The Depravity of LinkedIn
or, 0 Highly Effective Habits of a Jaded 28-year-old Quasi-Writer
Here’s something CEOs don’t do: scan the ads for new jobs on LinkedIn with the eyes of a junkie at the slot machine, affixing themselves to fantasies through a click of the finger and the rhythmic canvassing of eyes, reading screeds or matrices of information as though there was some kismet in the code, but knowing, ultimately, that there was none.
Here’s something else CEOs don’t do; write cover letters, pathetic little love missives to companies, mapping out the cartography of their lives as though such a thing could be bundled neatly into a smooth, singular trajectory, describing every moment, move, with a preordained vision.
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LinkedIn is now, for some reason, saved in my bookmarked tabs. I can hit it at a quick click, as easy to access as my email, my messenger, the film comment website riddled with bad grammar that I have been addicted to since 2009. Turns out, while I hate it, I am also now addicted to LinkedIn.
You can take courses there (at time of publication, the #1 most viewed is, as it always seems to be ‘The Six Morning Habits of High Performers—asking LinkedIn devotees their favourite listicle is a bit like asking Catholics their favourite book in the bible).
You can follow Boris Johnson, Bill Gates, or a panoply of entrepreneurs there (what’s the collective noun for self-help financiers? A Ponzi?). You can enjoy how their CVs are presented as though they were any other employee, subject to the whims of HR, which of course, they aren’t (imagine Boris’ comments on pickaninnies and watermelon smiles as the principal of a primary school or, well, the head of an HR department).
You can read the news there. ‘The office is dead. Long live the office?’ was a post by a university alum of mine. He likened ‘going to the office’ to going to the cinema–“both of them are treats” Yay! The delineation between work and home finally eroded, and our transition to serfdom complete. Being at home is the punishment, being at work the reward!
If the internet is about what’s out there, LinkedIn is the place that connects what’s out there to what’s in here (that’s me gesturing at your heart zone with vague earnestness). Work becomes social. Praise becomes feedback. Careers become identities. The gamification of work comes across like smoked chicken sandwiches at a business conference; limp, bland, a copy of the copy of the real thing.
Stunningly, LinkedIn was more profitable than Snapchat or Pinterest last year. CNBC said: “LinkedIn has tried to position itself as a better place than competitors like Instagram or TikTok for business-related ads.” (*screams in B2B-friendly code*).
HOW. Going on LinkedIn feels like attending a high school reunion for a high school you didn’t go to. Going on LinkedIn feels like lunch with the jellyfish-stinging woman from Bridget Jones. Going on LinkedIn feels like watching boys that bullied you in high school becoming soaraway success stories as real estate agents (okay it doesn’t feel like that, it is that).
WSJ says LinkedIn has 673 MILLION MEMBERS. That’s a lot of SHE-os, growth ninjas, marketing ninjas, hacking ninjas, actual ninjas (?). The problem is the forced merriment of this drowning enterprise, the management consultant-speak that dominates, advances the myth of self-optimisation in every corner of our lives.
Yes, Instagram and Facebook do this, but the arch tone and chaotic format of the former allows for more and more absurdity. And the latter has QAnon (not ‘actively recruiting’ on LinkedIn). There is nothing fun or absurd about LinkedIn, because there is nothing fun or absurd about 60+ hour work weeks. It’s just the same revolving door of the same ‘Highly Effective Habits of CEOs’ listicles. (Hint: it involves getting up early).
But the veneer of LinkedIn’s unusable interface gives all posts the impression of authority. E.g.:
I don’t understand how recruiters work (don’t you dare tell me), but I get the vibe they are responsible for LinkedIn’s vibe (also that’s what this article in The Guardian told me).
The unhingedness of LinkedIn is what makes it good fodder for this blog. E.g.
“Few things hurt as much as watching everyone in your community build a vibrant social life while you’re working late and getting up early” is not only the worst sentence ever written, it is profoundly misanthropic and sad. We’re addicted to simple sentences for impact and LinkedIn is a fucking soup of them.
Here is my own version:
I’m 28 and still don’t know how a fax works.
By 24 I thought I would’ve gone viral but haven’t.
By 3pm if I haven’t mainlined 3 iced coffees I’ll pass out.
At 31 I will convince the local witch to turn me into a newt, for everyone’s sakes.
I need to end this blog now as I’m getting too riled up. And I have too many promising leads on LinkedIn to chase.