The Tragedy of LinkedIn

It would be funny if it weren’t sad

These days, I make a living ghostwriting for founders on LinkedIn. While this is a vocation that pays (and I am very much in need of vocations that pay), it also has the side effect (or is it the main effect?) of making me spend more time on LinkedIn than I'd like.

Even during its heyday, LinkedIn was a platform I mostly avoided. It felt like a church for our one true lord and savior: capitalism. Everything anyone put out felt like a prostration at the feet of this corporate machinery (variously referred to as Inc., Ltd., Co., or in its edgy disguise as a startup).

As someone who found the whole business rather tiresome, it reminded me of people who were far too earnest about earning their corporate keep, too thirsty for growth in their organization's pyramid, or cloyingly proud of their power or position, which they often revealed through various faux-humble posts.

But even so, it was a small proportion of the corporate workforce that I knew. A vast majority of people I worked with didn’t bother writing stories or dispensing corporate wisdom through these airways. I used to judge people who were overly active on LinkedIn, liked too many company posts, or cheerfully commented on every post from someone higher in the organizational hierarchy. That nose is looking too brown, I’d think.

And then something shifted. LinkedIn became more powerful and somehow worse. I suppose the forces of enshittification that have overtaken the internet also had to come for LinkedIn. And boy, did they come with a vengeance.

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There was a confluence of events, mostly rising out of the failure of SEO, the noise of email (and the eventual demise of its uniqueness), and the rise of personal branding (which began as an influencer phenomenon and later became a necessity for every human being), which led to LinkedIn moving from a cringe recruitment or boardroom brownnosing platform to a dumpster fire of personal branding vomit.

At first, it was a few and then more, and later, when every person realized that unless they were screaming shrilly with takes on topic du jour or how the latest life incident changed their outlook on business, they would be forgotten. A surreal desperation took over.

Companies realized that LinkedIn was a goldmine for leads. It worked, too. Individuals realized that putting themselves out there suddenly opened up a gaggle of interested peers, clients, or opportunities. Coaches sprouted up everywhere, promising individuals that they’d get their LinkedIn game right and that they needed to master it if they hoped to sell whatever they were selling.

The fire raged on, burning through the rotting carcass of civilizational shame.

Now, like a dark comedy that’s too absurd even for Black Mirror, AI has added propane to this dumpster fire. I see AI-generated content everywhere, including leading questions, short sentences, and single-line, paragraph-less posts. I am sick of seeing people posting every day about their lives and sick of seeing portraits on display, all in a desperate attempt to shout over the noise.

See me, see me! See my achievements!

I have been contributing to this mass descent into content hell, too. I might as well get some of that garbage dump warmth. What used to make me cringe no longer does. My skin has become thick, scarred by hundreds of LinkedIn posts. I am among the millions contributing to lowering the bar for basic cringe.

Recently, I've been surprised to see even those I thought were too secure, too above all this, too authentic, doing this. It weakened the light they had shone before, as if they had been stripped of their specialness and stood as another chimp in the LinkedIn gallery of chimps.

I understand it too. This is a time of great uncertainty. The markets are in churn, jobs are being pummeled, and everyone fears what's next. But I cannot believe that our collective response has been reduced to….this: Dancing for the gallery using the cringiest AI slop.

It would be funny if it weren’t sad.

Could be Worse,

Tyag