The Kingdom of Networking

Disclaimer

All characters are fictional. This event never happened.

Timeline

This story takes place when I was a second- or third-year student.

I already knew I most likely wouldn’t tie my life to law, but back then I still had no idea what to do instead. So everything interested me — from art to cryptocurrencies. At the same time, I was quite active in my university’s life.

I was an assistant to a vice-dean, and one day I got the chance to help organize the first-ever “Graduates’ Ball” in the history of the HSE Faculty of Law. The idea was to build “bridges” between alumni who had already achieved a lot and the new leadership that had taken the helm of the faculty.

The event took place in the Mercury Tower in Moscow City, somewhere on the top floors. The place was beautiful and prestigious.

At that point the faculty was about 20 years old, and accordingly the crowd was impressive. Some alumni had genuinely made it far.
There were partners of consulting firms, heads of legal departments — basically everyone who could command respect in the narrow legal world. It’s also important to note that the faculty invited everyone, including recent graduates — they just looked pale compared to the “old-timers”.

Everyone was dressed according to the dress code. Tuxes, beautiful dresses. In short: everyone looked glossy. The faculty even invited professional dancers who performed waltzes, mazurkas, and other historical ballroom dances — as if we were in pre-revolutionary Russia, while somewhere outside Moscow City the French were marching on us.

The alumni-lawyers were having fun: some leaned hard on champagne, some met old classmates and couldn’t stop talking, some danced. But most lawyers still looked like they were in work mode. Not legal work, rather marketing work. People actively introduced themselves and asked each other about their jobs.

It looked spectacular. Everyone in suits, ballroom music, a sea of champagne — and it felt like everyone had 3–4 businesses. And this was before vibe coding even existed!! Their conversations were easy and casual, but you could clearly see what was going on: they were meeting, exchanging contacts. It was obvious they were professionals. Professionals of networking. Everyone understood the value and necessity of this communication.

You meet the head of Amazon’s legal department. What if they need a litigator? Or the other way around — what if I find an employee, a partner, maybe a client? In principle, it wasn’t that important. What mattered was not missing the chance. Who knows when you’ll get into an event like this again?

Undercover Cossacks

There were about eight of us students — not freshmen anymore, but still far from graduation. We had to help organize and run the evening. Someone carried things back and forth, someone greeted guests at the entrance, someone played cloakroom attendant. Catering handled the food and alcohol throughout the event.

As soon as all guests arrived, we had almost nothing left to do.
We were allowed to be at the event among the “legal elite”. We looked younger, were dressed worse, and we had special ginger “volunteer” badges that gave us away as students. “If only we could take them off!”

Our youth also seemed to amuse some guests. Especially older lawyers — both men and women — were more eager to talk to the opposite sex. For example, the head of the tax department of some law firm, a woman around 40 in a green dress, at one point started actively questioning one of the volunteers, and later even danced one of the ballroom dances with him.

I don’t remember the volunteer’s real name, but I remember he was fair-haired, tall, and still looked quite young. Let’s call him Vasya. In fact, the rest of the story is about him.

Vasya was thrilled by this kind of communication — he understood what an important figure was in front of him. He felt like one of the cool guys who can “seize the opportunity”. After all, every person around you is, first and foremost, an opportunity!

With delight he told us how the woman had almost invited him to join her firm already. Which made every volunteer nearby feel like a loser. So many opportunities around! Seven out of eight volunteers were catching FOMO. And I was there too — and yes, I was catching it.

Then something happened to Vasya that cemented his “networker” behavior even more.

Toward the end of the event, pleased with how it went, the dean of the Faculty of Law — the king and god of this feast — gave Vasya his personal phone number.

“Call if you need help. We’ll make it happen.”

That’s it. I’m part of this world. The key is to remember its rules.

When the event ended, all guests left. We had to take down the banner everyone had been taking photos next to and bring it back to the faculty. Most volunteers were dismissed. Only Vasya and I stayed. We loaded the banner into a van and drove to the faculty.

After we arrived and carried the banner into the right office, around 11 p.m. there were four heroes left in the room:
1) Elizaveta, a bright woman with glasses, about 35, head of alumni relations. She was responsible for the whole event and was satisfied.
2) Pyotr Alexandrovich, a rather phlegmatic man around forty, one of the vice-deans, head of some public law department.
3) Vasya, the king of networking, the life of the party, the holder of the dean’s number, an almost-employed candidate.
4) Me

Elizaveta was grateful that we had seen it through and wanted to thank us somehow. So she offered us tea.

Even though it was already quite late, we were a bit out of breath. So we accepted.

Everyone started some small talk. We talked about how happy everyone was with the event.

Elizaveta explained that the faculty threw such a luxurious event because over the years it had produced hundreds of successful people, yet had lost touch with many of them — there were hardly any “bridges” left. Many alumni are surely grateful to their alma mater and could support the faculty, including financially: several people at the event themselves offered help with organization and funding. She added that Harvard has a similar practice, where alumni often become the main sponsors of faculties.

Then Elizaveta started asking me about my Telegram channel, Art’s Context. Back then I was actively running it: I wrote posts about paintings, and I even made small prints (like you find in museums) on thick paper, 10×15 cm. I had some prints with me and gave everyone a picture.

For some reason, while we were talking about this, Vasya got gloomy. Perhaps he felt a bit sad and embarrassed that he hadn’t heard anything like that about Harvard, and he didn’t have a channel of his own.

Next, Pyotr Alexandrovich, who had been quiet until then, offered us a gift: “HSE alumni” merch — an orange mug proudly saying “HSE ALUMNI”. That was nice.

This gift especially touched Vasya. He even felt awkward: they’re giving him a present, and he’s sitting there with nothing to give back.

But Vasya didn’t lose his footing! He quickly figured out who in the room carried the greatest “importance”, stood up, and pulled out his passport. The passport had a leather cover with the USSR emblem. You could tell it was a vintage piece. And Vasya, with dramatic pauses, said:

“This cover was once gifted to me by my grandfather… He used to wear it himself, and then passed it to me. I’m giving it to you.”

Phlegmatic Pyotr Alexandrovich widened his eyes a little, but, in his usual modest manner, replied:

“Vasya, thank you very much! But it’s such a cool thing, and it’s from your grandfather. Better keep it.”

Vasya was determined.

“No. I really want you to accept it as a gift.”

Realizing Vasya wouldn’t back down, Pyotr Alexandrovich calmly put the cover into his back jeans pocket and thanked him.

Vasya sat back down, his confidence returned. The king of networking — nothing less.

After that it was hard to stop him. He carried the conversation, asked questions:

“Will there be more events like this?”

Elizaveta said the faculty would look at the results. But it was quite likely the event would become annual.

“Maybe next time we’ll do something like a concert.”

Hearing this, Vasya said:

“What a luck! Did you know I have my own band? Yes! We play, I’m the vocalist! There are four of us, we play quite a lot and often, here and there. Maybe we could play at your event.”

It was clear that Elizaveta and Pyotr Alexandrovich were already pretty tired. But innate tact and the tolerance for arrogant students acquired at HSE were doing their job. Elizaveta replied:

“Oh cool! You’re doing great! What do you play?”

Vasya:

“We play lots of things. Kino… AC/DC… The Beatles!”

Pyotr Alexandrovich:

“Yes, that’s great. Well done.”

At this point the conversation started to fizzle. Everyone kept talking, but mostly about how tired they were and how nice it would be to be home. I took the hint and started saying goodbye. Vasya looked disappointed:

“What, leaving? Already?”

“Vasya, are you taking the subway home?” Elizaveta asked.

“Yes, subway,” Vasya answered.

“Then it’s definitely time to go. The subway will close soon,” Elizaveta added.

Vasya started putting on his jacket and decided to remind everyone about his skills:

“Also, I can play Nirvana on guitar!”

No one replied, but everyone remembered.

When we left the HSE building, we walked through Kitay-Gorod from Tryokhsvyatitelsky Lane to the метро. It was a beautiful winter night. There was lots of light everywhere, and big snowflakes were falling slowly.

I was really happy for Vasya. It felt like it had been a mind-blowing day for him. So many contacts and opportunities born in a single day.

So what?

Sure, it’s cringe. Probably you shouldn’t be such an awkward networker. Yes, Vasya was “too much” at times — undiplomatic, arrogant. But looking back, who cares? Vasya was proactive and did what he felt he simply had to do.

Yes, it was funny and awkward in places. But it was action.

Vasya was the one who acts, not the one who watches.
I don’t know where Vasya is now or what he’s doing, but for some reason I’m sure he’s doing fine.

Be Vasya when it’s appropriate. And don’t stay a spectator when you need to act.

P.S. When I showed this text to my wife, she said it reads more like a hate speech and that I was arrogant. If that’s true — write to me.

With love for those who act,
Sergey Usynin ❤️