Most tools start with a search box. Salire starts by getting to know you, because everything downstream — matching, people, writing — is only as good as that.
Pick a name, a tone, and a signature. Warm and encouraging, or direct and momentum-obsessed — it shapes every message you get from here on.
A résumé, a LinkedIn PDF export, or both. It reads them into one profile — experience, skills, location, links — and shows you exactly what it understood before anything else happens. Fix what’s wrong. Approve the rest.
Matches with reasons, people worth a conversation, first drafts to edit rather than blank pages, a plan worked back from where you want to be, with this week’s steps on one page. You stay the one who clicks send.
you and your agent, roped togetherClimbers tied into one rope, so each can hold the other. The leader goes first.
Recruiters, founders and clients search your name before they reply to you. Most career tools ignore what they find. Salire measures it, shows you the number, and works on it a little every day — so the next opportunity comes to you instead of the other way round.
Not points for using the app — a crawl of what actually exists about you in public, refreshed weekly and kept as history so you can see it move.
Every crawl ends with ranked recommendations aimed at the weakest part of the score — the one or two things that would move it most, not a listicle.
Tell the agent what you’re drawn to, or let it start from your history. It proposes a handful of distinct directions; you react — love it, pass, add one of your own — and the list converges.
Pick one direction and it’s written up as where you’ll be in six or twelve months. Not quite right? Say so in chat — it’s rewritten in place, or re-aimed entirely, and one click undoes it.
Monthly milestones worked back from the north star, each broken into weekly goals and steps marked yours or the agent’s. Its steps are real work: follow a company, find the people, write the first note, research a post with its sources cited. Break any month into dated tasks when you’re ready.
Everything it writes waits in one review queue. You edit, then send or post it yourself — through official APIs where they exist (Dev.to today), copy-and-open everywhere else. Each week closes with a review: what got done, what carries over, and goals written for the weeks ahead.
By next October you’re running a platform team of eight, with the scheduler rewrite as the story you tell.
At 40M packages a year, the routing model wasn’t our problem. The handoffs were. Two carriers reported the same failure this quarter [1][2] …
Every role gets a score, and every score gets an explanation: what you clearly have, what’s partial, and which must-haves you’re missing. Your location, sectors, and named companies shape the search — and you can change them in one place.
Behind every company are a handful of people who’d actually take your call. Salire finds them from public sources, ranks them against your background, and tells you why each one is worth twenty minutes.
Cover letters, intro emails, posts, application answers. The agent starts from what you’ve actually written and done — your blog, a paper, the notes in your profile — so the draft is about your real work, and it strips the tells everyone recognises: “I’m excited to leverage,” “proven track record,” the adjective triplets. Then it’s yours to edit.
I am excited to leverage my proven track record…
Lukas — I read your write-up on the scheduler rewrite. We hit the same wall at GrandCanals in 2016 and solved it the ugly way first. If you have twenty minutes, I’d like to compare notes.
The Chrome extension fills Greenhouse, Lever and Ashby applications from your profile and the résumé tailored for that role. Every field it touched is outlined — green for filled, amber for drafted, dashed where it left something for you.
Every month is a camp, every camp has weekly goals, and every step has an owner. Pick a camp to see inside — whether you’re chasing a first internship or your next executive role.
Most career plans are a list you feel bad about. This one is a roadmap of numbered steps, each with an owner. The agent’s steps run on one click — and what they produce comes back to you as a draft, a shortlist, or a name, never as something already sent.
A career is a reputation. You do the climbing; an agent holding your rope has to be careful with it — so these aren’t settings, they’re rules.
Every letter, post, email and application ends with you reading it and pressing the button. Drafts are drafts.
No session automation, no connection requests on your behalf, no scraping through your login. That would risk the account you’re trying to build.
People come from public text that names them. Company briefs say when they’re grounded and when they’re not. Everything in your graph records how it was found.
The profile it builds from your résumé is the first thing you approve, not something you discover later in a badly-matched role.
No, deliberately. Salire prepares everything — tailored résumé, cover letter, answers to the actual form questions — and the extension fills the form. You read it and submit. Mass auto-apply gets people flagged and gets them roles they didn’t want.
A résumé or a LinkedIn PDF export (Profile → More → Save to PDF). That builds the profile everything else reads. Links to your writing make the drafts noticeably better, and you can add those any time.
Public sources: company team pages, GitHub organisations, and — when enabled — a third-party public-profile index. Salire never logs into LinkedIn or drives your account. Names are extracted only from text that literally contains them.
It’s stored in your account and sent to the AI models that parse and draft for you (via OpenRouter, Google, and Mistral for OCR). It isn’t shared with employers or recruiters and isn’t used to train anything. The privacy statement lists every processor.
Yes. “Start over” in the account menu deletes every row belonging to you in one transaction — profile, documents, graph, drafts, conversations, applications.
A weekly crawl of your real public footprint — a grounded web search for your name, your blog’s post count and recency, GitHub stats, whether your LinkedIn and X profiles exist and have substance, and how complete your profile is — weighted into one number out of 100 and kept as history. It measures the world, not your activity in the app, so the only way to move it is to change what’s out there. The recommendations tell you where to start.
It drafts; you publish. Where an official write API exists (Dev.to today) a single click in Studio publishes under your account. Everywhere else — LinkedIn, Substack, Medium — it hands you the finished piece and opens the editor. Automating those platforms’ sessions violates their terms and risks your account, so Salire doesn’t.
The one you give it. You name it, choose its tone and its signature. The name is yours — Nova, Sage, Poppy, whatever — and the tone shapes every message. It can be changed later.
Five short questions, one résumé, and a profile you approve before anything else happens. Then the climb starts.
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