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Years ago, on the Xbox team at Microsoft, I interviewed a candidate who was, on paper, flawless. The right experience. The right energy. The kind of CV that makes you sit up and quietly hope they're as good in the room as they are on the page.

I opened with the question I always opened with. The one everyone knows is coming, and somehow nobody prepares for.

"So - tell me about yourself."

Eleven minutes later, we had reached her A-level results. We had visited a summer job at a garden centre. We had toured, in loving detail, a gap year in Thailand. What we had not done was arrive at a single reason why she was sitting in that chair, in front of me, for this job.

She didn't get it. Not because she wasn't good enough - she was more than good enough - but because she never told me why she was there. She talked herself out of a role she was perfectly qualified for.

Now, before I climb onto my high horse and gallop off into the sunset, let me be honest with you. A decade earlier, I did exactly the same thing. Different interviewer, different city, same crime. I rambled for so long that the poor man actually looked at his watch. Not discreetly. He lifted his wrist to eye level like he was timing a soft-boiled egg.

So I'm not judging anyone here. I'm telling you what took me far too long to learn: "Tell me about yourself" is not small talk. It's your opening statement. And most people treat their opening statement like a warm-up act.

Here's the trap. The question sounds casual, so we answer it casually. We reach for the nearest available narrative, which is almost always chronological, and we start at the beginning.

"Well, I graduated in 2010, and my first job was at a small agency…"

And we're off. Marching forward through time, year by year, like a LinkedIn profile that learned to talk. The interviewer nods politely while quietly ageing.

The problem isn't that your history is boring. It's that nobody asked for your history. They asked for you - specifically, the version of you that fits the job in front of them. A hiring manager isn't hunting for a biography. They're hunting for relevance. Give them a timeline and you've made them do the work of connecting your past to their vacancy. Most won't bother. They'll just wait for the ramble to end.

After sitting on both sides of the table for the best part of thirty years - as a hiring manager and, more recently, as a coach - I can tell you the strong answers nearly always follow the same simple shape. Past, present, future. In that order. Tightly.

1. Where you've been

Not your whole history. Your relevant foundation. The two or three lines that establish you belong in the room.

One of those makes the interviewer lean in. The other makes them wonder if there's more coffee.

2. Where you are right now

Your current role, and crucially, what you've actually built in it. This is where you plant your credibility.

"General marketing things" is the professional equivalent of shrugging. Don't shrug at the person deciding your salary.

3. Where you're going

This is the part almost everyone skips, and it's the part that wins jobs. Why this role, this company, right now.

Do you see what the good version quietly does? It tells the interviewer you've read about them. That you're not firing your CV at forty vacancies and hoping. That you chose them. People, it turns out, rather like being chosen.

Structure gets you the right words. Delivery gets you believed. Three rules I'd tattoo on every job seeker if it were legal and they'd let me.

Keep it to 90 seconds. Past the two-minute mark, you've lost them - I promise you have, because I've been the one losing interest, and I felt guilty about it every time. Practise with a timer until 90 seconds feels natural rather than rushed. Confident and concise beats thorough and endless. Every single time.

Practise out loud, not in your head. This is the one nobody does, and it's the one that matters most. Your answer sounds completely different when it leaves your mouth versus when it echoes around your skull. Record yourself once. Play it back. Yes, you'll hate the sound of your own voice - everyone does, it's a rite of passage - but you'll spot the waffle instantly. Then ask someone you trust for honest feedback. Honest, not kind. There's a difference, and you need the first one.

Tailor it to every single role. Read the job description before each interview. Swap in the examples that fit this job, not the ones that fit the last one. A generic answer signals generic interest, and generic interest doesn't get hired. It gets a polite email three days later.

Reading this and nodding is lovely. It changes nothing. So here's what actually moves the needle - break it down and work it.

This week

Write your three-part answer out in full. Past, present, future. Then cut it in half. Then read it aloud and cut the bits that made you cringe. What survives is your first draft.

This month

Record yourself delivering it against a 90-second timer. Play it back once (only once - self-flagellation isn't the goal). Send it, or perform it, to one trusted person and ask for brutally honest feedback. Rebuild from there.

This quarter

Before every interview, spend ten minutes rewriting the "where you're going" section to fit that specific company. Make it obvious you chose them. Do this until tailoring becomes a reflex rather than a chore - because the day it becomes a reflex is the day interviews start feeling less like exams and more like conversations.

That's the whole game. Not talent. Not luck. Ninety seconds, said well, aimed properly.

Your interview doesn't begin when the "real" questions start. It begins with four words you already know are coming. Treat them like the opening statement they are, and you'll have already pulled ahead of most of the room - before you've even sat back in your chair.

Be kind to yourself out there. It's a tough market, and you're doing better than you think.

Keep on rockin’

Harvey.