Nobody prepares us for how strange professionalism feels. We spend college learning how to write papers, get involved and tackle group projects, but not how to sound like we belong in a room full of people who say things like “circle back” and “let’s touch base.” The first time I went to a career fair, I remember standing there with my name tag and a blazer that felt overwhelmingly constricting all of a sudden, holding a dozen copies of my resume and thinking, “I have no idea what’s going on.” I had researched most of the companies attending and I was probably more prepared than most of the students I tagged along with, but I still felt so strange. I realized pretty fast that I was never taught how to speak corporate.
For first-generation students, that moment can be especially jarring. Professionalism has its own unspoken rules. There is a tone, a vocabulary and even a handshake that feels so unfamiliar and strange if you’ve never seen that before. Some people grew up watching their parents talk about business at dinner. Others had to Google what “business professional attire” meant. You start realizing that you are trying to learn two languages at once: the one spoken in your world and the one spoken in offices with glass walls and coffee that costs seven dollars.
As a senior trying to find a job, I still second-guess every email I send. I debate whether a period sounds cold or if an exclamation mark makes me sound too desperate. I write “thank you for your time” three different ways before picking one. Every message feels like it could decide my future. Professionalism makes you aware of how you speak, how you stand, even how much you smile. It is a little bit terrifying that one awkward handshake can haunt you for hours.
Some workplaces are trying to loosen up. Millennials and Gen Z have helped offices embrace sneakers, “casual Fridays” and Slack channels full of emojis. But that comfort rarely extends to the hiring process. Interviews still feel like standardized tests where you are graded on how naturally you can say “I’m passionate about your mission.” To me, networking still feels like a twisted horror film based around speed dating. Don’t even get me started on LinkedIn.
No one tells you how mentally tiring it is to constantly adjust. Are you pretending to be someone else? Or are you just walking into an environment that was not built for you and figuring out how to exist there? Or both? How does one learn how to mirror a tone, nod at the right time and say “great question” before giving a perfectly worded answer made up on the spot?
Over time, you start to realize that being “professional” is mostly about confidence and pretending to understand acronyms. There is a strange skill in learning how to translate yourself. You start noticing how professionalism looks different for everyone. Some people glide through it effortlessly. Others, like me, learn it by trial and error, usually error. You become fluent in phrases like “as per my last email” and “just following up.” You learn how to say “no worries at all” when you are, in fact, full of worries.
If you are a first-gen student like me or just someone struggling with this, start small. Visit the Career Center. Ask for a mock interview. Go to an alumni panel, even if you feel awkward. Try to get a summer internship as early as you can. The more you expose yourself and practice, the more normal it will begin to feel. I think most professionals are just people who practiced sounding confident until it stuck.
Networking feels fake at first, but it gets easier once you stop trying to sound perfect and start sounding human. People remember genuine conversations more than rehearsed ones. Do your research and ask questions you actually care about. Laugh when it feels natural. It’s okay to still be figuring it out, everyone else is, too. I know I definitely am. Professionalism does not have to mean losing who you are. It can mean learning how to show up in new spaces without shrinking in them. You can sound professional and still sound like yourself. You can wear a blazer and still make a joke or talk in your natural voice. The two can exist together and when they do, you stop worrying about belonging and start realizing that you already do. Or at least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
