok badge read “Global Talent Acquisition Partner,” which she renders on her own resume as “Lead Recruiter,” because that’s what the work was. Leading work you did without the title is yours to claim in the bullet, not the title line. A six-week wrong-fit job can be omitted entirely — if it also leaves LinkedIn, or the inconsistency does the damage instead. Graduation dates come off after five or six years. A gap filled with anything real — freelance, consulting for a friend’s business, an actual LLC — gets listed as that real thing, framed generously.

Whether your own intuition puts each move on the right side of her line is exactly the kind of thing you can’t learn by nodding along. Ten rulings:

Live · translation or fabrication — you rule first
Every scenario and every ruling is hers, from the two “lying” videos — including the one most people miss, where the resume is fine and LinkedIn is the leak. Where I'd argue with a ruling, the reveal says so.

6 · The mechanics

All of her formatting advice compresses to: nothing on the page that makes the reader work. One column, because of the extractor above. Arial or Calibri (Times New Roman is “making a comeback — it’s chic”). No Canva templates, no headshot, no clip art, no skill-dot meters. Bold for scanning anchors — employers, dates — and nowhere else. Periods at the end of bullets or not, but consistently. PDF, always, so the layout you approved is the layout they see. Education moves to the top with dates only if you graduated in the last three years; otherwise it sits below experience, dates optional. Certifications get their own section (or “Education & Certifications”), with IDs and verification links if they exist.

And spell-check twice: she watched a Google hiring manager reject a strong candidate over a single typo, reasoning that the person “does not pay attention to detail.”

Tailoring is a five-minute job, not a rewrite, if the base resume was built against a job family in the first place — that’s her prescribed prep: collect the postings you actually want, extract the through-points they share, and write to those. Per application, put the posting and your resume side by side and close whatever daylight remains. Keyword-stuffing is the cargo-cult version of this; peppering the posting’s actual vocabulary through true bullets is the real one — written for the human, findable by the Ctrl-F.

7 · Out loud

One of the seven videos applies the same translate-don’t-invent rule to interviews — nine questions where the honest-feeling answer hurts you and the expected answer isn’t a lie, just the version of the truth that serves the conversation. Compressed:

They askThey’re really askingThe shape that works
How are you?Can you regulate on a hard day?“Great, thanks — how are you?” Every time.
Why do you want to work here?Taker or contributor?Name a problem of theirs you can solve. Never “I love your mission.”
Where are you in five years?Are you leaving in six months?Here, deeper in this work. Not grad school, not “a leadership role somewhere.”
Why are you looking?What will you say about us later?“Learned a lot, ready for a new challenge.” One sentence, move on.
How’s your current manager?You may be describing me.Nothing negative, ever — she watched a candidate torpedo an offer describing a “micromanager” to one.
Hobbies?Give me one memorable thing.Specific and curious — the vintage-motorcycle restorer got discussed in debrief three times. “Netflix” is forgettable.
Tell me about your roleDo you know what you did?Claim the work, not the badge — “while my title was coordinator, I led…”
The gap?Is this going to be weird?Matter-of-fact, one line, forward-looking. It already got you the interview.
Questions for us?Are you picturing the job?Two ready: “Why is this position open?” and “What does success look like in 90 days?” Never “no.”

The rewrite

The loop I’m taking to my CV, assembled from all seven:

  1. Study the menu. Collect five to ten postings in the one job family you’re actually writing for. Extract the through-points — the skills and outcomes they all order. That list, not your memory of your jobs, is the outline.
  2. State the claim. One line of who you are professionally, with evidence, only if something needs explaining up front. Then experience, most recent first, weighted hard toward the last five to seven years.
  3. Forge every bullet. X measured by Y by doing Z, owner verbs first, numbers wherever a number is true. Cut every duty that isn’t a result and every phrase that’s silverware.
  4. Check the line. Translate titles to what the work was. Cut what’s irrelevant — and keep LinkedIn identical to what remains. Answer every risk the page raises, on the page, in one line each.
  5. Run the five-second pass. Hand it to someone, take it back after five seconds, and ask what changed because of you. If they can’t answer, the resume didn’t say it.
  6. Ship boring. One column, plain font, PDF, spell-checked twice.

Source

Seven videos from Farah Sharghi’s channel, watched August 2026 — everything above is a synthesis of her arguments, not independent research, and the numbers and names are the ones the videos assert. Her legal claim in the ATS video (that OFCCP and EEOC rules flatly prohibit automated hiring decisions) I’ve kept as her claim; like the curriculum page, checking it against primary sources is exactly the homework this page hasn’t done.