The Love Bomb Rejection: Why It Shouldn’t Take Three Interviews to Say No
I’m three interviews deep when I find myself in a vibe-heavy final catch-up with the company founder. We’ve popped into a trendy pokie-pub-turned-natural-wine-bar in Surry Hills, and I have 30 minutes to seal the deal, tie a neat little bow on the package I’ve been selling myself as. This is the final boss, the last level, and my confidence is walking a fine line between casual and chaotic.
By now, I’ve already visualised my Slack handle, my onboarding doc… even drafted a few fake email signatures (still can’t tell if that’s delusion or manifestation??).
Then… 🤫 SILENCE 🤫 For three weeks. Followed by an email saying they went with someone “with a little more experience.”
😵💫 𝑪𝑼𝑬 𝑬𝑴𝑶𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑨𝑳 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑷𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑯 😵💫
I’m no stranger to rejection, but what gets me here isn’t the “no”. It’s the fact it took three rounds of meetings, drinks, and vibes for them to figure it out. This wasn’t recruitment; it was emotional edging. And it had a weird sting to it, the kind I now call The Love Bomb Rejection™ 💔💣💔💣
A quick, early no doesn’t feel fantastic either but it’s at least the preferred method of rejection. At least you don’t have time to fall for the idea of the job, the team, the culture… or a perfectly kerned email signature. But The Love Bombing Rejection arc was like three weeks of dating someone who plans holidays with you, then suddenly ghosts because they “just aren’t ready.”
The love-bomb rejection doesn’t just bruise your ego. It drains your energy. It makes you second-guess every word you said, every laugh you laughed, every time you thought you nailed a point. And because you’ve invested not just time but emotion, it accelerates the all too familiar job-hunt burnout.
Honestly, I haven't felt this love-bombed then ghosted since my dating days in my early twenties.
Worst of all, this type of approach offers fake clarity. If you knew I didn’t have traditional experience, why take me all the way to the final just to tell me… I don’t have traditional experience? Unlike dating in my early twenties, this isn’t a romantic situation. You don’t get points for “letting me down gently.”
And the red flags? Oh, they were 🚩 RED FLAGGING 🚩 Let’s unfold how those flags (aggressively) waved in the wind, shall we?
• The phantom final meeting. The MD tells me she’ll text to confirm the 5pm “final drinks” with the founder. No text. Hours later, I follow up to make sure I’m not about to turn up for an imaginary meeting.
• The premature LinkedIn add. Their Senior Project Manager adds me mid-process. Which is cute… until you reject me and now you’re just another ghost on my feed like an ex who still watches my Instagram Stories.
• The fake urgency. Being told, “When you meet someone good, you should move quickly.” Yes! Exactly! So why are we still meeting at a pub instead of signing the damn offer? This is a job, not a “will they won’t they” subplot… stop making it weird.
And then, the biggest eyebrow-raise: during our final chat, the founder claims the hiring decision isn’t up to him. Sir, you own the company. If you can’t hire someone, what are we doing here?
This is the part of job hunting that no one romanticises; the drawn-out, oddly intimate process that feels like you’re this close to something, only to be told “yeah naaaaah.” If you know someone’s not the right fit, just say so… early. We’ll all survive.
And lastly, no, I didn’t respond to the rejection email. Not because I’m bitter (I am), but because if you can’t tell me I’m “not the one” until round three, you’re not worth the free emotional labour of closure. So thanks for nothing, vibey Sydney digital agency that shall not be named.
On to the next one… preferably one that doesn’t treat interviews like a miniseries.
Until next Dispatch,
LGM