Bring back your inner unicorn.
They were keeping you updated. Oh no, they never were.
A four-week social club for women who are out of work, getting ghosted on every application, and would quite like to claw their way back in, as themselves, with 19 others who get it.
The market wants you to fire 200 near-identical applications into the void and call it a strategy. We do the opposite. One brave, human thing a day, toward one job you really want, in a room of people who cheer, out loud, when you hit send. The robots do the heavy lifting. You do the brave bit.
A global strategic innovation leader, a registered psychologist (NIP), and a professional coach, with over a decade in design thinking and mindset shift. Twice featured in Vogue as a leader in innovation and creativity.
The masterclass. You learn the week's move.
Cowork and feedback. You do the brave thing and tell each other the truth.
The workshop. You go unicorn-hunting and build something that proves you.
The reset, your Claude setup, and the door-fit test that scores a role before you waste a brave move on it.
Friday: find your inner unicorn.Find a referral in. Message the hiring manager. Send something useful before you ask. The moves that feel mortifying and land interviews anyway.
Friday: turn your happy-skills into a plan, and pick your portfolio piece.Turn a cold rejection into a critical eye. The real reasons a CV never gets read, and how to fix what is fixable.
Friday: build your piece, and a peer plays recruiter on your CV.The interview as a person. A bit of negotiation. And a plan to keep going after the cohort ends.
Friday: show your unicorn, then graduate.Most of a job search is clever-but-dull work: decoding the ad, tailoring the CV, digging up the company and the people. You build your application team once, in week one, then hand all of it over. They are weirdly good at exactly this, they never get tired, and they hand you back your time and your nerve for the only part that was ever really yours: applying as the most unmistakable, slightly mortifying, completely-you version of you. Meet the team.
Daphne reads the job ad and tells you what they are really screening for, under all the fast-paced-rockstar-ninja noise.
Sage digs up the company (healthy or sinking, hiring for real or not) and finds the actual humans: the hiring manager, someone who could refer you in.
Bea scores a role against your real criteria, your number, your level, who you would report to, and says at the door whether it is worth a brave move or whether you keep walking.
Taylor coaches you to make your CV unmistakably yours, digging out the achievements you forgot were impressive and phrasing them to stand out from the sea of identical, AI-written CVs.
Greta drafts the cringe message, the referral ask or the note to the hiring manager, so all you do is make it sound like you and hit send.
Romy gives your finished application a recruiter's once-over before you hit apply, catching the small thing that would have had them skim straight past you.
Maybe someone will. You are 20 senior women in overlapping worlds, so the odds are not zero. So here is how it works. What is said in the room stays in the room, you share only what you want to, and you can keep your live target list to yourself. And even if you do end up workshopping your next application beside a direct competitor, you are both lost in the same pile of 400 LinkedIn applicants anyway, so does the one of them sitting in here really matter? You are all in the same boat, and pay-it-forward just means that the second you climb out, you reach back and pull the next one up.
Maybe you were let go. Maybe you quit a manager you could not survive one more Monday with. Maybe a restructuring decided for you over a Zoom call that lasted four minutes. All of you are welcome, and the mix is the whole point: the quickest way to feel less alone is to sit beside someone who got here a completely different way and realize, oh, we are fighting the exact same monster.
Your full Claude setup and your application team, doing the dull, fiddly research of the search, so you never decode another job ad at 11pm again.
Daily mindset shifts and short visualizations to keep the rejection void from setting up camp in your head.
We make it all in the room, together: the outreach, the CV, the portfolio piece. You finish each week with something built and ready to send.
One real portfolio piece, built start to finish, that shows a hiring manager what you can do faster than any CV bullet ever could.
19 other women in the trenches with you, swapping wins, reading your rejections, and hauling you forward on the mornings you would rather stay under the duvet.
The first place you think of when work goes sideways. The four-week cohort is the front door. Behind it grows everything a career needs and rarely has in one place: a strategist on call, a network that refers its own, a recruiter who answers to the members, interview practice, a salary backbone, and an alumni room where every woman who climbed out reaches back to pull the next one up.
The Ghosted Club stays the name on the door, the brand you reach for when your career hits turbulence. The cohort is where it starts.
It is $5 a day, $100 for the whole four weeks, and here is the backwards part: you pay at the very end, and only if it helped. Get to week four feeling like it did nothing for you, and you owe me precisely zero. I would like to earn it, so the bill comes with full hindsight attached.
To a club about being ghosted for applying. The irony is not lost on me. So here is the one difference that matters: this is the one place that will not ghost you back.
So put your hand up. Tell me a little about you and your inner unicorn.
Whatever you tell me here stays with me. The others in your cohort will only ever know what you choose to say out loud in the room.
Thanks for putting your hand up. I have your application, and I read every single one. If you would rather also drop me a line, the email button is below.
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