Ever since my father forwarded me an article entitled “My Blog Ate My Career,” I have been increasingly self-conscious about my lack of good ole New England discretion. He was trying to encourage me to blog under a pseudonym in case potential employers Google my name and discover a proliferation of the term “wanker.” Though merely a euphemism for the more reprehensible males I encounter, wanker sets off some alarm bells for my father about my candidacy in corporate America. He fears that I will never be able to get a job in investment banking or a teaching position at a prestigious single-sex Connecticut boarding school, due to my blog’s general gaucherie.

I responded with the vim and vigor of someone who sweats under the pangs of censorship: “If employers are put off by my ‘risqué’ personality, then let them take their narrow-minded attitudes and look for new hires at their local branch of ASH (‘Archaic & Servile Headhunting’ conglomerate). If they find my blog indecorous, then chances are they’d find the flesh and blood version even more inappropriate.

Life’s too short to hide your identity and forsake your right to creative expression out of some vague paranoia about the bar for success prescribed by a bunch old white men. So, in case anyone wants to Google my name, “Hello! My name is Haley Hogan and I’m Addicted to Strangers.”

Tweet This Post