I recall with great clarity the moment I stumbled upon the website of Chermayeff & Geismar & Haviv.
As I scrolled through their design portfolio, my lethargy from the cozy spring afternoon evaporated in an instant. Their works spoke a language that was both simple and powerful, leaving me astonished. To learn that one firm was responsible for crafting a staggering number of the world's most iconic logos, including Chase Bank, HarperCollins, National Geographic, and US Open, was truly mind-boggling. And to think, this was all the work of a tiny firm.
In that moment, I didn't care who they were or where they were located, I just knew that I simply wanted - no, needed to work with them. And luck was on my side, for their office was just around the corner in the magical land of Manhattan, where everything seems to happen within minutes of each other.
It was the early spring of 2018, and I was on the hunt for a summer internship in between my two years of grad school in New York City.
School just wasn't cutting it for me anymore. I'd wake up each day at 6:39, plagued by a headache from questioning my decision to pursue an M.F.A. in the first place, only to suffer through a grueling 40-minute full-body massage aboard the F train. As I endured the pain, I'd ruminate on excuses for not completing the 200-page reading that was unjustly assigned for the social justice class, all the while preparing myself mentally for the inevitable breakfast à la carte - a tuna sandwich from Pret A Manger procured just around the corner from my school, which I'd promptly devour before stepping into the elevator.
I was jonesing to get out there and do some real work.
I spent every moment I could spare in the studio, tinkering with my design portfolio, my raison d'être, consumed by the desire to create the ultimate showcase of my work. I was so entranced by the process that nothing else mattered - not classes, not socializing, sometimes not even food. @2019-02-12, New York City 🇺🇸
Graphic design jobs were not even on my radar, but I shot my resume and portfolio to Chermayeff & Geismar & Haviv regardless. I didn't start by asking if they were hiring because, let’s be honest, the chances were slim to none - I mean, it was a firm with fewer people than a lacrosse team, and needless to say, there wasn't a job posting to be found anywhere on their website.
So I shamelessly went straight for the work inquires email, a dirty little trick that I am more than comfortable playing, and cut right to the chase: I'm not here to commission you to do a project, and please, spare that delete icon for just a second. Instead, I want you to consider "commissioning" me to work with you on projects. (Not in those exact words, of course.)
Part of me felt precisely the same way as Sagi Haviv (one of the three partners there who started as an intern) when he tried to apply to work there, according to an interview over a decade later:
The firm had become a beacon to me - but not one I thought I could ever get near.
However, the other part of me felt inexplicably confident after clicking that send button, deeming myself working there a destiny. I've always been, while becoming less so over the years, but still am, a genius at fooling myself, without the help of any alcohol, into believing in "unrealistic" ideas that any of my pragmatic friends (many of them are actual alcoholics) would give up on easily. And this peculiar trait of mine had only been further reinforced since my move to New York, the “concrete jungle where dreams are made of”, where I was repeatedly indoctrinated with the idea that “there’s nothin’ you can’t do”.
Some call it wishful thinking and turn their backs on it, but I cherish it as a special talent - a mix of daring, commitment, and just a tiny bit of narcissism - that, when used right, is the classic recipe for getting through those closed doors.
There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that they’d love my works. But on a second thought, why did I even bother spending the entire afternoon polishing this 3-sentence long email, which is probably now sitting in the trash can, thanks to some inattentive executive assistant who’s a pro at playing Solitaire and killing dreams.
But you know, it’s funny how life works sometimes.
I didn't get much going from the other job applications which I thought would’ve easily yielded some interviews, but to my surprise, a few weeks later, I did receive a reply from Chemayeff & Geismar & Haviv, in which it said that the partners took a look at my portfolio and they would like to talk to me.
It was a moment of pure elation - a bolt of lightning that sent shockwaves through my entire being. Chemayeff & Geismar & Haviv, the holy grail of design firms, had taken notice of me. I talked to myself, with my heart racing and my mind buzzing with excitement: This is it. This is my shot.
To this day, I still believe that sending a resume through a work inquiries email works much better than a dead-looking Greenhouse link, as hopeless as the L train over the weekends - trust me, you are not going anywhere fast.
I remember those video interviews with Tom Geismar and Sagi Haviv like a fever dream. I remember fantasizing how much they would be impressed by the work I did for Coca-Cola while ironing, over and over again, the already wrinkle-free shirt for my once-in-a-lifetime presentation. I remember my show started to collapse only two minutes into the interview as my voice became increasingly shaky from those involuntarily trembling muscles that went completely out of control. And I remember being absolutely disappointed at myself afterwards, in and out, head to toe.