I've Experienced Job Loss: Navigating Employment Searches in the Robot Era is Challenging.
The A.I. Conundrum Consuming Job Seekers
In a surprising turn of events, after submitting over 100 job applications, I discovered that robots aren't just content with taking our jobs—they're now actively inhibiting our ability to secure new positions.
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Five months ago, I was laid off. Now, every day begins with a large pot of coffee as I painstakingly draft cover letters, refine my résumé, and toss my job applications into what feels like a bottomless void. I often find myself reflecting on how these submissions will likely never be seen by human decision-makers but will instead be filtered through the cold, unfeeling algorithms of artificial intelligence. It’s akin to General Zod from Superman, adrift in space within a two-dimensional prison, voicing my qualifications and expertise, yet unheard.
The current job market is chaotic and unsettled. The traditional systems that once supported us are no longer functioning adequately, and a viable alternative solution has yet to materialize. We find ourselves trapped in what could be described as a dystopian digital landscape, wherein both employers and job seekers sort through a massive pile of A.I.-generated noise, reminiscing about the simpler times of earlier, more straightforward employment processes.
Some individuals take a more optimistic perspective on the employment landscape. A seasoned career coach I’ve engaged with at an outplacement firm remarked, "It's not broken; it's just evolved." However, from my viewpoint, the primary distinction lies in the fact that the previous system operated successfully, while the current one falls short. The leap in A.I. technology is outpacing our ability to adapt to it, leading to a barrage of outdated applicant tracking systems—aging software that sorts, ranks, and manages online job applicants—being overloaded with a torrent of poorly generated content. This inundation creates an environment filled with subpar résumés, which obscures genuine talent and qualifications amid the overwhelming static.
Even if you notice your application’s status subtly shifting from "received" to "under consideration," any semblance of progress in the world of applicant tracking systems (ATS) often turns out to be an illusion. Within a week, your application gets buried under mountains of new submissions—often thousands of additional applications pouring in daily. By the two-month mark, job postings you applied for are mysteriously reposted on LinkedIn with no clear explanation. The indecisiveness of hiring teams amplifies their workload and increases their reliance on robots to sift through the chaos they’ve inadvertently created.
This frustrating environment has given rise to a predatory industry of dubious digital vendors offering A.I.-driven solutions. These entities provide services that scour the internet for job listings, applying to numerous positions on your behalf with automatically generated cover letters and keyword-focused résumés. The deceptive promise is that A.I. can resolve the chaos it has caused by churning out even more indistinguishable clutter.
Over the past four months, I’ve sent out more than 100 applications. About half have met with rejection, while the remainder left me in silence—no human interaction whatsoever. Thankfully, I have had a few encouraging interviews and leads, but those opportunities stemmed solely from traditional networking and personal referrals. Months spent relentlessly submitting applications into the gaping void of a malfunctioning ATS neither brought fruitful connections nor positive outcomes.
Unfortunately, my experience is not isolated. Recent statistics from a survey by CareerSprout, a service aimed at assisting seasoned tech professionals in acquiring lucrative positions, indicated that a staggering 85 percent of job seekers reported it took them over nine months to secure a new role. Moreover, an overwhelming 63 percent stated they had to apply for more than 337 jobs to eventually receive a job offer. This leads to a disheartening conversion rate of just 2 percent—indicating two interviews per every hundred applications submitted.
In a separate study conducted by huntr.co to examine job board response rates during the second quarter of 2025, it was revealed that LinkedIn had a mere 3.3 percent response rate, closely trailing ZipRecruiter’s 3.8 percent, while Indeed slightly outpaced both at 4.7 percent. To summarize, the probability of being overlooked by potential employers has never been higher.
We have reached a pivotal moment in our professional history where robots no longer simply seek to take our jobs; they also actively obstruct our efforts to find new opportunities. The most effective strategy to steer through this dysfunctional landscape involves circumventing the ATS gatekeepers. The goal should be to forge personal connections with individuals working at the companies of interest.
However, this can prove to be an uphill battle, especially when I find myself applying to unfamiliar companies whose names are a puzzle, as in the cases of “SettlePoint Synergies,” “Hello! Z5arpe 25,” and “Marluflouxx Nü Solutions,” or other similarly cryptic names. Most of these organizations are involved in fields related to generative A.I., fintech, or healthcare, or some unexpected combination thereof. The "About Us" sections of these companies often provide little clarity, even when I attempt to decipher them using ChatGPT, querying, "Explain this to me as if I'm 10 years old and grew up in isolation."
In particularly desperate moments, when I find myself completely in the dark, I resort to using the same A.I. tools I’ve critiqued earlier in this narrative. Setting aside my reservations—driven by a mix of intrigue and necessity—I recently tasked ChatGPT to assist me in crafting a cover letter for a job that was puzzling to me. I reasoned that if robotic filters were to evaluate my applications, I might as well have robots help me formulate the letters. Let the machines articulate my qualifications in the language they understand best.
Surprisingly, the output provided by ChatGPT was quite impressive. Not only was it well-articulated, but it also differed significantly from the conventional cover letters I had been composing. The structure, format, and vocabulary were refreshingly different. I genuinely believe ChatGPT can be a useful partner in the right context—provided that users remain vigilant and selective about the tasks they delegate to the technology, without fully relinquishing their analytical thinking to the machines.
Nonetheless, it is essential to acknowledge that while ChatGPT can provide a solid foundation, it still requires the oversight of a human editor. For example, in a moment of unwarranted optimism, I submitted an application for a communications role with an aerospace and defense contractor, a step that would surely make my mother uneasy. While reviewing the cover letter generated by ChatGPT, I stumbled upon this puzzling sentence: “My in-depth experience in environmental reporting aligns with your organization’s values and goals.”
What? Upon revisiting the job listing, I found the requirement stated: “Applicants should demonstrate an understanding of the competitive landscape of the company and be knowledgeable about industry challenges.” Yikes! ChatGPT mistakenly concluded that my experience in environmental journalism made me fit for grasping the complexities of the aerospace sector's competitive dynamics.
A few days later, I sought to have ChatGPT optimize my résumé for another position. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of using an older ChatGPT session that had remained open on my desktop for several days, laden with incoherent queries and various bits of information. This overload proved too much for ChatGPT to manage effectively.
What it returned was an unrecognizable fabrication—a distorted version of my work history filled with invented job titles and degrees from institutions I never attended. ChatGPT appeared to be stitching together fragmented bullet points and previous stray snippets of information, creating a fictional résumé akin to a 'Frankenstein' patchwork of data that it was passing off as my legitimate experience.
It looked remarkably authentic but was entirely imagined. It felt like gazing into an alternate reality—a version of me that could have existed had I pursued economics instead of political science or struck up a conversation with someone on the train back in 1997.
Nevertheless, I’ll tuck this fictional résumé away for future reference, possibly using it in job applications when we inevitably transition into a post-truth world in the upcoming months. Who knows? An A.I.-constructed alternative persona might just have more success in today’s job market than my authentic self.
