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" Once at a coffee shop, a woman in her mid-30s tapped me on the shoulder. As I turned around, she quickly apologized: &amp;quot;Sorry, miss. I thought you were someone else.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Sarah*?&amp;quot; I asked. &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m Marissa.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Oh, my goodness,&amp;quot; she giggled. &amp;quot;I thought I had the wrong person. You just look so...young!&amp;quot; &amp;quot;I get that a lot,&amp;quot; I told her. At the time, I was interviewing Sarah for a story I was writing. I was 24, and it was my first week on the job as editor-in-chief of a regional women&amp;#039;s magazine. Our awkward exchange was one of many I&amp;#039;ve experienced as a young woman in a big job. People expect a much older-looking person, not a short blonde girl who could pass for a college sorority sister. I&amp;#039;ve always looked young for my age. When I was a freshman in college, people mistook me for 15. When I was 21, bouncers eyed my ID suspiciously. And when I was 22 and already a working journalist, a stranger asked, &amp;quot;Which high school do you attend, sweetheart?&amp;quot; Looking younger than your years is a boon when you&amp;#039;re over 40 (or so I hear) but a bummer when you&amp;#039;re a 25-year-old kid like me, especially a kid who landed a dream job and is trying to command some respect. Before I started my career, being mistaken for someone younger was no big deal. But during my first job as a reporter, I quickly realized that looking &amp;quot;too young&amp;quot; could be a curse for me at work, one that would keep fueling my insecurities even when I landed a position of authority. In my first reporting job, I had an encounter that scarred me for years. An older woman I was meeting with about a story looked me up and down and squealed with amusement: &amp;quot;Well, don&amp;#039;t you look all of 12?&amp;quot; Her voice dripped with condescension. It was hard enough being the lowest person on the totem pole in the office, but having my age and inexperience mocked left me with a chip on my shoulder. After that, I started overcompensating by assuming a persona that was aggressive, brash, and at times, really bitchy. I felt I needed to prove I was a competent working woman, not some 12-year-old shadowing the office for a day. Taking on that alpha-female facade backfired big-time. For one thing, a baby-faced 22-year-old in a matronly pantsuit looks more silly than professional. For another, my coworkers started disliking me. (I mean, I didn&amp;#039;t even like myself.) So I apologized to the people I was awful to and went back to acting like me. During my next job, I started freelance writing on the side, and one day, I got a call from a former sales exec I knew who&amp;#039;d just been promoted to magazine publisher. I had been writing and editing for a magazine he produced, and he said he was looking for an editor-in-chief. &amp;quot;Are you interested in the job?&amp;quot; he asked. Yes, I was interested in the job! But my insecurities ran rampant. I&amp;#039;d met the publisher before, but I became convinced he was confusing me with someone else. Also, I was 24 and didn&amp;#039;t know the first thing about running an entire magazine. The only magazine editor-in-chief I&amp;#039;d seen in action was Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada! Even so, I took a meeting with the publisher and his execs, and they were impressed with my portfolio. They were looking to make the magazine more youthful and expand its digital presence, and I just happened to be this young, plugged-in kid. I was offered the job. I thought my new position would give me instant confidence--that I would magically morph into someone older-seeming. In reality, the opposite happened. I felt like I was in the spotlight 24/7 because of the novelty of my big job and young age. I didn&amp;#039;t have a mentor, so I found my way through trial and error--and lots of Google searching. At first, I constantly questioned if I was making the right decisions and whether I even deserved the job at all. Still, I had no choice but to adjust to the gig, so I figured out ways to look and sound the part of someone young but at the helm. I took my pencil skirts and button-downs to the tailor to make sure they fit properly--but didn&amp;#039;t trade my colorful heels for boring black pumps. And I learned how to connect with writers my mom&amp;#039;s age by finding common ground, often bringing up my knowledge of classic-rock music. Whenever I was mistaken for someone junior, I just sucked it up and moved forward. Soon, positive feedback from our publisher, readers, and friends began trickling in, and I realized I really was doing a good job. My small magazine from the Southeast captured readers all the way in San Francisco. Photographers and writers from around the country wanted to get involved. My self-doubt was slowly replaced with pride and confidence, and I finally understood that my insecurities about my age and looks were needless baggage that I was lugging around. Instead of seeing my title and youth as positive and unique, I&amp;#039;d been letting them make me feel inferior, childish, and undeserving. And I was none of those things. I still look young, I still am young, and I still have to deal with rude comments. But a year after starting, I feel more at ease in my powerful job. Filling big shoes when you&amp;#039;re still finding yourself isn&amp;#039;t easy. I may not be Meryl Streep wearing her sky-high stilettos, but I&amp;#039;m managing to walk just fine in mine. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.cosmopolitan.com/career/advice/a4204/looking-young-at-work/>