I know I sound competent and smart. But I spend the rest of the conversation with a bitter aftertaste in the back of my throat. My track record should speak for itself. My measured silence for months, paired with my sincere, carefully worded quotes in Vogue—they should have put a lid on this already. How is it not enough to convince anyone that I didn’t want this attention? But rage won’t help me get a job. So I swallow it as best I can and smile until my cheeks ache.
