AI and the art of actually knowing yourself
I recently had a client say to me, “Why should I pay for a resume writer when AI can do it for free?” And I thought, “Ah yes, the same logic that brought us boxed wine and inflatable pool furniture.” Functional? Sure. Memorable? Not so much.
As someone who’s spent years helping people articulate their worth, I’ve got a bone to pick with the idea that AI can replace the human touch in job applications. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not here to throw shade at the robots. I actually like AI. I use it. I talk to it. (Sometimes it talks back with suspiciously good grammar.) But here’s the thing: AI is only as good as the information it’s fed. And most people don’t know how brilliant they are until someone helps them unpack it.
That’s where I come in. I’m not just a resume writer—I’m a career translator, a confidence excavator, and occasionally, a therapist with a thesaurus. My job isn’t just to make your resume sound good (although it invariably does when I’m through). It’s to make it sound like you. Not like someone who had a vaguely similar job title once upon a time, but like the actual, breathing, coffee-drinking human who solved problems, led teams, and made things better in ways that no algorithm can intuit.
AI can generate a resume that ticks boxes. But it won’t ask you, “What part of your job lights you up?” or “Why did you fight so hard for that policy change?” It won’t notice the quiet pride in your voice when you talk about mentoring someone who finally got promoted. It won’t catch the nuance of your career pivot, or the resilience behind your employment gap. It won’t say, “Hey, that thing you just brushed off? That’s actually your superpower.”
And let’s be honest—most people don’t feed AI the right stuff to begin with. They type in a job title, maybe a few bullet points, and hope for magic. What they get is a generic, beige document that could belong to anyone. It’s like showing up to a job interview in a potato sack and saying, “I figured this was close enough to business casual.”
“AI... won’t ask you, ‘What part of your job lights you up?’ or “Why did you fight so hard for that policy change?”
Working with a human—especially one who’s mildly obsessed with words and wildly invested in your success—is a whole different experience. We dig deep. We reflect. We teach you to laugh at your imposter syndrome and then write a killer summary that makes you sound like the legend you actually are. We tailor your resume so it doesn’t just say what you’ve done—it shows why it matters.
And yes, sometimes we use AI to help with brainstorming ideas, tricky grammar questions, or the design of vocational assessments. But it’s a tool, not a replacement. Like a whisk in the hands of a chef—it doesn’t make the cake, it just helps mix the batter. The real magic is in the recipe, the intuition, and the taste-testing (metaphorically speaking—I don’t eat resumes, I promise).
While it may seem obvious for me to claim that my role as a careers practitioner is not redundant in the age of AI, I still have to argue – most fervently – that it’s true. In fact, I’d say, human careers practitioners are more relevant than ever. Because in a world where AI can churn out thousands of words in seconds, the real challenge is standing out. And standing out requires you—your story, your voice, your quirks, your triumphs. It requires someone who sees you not as a data set, but as a whole person with a career worth celebrating. And then help you craft your application documents so that those words reflect not just what you have done, but also, who you are. Culture fit is everything in the 21st century job market.
So, if you want a resume that sounds like ChatGPT wrote it (and there isn’t a recruiter out there who won’t recognise it as a ChatGPT resume… just saying), go for it. I’m not going to stop you!
But if you want one that sounds like you, maybe don’t fire your careers counsellor just yet.
Besides, I’ve got snacks.
Zoë is a regular op-ed columnist for Australian Community Media, with her column syndicated across their papers. This blog post first appeared in The Canberra Times on 6 August 2025.
