Every Unhinged Thing I Had to Do to Be Taken Seriously at Work
- Sheridan Guerrette
- Aug 27, 2025
- 7 min read
Updated: May 9
On Bronzer, Fur Coats, Pants, Mom Cards, and the Toolkit that Kept Me Alive in Rooms Full of Men Twice My Age.
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Previously on What Sheridan Said...
Sheridan Guerrette, that audacious little chaos agent who once lied her way into power before she could legally order a vodka soda, spills the wildest origin story yet. At nineteen, she straight-up pretended to be WAY OLDER, marched into East Coast restaurants and bars, fired bartenders, dodged cops, and ran the whole show like she owned the place. Her bosses—Army Special Forces vets—put her through psychological boot camp drills that turned her into a walking surveillance system, spotting every flaw in a room without even breaking stride. It was reckless, borderline insane, and absolutely illegal… but she pulled it off with pure nerve and never looked back. Now she’s sending ballsy pitches that make her laugh out loud, still running on that same forged confidence. But after proving audacity beats qualifications every single time, what wildly unreasonable move is she cooking up next?
Before I Could Legally Order a Vodka Soda
August 20th, 2025
How I Lied My Way Into Power: Proof That Audacity Beats Qualifications Every Time
Last week, I told you about how I lied about my age to get the job I wanted. I was nineteen, pretending to be twenty-seven. The part I didn’t get into was how I pulled that off. A lot of you asked me that, and honestly, it wasn’t one thing. It was everything. I smelled like an old lady. My perfume wasn’t fruity, flirty, or playful; it was powdery, mature, the kind of smell that clings to velvet drapes and pearls. And I wore pearls, always. My shoes were closed-toe stilettos; I never wore sandals, never peep-toes, always sharp and pointed. My coats were fur, real, the coat was a statement, and there was only one statement I wanted to make: you are not dealing with a child. My wardrobe was built around old-school business dresses and tailored suits, the kind of thing you picture in faded photographs from the seventies when offices were still full of cigarette smoke.
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