Why I Hate the Question "What Do You Do?"

Shoot me in the face, please.

This is how I feel when I meet someone and the first question they ask is “what do you do?”

We’ve all been there. You arrive at an event ready to parlay and mingle. You meet someone new through an introduction, at the bar, or in passing and the conversation begins. Names are exchanged, smiles and handshakes traded, and then it happens. They hit you with that soul-sucking question, “what do you do?”

“I clean bathrooms at Taco Bell” I want to say. But I spare the sarcasm and tell the truth: “I’m an MBA student building a media company.”

So what’s the problem with this question?

The problem is the timing of the question rather than the question itself. A conversation that begins with “what do you do?” results in premature (and often inaccurate) assumptions about a person. If the average person wasn’t exponentially deeper than his or her LinkedIn profile, leading with “what do you do?” would actually be an effective approach.

I lived in New York City for six years. The question “what do you do?” is a cultural pillar in the Big Apple, like street meat, subway rats, and unaffordable housing. The professional ecosystem drives the city, making it convenient to mistake the value of your professional life for the value of who you really are. I made this mistake when I moved there in 2010.

You see, I didn’t always dislike conversations that began with “what do you do?” In fact, I welcomed them. “Finance at Morgan Stanley,” I’d say with a stupid grin and the bravado of the Dos Equis man.

It wasn’t until my friend Adam called me out that I realized, who gives a f*ck. Seriously, who cares.

“Your job has become your swag,” he said, and I couldn’t disagree with him. I had become disconnected from who I was, illogically convinced that my professional status held greater importance. It was a valuable lesson learned for me – a critical reminder to be me, as opposed to whom I thought people wanted me to be.

I have a problem with the question “what do you do?” – or its prematurity in conversation rather – because it symbolizes this mistake I made. It represents that dark, unfortunate time when I misinterpreted professional achievement for social acceptance.

I think back to that conversation with Adam whenever I advance my life in some way. It’s evidence that we should define ourselves by the personal qualities that make us unique rather than the professional accolades that no one cares about except our grandparents and Sallie Mae.

After all, there’s no better feeling than being you, even if you clean bathrooms at Taco Bell.