I spent three hours on a one-minute video and still hated my voice

Spending the whole afternoon staring at a webcam

I remember back when I was applying for that internship at the National Pension Service, the idea of a ‘one-minute self-introduction’ seemed straightforward enough. You just talk about yourself for sixty seconds, right? But then I saw a posting for a content editor role, and they specifically asked for a video. Not just a recording, but something that showed my design and editing skills. I spent probably four hours that Saturday in my room, re-recording the same segment over and over because every time I played it back, I sounded stiff. I kept thinking about those fancy workshops in Gangnam where people pay hundreds of dollars to practice their posture and eye contact. I didn’t go, but I felt the pressure of not having that kind of professional polish.

The obsession with perfect cuts

Once I actually got the footage, the real nightmare began. I downloaded a basic editing tool—nothing too expensive, just one of those free trials that leaves a watermark if you aren’t careful. I spent way too long trying to make my 60-second clip look like a polished piece of media. I kept cutting out the ‘ums’ and ‘uhs’ until I sounded like a robot. I looked at the requirements again; they wanted to see my ‘content creation capacity.’ I wondered if they actually expected a cinema-quality production from a junior applicant. It felt like I was auditioning for a broadcast station rather than applying for a desk job. It’s strange how an industry that claims to value sincerity ends up demanding a level of production that basically hides the person behind the screen.

Trying to be myself without sounding fake

There is this weird tension in these requests. They say ‘be authentic,’ but then they ask for AI-assisted workflows or professional-level design skills. I remember reading about a program called Smile Connector where they expected applicants to demonstrate creative competence right from the application stage. I think that’s why I felt so nervous. If I didn’t include some clever transition or a nice graphic, would they even look at my resume? I remember comparing my draft to a few examples I found on a job information site, and the ones that looked ‘professional’ were terrifyingly perfect. I eventually decided to just stop editing so much. I kept one small stutter because I thought it made me sound human, though I worried it would cost me the spot.

The waiting game feels longer than the work

After hitting ‘submit’ on the company’s portal, the silence is the worst part. You check your email every twenty minutes for the first two days, then every few hours, then you just kind of forget about it for a bit until you get that notification. It’s funny how much emotional energy you dump into one minute of video. Whether it’s for a role at a place like Smilegate or a public institution, the process often feels like a guessing game. Do they want personality, or do they want someone who can use Adobe Premiere better than them? I still don’t know the answer. I probably spent about 30,000 won buying a cheap tripod because my stack of books kept sliding over during the recording, which seems like a silly expense now that I think about it.

Why these formats keep sticking around

I’ve been to group interviews where we had to do the one-minute intro live, and it’s actually less stressful than the video version. At least in a room, you can see if the interviewer is bored or interested. With the video, you’re just shouting into the void. I’m still not convinced that a sixty-second clip tells you anything about how someone will actually perform in a team or handle a deadline. Yet, here I am, thinking about how I might do it differently if I had to apply again. Maybe I wouldn’t stress so much about the background lighting or the font choices on the title card. Maybe. Or maybe I’d just spend even more time on it, which is the part I really hate admitting.