We’re Recruiters. This Is The Biggest Tell You Used ChatGPT On Your CV.

With the rise of AI-powered writing assistants, typing up your job application can be quicker than ever.

OpenAI’s ChatGPT, for example, is a chatbot powered by machine learning that can write out detailed resumes and cover letters in less than five minutes with the prompts you give it. But if you are doing this, know that recruiters can tell.

“Easily 25% of apps appear to be AI-generated,” said Bonnie Dilber, a recruiting manager with app-automation company Zapier.

And these blatant examples do not leave a winning impression on recruiters. At worst, “it signals to me that the person may not know what they are talking about or how to blend AI-generated content with their own ideas,” Dilber said.

The Biggest Tell You Used AI On Your Job Application

The biggest red flag, recruiters said, is when your application reads like a copy-pasted, robotic and formulaic template.

If you are using an AI-powered writing assistant, think of the hundreds of other job candidates who are doing the same. For recruiters who sift through many applications, the ones that are done through AI become obvious, because they have similar sentence structures and they use the same case studies.

Dilber gave the example of asking “Why are you interested in this position?” on a job application and getting candidates who use the same word-for-word response of “Company’s mission of ‘insert mission statement’ resonates with me and my experience in ‘insert their current job.’”

“First time I saw it, it was cute, the next few times, it becomes obvious they all plugged this into the same tool.”

– Bonnie Dilber, a recruiting manager with Zapier

“After seeing this exact same response over and over again, it becomes clear that the candidates are all using AI,” she said.

When the application asked about how to use Zapier’s product, which automates tasks, Dilber said, “a bunch of people all came up with the same use case of a flower shop. First time I saw it, it was cute. The next few times, it becomes obvious they all plugged this into the same tool.”

For Gabrielle Woody, a university recruiter for the financial software company Intuit, the telltale sign of a ChatGPT-written application is also the “robotic tone” that is markedly different than how early-career professionals actually talk.

“I almost always see words like ‘adept,’ ‘tech-savvy’ and ‘cutting-edge’ repeatedly now on resumes for tech roles,” she said. “I mostly review intern and entry-level resumes, and many of the early-career candidates I reviewed were not using those terms in their applications before ChatGPT.”

“A good recruiter can spot an AI-written application from a mile away,” said Laurie Chamberlin, head of LHH Recruitment Solutions in North America. For her, the clear giveaway is the generic buzzwords.

“We might catch candidates listing skills like ‘excellent communicator’ or ‘team player,’ but they don’t back them up with real-life examples,” she said. “The absence of specificity, authenticity and personal touch can be a red flag.”

In some cases, it’s obvious because of the lack of editing. Tejal Wagadia, a recruiter for a major tech company, said that she will see job applications that still have the font, parentheses or phrasing like “add numbers here” that ChatGPT will give in its summarised answers.

“They will literally copy and paste that into their resume without any kind of editing,” Wagadia said. This can backfire for candidates, because it signals you are careless. “If you’re missing that level of detail, it shows the employer that you’re not detail-oriented. Yeah you use technology, but not well,” she added.

How Recruiters Feel About Using AI Overall

Ideally, you use AI writing tools as a starting point, recruiters said. Woody said ChatGPT can help job candidates generate ideas about which experiences to present on their resumes: “You can ask ChatGPT to break down a job description or identify the most relevant skills and experiences for the position you’re applying to.”

In other words, AI writing assistants can help you write a first draft, but you need to edit and write your final draft with specific, detailed experiences only you know to share.

Wagadia advised making your job search “targeted and not templated.” So don’t mass-apply with hundreds of AI-generated job applications.

“It’s better to have five targeted applications where you put in effort than 100 where the other person can clearly tell that you’re not interested,” Wagadia said.

And don’t lie. Tech and digital marketing recruiter Kelli Hrivnak cautioned applicants against using the suggested achievements generative AI tools can create in their answers if they are not true: “If you have misled the company, then this jeopardises your integrity as an employee,” Hrivnak said.

Ultimately, a strong job application will include personal anecdotes and specific achievements that are relevant to the role you’re applying to. That level of good storytelling cannot be automated.

“If the company was simply looking for AI-generated work, they’d use an AI tool,” Dilber said. “They are trying to hire a human for the unique things only humans can offer, so make sure your application showcases that.”

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I Was On A Perfect Date Until His Comment About My Face Caused Everything To Unravel

My first date with Jordan was moving along seamlessly when out of nowhere he made a strange joke about my appearance.

“Wow, good thing you don’t have anything in your teeth,” he said while I was busy laughing, “because your teeth stick out so much it’s like, ‘Whoa.’”

He imitated what I apparently looked like — something between a piranha and a chipmunk. For most people, this might not have been a big deal. But for me — someone with a long history of body dysmorphic disorder, this was devastating.

I met Jordan on a dating site my daughter had encouraged me to check out not long after she’d left for college. She messaged me one afternoon with concern.

“I’m seeing a lot of selfies of you with the cats,” she said. “What’s going on? Are you getting out with your friends and meeting new people?” On her next visit home, she helped me set up a profile on a dating app.

Jordan’s profile pictures revealed a handsome man with deep hazel eyes and a full dark moustache and goatee. He was divorced and now living in Madison, Wisconsin, when he popped into my queue of potential dates after he, too, swiped right on my profile. We messaged for a few days and then made plans to meet at a popular bar-restaurant on Madison’s west side.

I had no sooner agreed to the date than my anxiety kicked in and I began obsessing over my appearance. Dating with body dysmorphic disorder had always been excruciating.

Defined by the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, body dysmorphic disorder (BDD) falls under the category of an obsessive-compulsive disorder, specifically a preoccupation with one or more perceived defects or flaws in physical appearance that are not observable or appear slight to others. It’s estimated that in the United States, 5 million to 10 million people suffer from this disorder. My BDD revolves around my face, specifically my nose, jaw and teeth. Like other mental illnesses, BDD varies in its severity, affecting everyone differently. Left untreated, it can lead to devastating effects, including anxiety, depression and suicidal ideation.

Though my obsession with my facial defects never ceases to exist completely, it had been at a minimum for the few months preceding my date, giving me enough confidence to say yes to Jordan. In fact, as I got ready to go out, I found myself unexpectedly excited as I dug out my high-waisted black pants, new silver silk top and dangling sequin earrings. Putting on my makeup, I carefully played up my eyes with a dusty mauve shadow and highlighter above my cheekbones, attempting to draw attention away from the lower areas of my face. I must have thought I looked decent enough because I took a selfie and posted it to Facebook just before heading out the door.

It was a cool March evening when I pulled up to the Bonfyre Grill. I saw Jordan as soon as I walked in — he was standing at the bar, gazing intently at the doorway. Our eyes met and he smiled. He was shorter than his pictures revealed, but other than that, he looked much as I’d expected.

After a nervous greeting (on my part, because he appeared calm and confident), we ordered drinks and settled into our conversation. Jordan told me he moved to the U.S. in the early ’90s to attend law school. We both had kids, though I had only one, and she was off at graduate school. Jordan had two — a daughter in college who lived nearby and a younger son still at home. I’d been hoping to find a future partner who didn’t have young kids, but it wasn’t a total deal-breaker.

Forty-five minutes later, I revelled in how well our date was going. Jordan was gregarious and funny to the point of being entertaining — I was laughing so hard both my stomach and face hurt. He was also a passionate conversationalist with a deep voice and British accent I found uncommonly attractive. Even more endearing was his attentive disposition — he asked me questions about my work and complimented me on raising my daughter alone as a single mom.

As we relaxed into our second hour and another drink, Jordan inched his barstool closer to mine. Now facing each other with our knees brushing, he reached out and took my hand. I relished our mutual attraction as we planned for a second date.

A moment later, things took a surprising turn for the worse when Jordan made the joke about my teeth. I immediately froze up in shock. Before I could gather myself, he made another joke-like comment about my nose. I tried to play it off, but it was too late. A freight train had been let loose, and it was headed to a deep, dark oblivion.

I had never been on a date with anyone who had commented on one of my BDD focus areas, and I had no idea how to respond. In an instant, all the pain of my struggle rushed back to me, and I went into flight mode. Jordan quickly picked up on my change of demeanor and followed with, “Don’t get me wrong, you’re cute as hell,” but I was already searching for the exit.

“Before I could gather myself, he made another joke-like comment about my nose. I tried to play it off, but it was too late. A freight train had been let loose, and it was headed to a deep, dark oblivion.”

My struggle with body dysmorphic disorder started decades ago after suffering a mental breakdown at 28. As is common with this disorder, I didn’t trust the doctors’ diagnosis or recommendations. I didn’t need psychotherapy or medication. I needed a plastic surgeon, an orthognathic surgeon and an orthodontist. The only way to stop the obsessing and mental pain, I believed, was to fix my face. That was the beginning of a long and painful road.

I continued to have severe anxiety and daily obsessiveness for months before I finally agreed to try medication and therapy. A year later, I was no longer having panic attacks, but the obsessions were still strong. I now had depression added to my diagnosis from struggling so long with no reprieve. Unable to see the light at the end of the tunnel, I became desperate. I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t know how much longer I could go on suffering. The mental pain had become more than I could take.

Every day became a fight for survival, taking all I had to get to work, parent my daughter and maintain our small household. I began an early morning routine of prayer and spiritual reading. I meditated and visualised myself healthy, happy and defect-free. I read self-help and BDD recovery books, feverishly highlighting passages and going back to those helpful parts regularly. Many of those books became lifesaving. I set out to retrain my brain to think different thoughts and to put a hard stop to the devastating ones. Slowly, I started to have good days. Slowly, the fog lifted. And when I finally made it out of the dark two years later, I never wanted to go back again. The pain of living that existential death was worse than living with an imperfect face.

I decided it made no difference whether or not I was “deformed.” What was killing me wasn’t the deformities — real or imagined, slight or major — but the meaning I’d applied to them.

Jordan was, perhaps, insensitive and careless in his remarks about my face, but he certainly couldn’t have known the weight of his words or the impact they would have on me. But at that moment, staying in his presence was too painful. I ended the date promptly, telling him I had an early morning the next day and needed to call it a night.

“Do you still want to get together midweek then?” he asked as I was putting my coat on to leave.

“Sure,” I responded, knowing I never would.

I stopped interacting with Jordan and went back to therapy. That was over a year ago now, just two weeks before the country went into lockdown with the pandemic. Therapy, along with the solitude that quarantine provided, allowed me time to heal and to get my mind back on track.

Now, as the COVID-19 numbers decrease and with summer here, I’ve been thinking about dating again. With so much time alone, I’ve pondered how nice it would be to have a companion, a future partner, love.

A few weeks ago, I got back on the dating app and recently swiped right on a man named Matt.

Matt is five years younger than me, fit, tattooed and handsome. A military veteran now working as an engineer, he’s been sweet and gentlemanly in our messages. We’ve made plans to meet for lunch on Sunday. I’m not cured of my body dysmorphic disorder and may never be. Further, there is no guarantee the date will go well. But what lies ahead of me is a choice. I choose to live — struggles, imperfections and all.

Tammy Rabideau is a writer living in Madison, Wisconsin. Her writing has been featured in The New York Times, Rebelle Society and other publications. She is working on a memoir based on her New York Times Modern Love essay. You can follow her on Twitter at @TammyRabideau2.

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I Perform Revision Surgery – Here’s What Really Goes Wrong With Cheap Ops Abroad

According to a study presented to the British Association of Aesthetic Plastic Surgeons (BAAPS) in November 2024, over 50% of individuals who travel abroad for cosmetic surgery end up regretting their decision.

BAAPS commented on the study, saying: “The findings underscore the hidden costs and potential risks of bargain procedures abroad, with Turkey emerging as a prominent destination.”

To learn more about this high regret rate and the issues people face when heading abroad for cosmetic surgery, HuffPost UK spoke with leading consultant plastic surgeon Elena Prousskaia.

The results of cheap cosmetic surgery can be harmful to our health

Prousskaia says: “As a consultant plastic surgeon with almost 20 years of experience, I regularly see patients dealing with the consequences of low-cost cosmetic procedures performed overseas.

“Many return home with results that are not only disappointing but, in some cases, medically concerning – requiring urgent or complex revision surgery.”

These complications aren’t simple, either.

The consultant reveals: “The complications I most often treat include infection, poor scarring, asymmetry, and, occasionally, permanent tissue damage.

“Commonly, these are for breast augmentation and body contouring surgery. These outcomes aren’t just bad luck – they’re frequently the result of inadequate preoperative screening, rushed consultations and trying to fit in too many patients.”

Undergoing surgery – cosmetic or not – is no small feat, and Prousskaia warns that doing so right after travelling is not advised: “In some cases, patients undergo surgery within 24 hours of landing, without time to recover from travel or receive thorough medical evaluations.”

Postoperative care is often overlooked, too

Proussakaia says: “When it comes to postoperative care, this can be lacking. This could include not having enough time to properly recuperate before discharge, being given inadequate advice to carry on recovery at home and not being properly schooled about how to spot complications.

“Often, when surgery goes wrong, this is during the aftercare – it is such a critical time to be well supported and informed.”

Getting cosmetic surgery in the UK can be more difficult, but with good reason

In the UK, she reveals, we are held to stringent regulatory standards.

“Surgeons are GMC-registered, facilities are inspected, and patients must be given sufficient time and information to make informed decisions. Overseas, standards vary widely. Some clinics prioritise volume over safety, and patients may not meet their surgeon until the day of surgery.

“Revision surgery is not straightforward. Operating on already-compromised tissue increases the risk of further complications, and the psychological impact – from regret to anxiety – can be profound.”

What to do if you’re considering cosmetic surgery abroad

If you are still considering heading overseas for cosmetic treatment, the surgeon recommends following these steps:

  1. Verify credentials – Your surgeon should be listed on a specialist register, such as the GMC in the UK or equivalent in other countries. Ask about their training and how often they perform the procedure you’re considering.
  2. Ask about aftercare – Safe surgery doesn’t end in the operating room. Make sure you’ll receive proper follow-up care and know what support is available if something goes wrong after you return home.
  3. Take your time – Avoid any clinic that rushes you into surgery. You should have time to ask questions, reflect, and fully understand the risks before committing.

“Cosmetic surgery should never be rushed or treated as a ‘bargain’. It’s still surgery — with all the risks that entails. Always choose safety over savings.”

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‘Trans People Woke Up To A Bleak New World Today. How Did We Get Here?’

Let me begin with a confession. I was, until yesterday, more upbeat than I had any right to be. Sure: the anti-trans were attacking us. Again. But we were protected. In depth. Like some WWI squaddie cowering in our trenches. First line the Gender Recognition Act (GRA). Second line, the Equality Act (EA). Third line, Human Rights (HR).

Only the enemy sliced through the lot, cutting, in an instant, through the Maginot line of trans hopes and fears. GRA? Boom! Gone. EA protections? Gone. HR. Hanging on by its fingernails – but unlikely to be much use in the short term.

I wake today to a changed world. One in which I, as a trans woman, may soon find myself forced, when out and about, when staying in a hospital, when working, to venture into spaces populated by a demographic – cis men – that I know, from bitter experience, is dangerous and potentially wishes me harm.

How did we get here? It begins with yesterday’s decision, based on a tautology and, intended or not, a lie. The first, the tautology, is the much-touted claim that they have settled the question of “what is a woman?” Because a woman is defined by ‘biological sex,’ innit? It’s a good soundbite. It is not, though – however much the learned judges may claim otherwise – a definition. Do they mean chromosomes? Boobs? A (functioning) uterus? A birth certificate? They did not say. Though no doubt there will be many suggestions in the days and weeks to come.

Second, they assert that no trans people will be disadvantaged by this ruling. Funny that. For, the torrent of tears in my online feed yesterday, and the long line of trans folk turning up to declare themselves in despair, in pieces, and otherwise broken by this, suggests an entire community would beg to differ.

“Would you rather spend £250k on defending the rights of an insignificant minority – or saving two more libraries?”

That decision, though, was an inevitability of sorts. Not because it is right. But because I think the strategy of the anti-trans all along has been to swamp the UK with money – dark money, far right money, evangelical money – to reverse what they see as the evil of “gender theory.” Which also includes gay marriage, and women’s rights: they’ll be back for those later.

In addition to funding a massive and professional anti-trans campaign, it also enabled a succession of legal cases. Rarely against trans people directly. Because, if an individual loses a case of this sort, there is always the fallback of arguing it up to the European Court of Human Rights.

No. Their tactic was to go after bodies that gave expression to protections for trans people as a class. Attack the defender; and in these austere times, many crumbled. Because if you are a cash-strapped public body, would you rather spend £250k on defending the rights of an insignificant minority – or saving two more libraries? Too many fell at this first hurdle and the negative case law mounted up.

Where public bodies have stood their ground, as in the case brought against the Scottish government, the narrowness of British legal procedure means that all too often, trans people were excluded altogether from deliberations on their fate. Before ruling, the Supreme Court heard from the plaintiff, from several other organisations that might justifiably be considered anti-trans, and the Scottish government. And no trans people.

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The Supreme Court sided with FWS. But it didn’t hear from a single trans person.

This ruling sets a dangerous precedent and erases trans women from protections. It puts trans rights back 20 years.

We won’t stop fighting for trans rights 🏳️⚧️

— Good Law Project (@GoodLawProject) April 16, 2025

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The Supreme Court sided with FWS. But it didn’t hear from a single trans person.

This ruling sets a dangerous precedent and erases trans women from protections. It puts trans rights back 20 years.

We won’t stop fighting for trans rights 🏳️⚧️

— Good Law Project (@GoodLawProject) April 16, 2025

This has been accompanied by a concerted – and calculated – campaign of misrepresentation across national media. Over the last six or seven years, thousands of stories, homing in, with laser precision on any aspect of transness that showed us in a bad light. From only reporting the “bad trans;” to skewing and shaping what stories came along; to minimising trans points of view and bigging up the slightest of “concerns.”

Meanwhile, press willingness to carry a trans reply to any one of these stories has dwindled from one-liner in the final par to… nothing. They’ve just stopped asking!

The UK press is toxic, and guarded by a watchdog – watchpoodle! – that is all about protecting individual reputation. Not so much on protecting minorities.

Back in 2013, there was uproar when one well-known columnist referred to trans people as “bed-wetters in bad wigs” and “dicks in chicks’ clothing”. Some took our side. Many more took refuge in simplistic free speech defences. The writer was entitled to speak their mind. Trans people objecting to such language just wanted to control their speech.

Alongside this, we have seen malign politicians, and ineffectual ones. Theresa May unleashed a tidal wave of anti-trans sentiment by proposing a simplification of the gender recognition process in favour of self-identification. She did this without consulting trans people, and chaos in her government allowed a significant anti-trans narrative to gather steam.

She was followed by less well-intentioned actors, who weaponised “common sense.” The demands for opposition leaders to define “what is a woman?” scored points at PM’s questions. Though I am sure that if ever the questions were reversed, the asker would have been equally stumped. As stumped, one might suggest, as a wigs-worth of Supreme Court Judges.

In this, the anti-trans rhetoric was propped up by a sort of reverse feminism. Demands for protection of “women’s spaces” were amplified, again through national media. Even though feminism historically has taken a much more nuanced view of such gender apartheid with many – the majority? – of early feminists being suspicious of or opposed to the idea.

It is an odd sort of world when the Daily Mail and the Telegraph turn up as arbiter of radical feminist praxis. Gilead, anyone?

Sex-critical campaigners celebrating their win in the Supreme Court on Wednesday.
Sex-critical campaigners celebrating their win in the Supreme Court on Wednesday.

Underpinning all of this, enabling and driving, is a coarsening of society. Perhaps I have too rose-tinted a view of “ye olde days.” Over the last decade, though I have noticed a turn to the dark side, both within a certain breed of politician and worse, on public platforms and social media, by the general public. “Let them drown,” of asylum seekers in boats. Or, on the radio earlier this week, “we should be dehumanising the really bad criminals by sending them to El Salvador.”

I hesitated over posting the impact of this decision on trans people. Because I know that some who read this piece will rejoice. Because for them, cruelty is a key ingredient to the mix.

This all follows Trump (2016 version: the upshot of the 2024 version is too horrid to contemplate); plus Brexit. Plus social media, wherein free speech and the right to insult are now near synonymous. Take your pick from that list. Or, if you are a pessimist, tell me we (humans) were ever thus and I need new specs!

Will this impact me? Probably not much. I am post-retirement, increasingly recluse. For a number of reasons, as much related to personal health as transness. There are few occasions when I venture into spaces impacted by this ruling.

Compared to younger trans and non-binary folk, I am lucky. On the other hand, I doubt this mess will be unpicked in what remains of my lifetime. And if I need extended hospital care in my dotage, I now expect to be forced to suffer the indignity of being placed on a male ward.

Serves me right, I guess, for my earlier excess of optimism.

jane fae is the director of TransActual and chair of Trans Media Watch.

Help and support:

  • The Gender Trust supports anyone affected by gender identity | 01527 894 838
  • Mermaids offers information, support, friendship and shared experiences for young people with gender identity issues | 0208 1234819
  • LGBT Youth Scotland is the largest youth and community-based organisation for LGBT people in Scotland. Text 07786 202 370
  • Gires provides information for trans people, their families and professionals who care for them | 01372 801554
  • Depend provides support, advice and information for anyone who knows, or is related to, a transsexual person in the UK
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