THERE are lies, damned lies and CVs. It might not be true that everyone has a book inside them, but we’ve all written some Nobel-winning fictions into our curriculum vitae. Why do we do it?
The simple explanation, that we want to boost our careers, doesn’t necessarily work. The risks of exposure can be too great. A new survey by the Chartered Institute of Personnel and Development shows that nearly a quarter of British employers have sacked someone in the past year over lies in their CVs. Still more withdrew job offers after finding porkies in applicants’ papers.
About 94 per cent of employers now check applicants’ stories with their previous employers, says the survey. They are increasingly on guard for abuses, too: the charity St Mungo’s says it has caught applicants using “reference agencies” that provide fictional bona fides on demand. It now requires applicants to fill in forms at the office, so they can’t get friends to help.
But what about those of us who are generally honest in our workplace dealings: why do we treat CVs as an exception? Perhaps we aren’t lying to employers so much as to ourselves. Studies show that if you confabulate a story often enough, you can change your memories so that they actually feel true: yes, you did lead that team — rather than just help with the photocopying; damn right you passed that exam . . . you’ve just mislaid the certificate.
There’s also the belief that job markets are, like singles bars, truth-free zones. The employer dolls up its menial dead-end sweatshop job as a glamorous entrée to a world of jetsetting glamour. You, in turn, claim to combine the management flair of José Mourinho, the golden touch of Bill Gates and the workrate of a Chinese laundry. As for the morning after, that’s when the real relationship begins — if you can still look each other in the eye.
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JOHN NAISH