LinkedIn and I are Facebook official (again). Status update: It's complicated

Before we begin: Despite the industrial quantities of salt that follow, the author remains a genuine believer in professional networking and the value of LinkedIn for career growth. The author is, in fact, actively open to work and promises that all actual professional communications come with at least 80% less sarcasm. Consider this LinkedIn's equivalent of casual Friday. Writing to maintain my sanity, one essay at a time.

There comes a time in every job-seeking professional's life when you crawl back to the digital hellscape you once proudly deleted. That's me, logging back into LinkedIn with all the enthusiasm of a cat approaching a bathtub. My alternative? Selling coffee grounds as "artisanal soil supplements" on Etsy. So here we are.

The login screen greets me like a passive-aggressive ex: "Welcome back. Those 'other opportunities' didn't work out, huh?" I can practically hear LinkedIn whispering, "Desperation looks good on you." Two clicks in, and I remember exactly why I left—this place has the authenticity of a corporate motivational poster in a windowless break room.

Yet here I am, not just lurking, but actively participating in this circus. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I contemplate my update. Would I really type "Excited to announce I'm exploring new opportunities!" (Translation: "PLEASE SOMEONE HIRE ME BEFORE I HAVE TO MONETIZE MY HOBBY")? Would I really add those cringeworthy hashtags: #NewChapter #CareerJourney #DefinitelyNotDesperate? I haven't sunk that low... yet. But I've thought about it, which might be worse.

My professional summary—crafted with the precision of someone defusing a bomb—now reads like corporate MadLibs: "I'm a user experience research and insights leader with over a decade of experience driving product innovation at the intersection of emerging technology, human behavior, and business strategy." Translation: "I know how humans actually behave, which makes this LinkedIn charade particularly painful to participate in."

The "feed" hits like a tsunami of professional cosplay, and to my horror, I catch myself scrolling... engaging... liking. Did I just comment 'Insightful post!' on a VP's 2,000-word essay about how changing his email signature transformed his leadership journey? Yes. Yes, I did. Because that VP might be hiring.

To survive in this ecosystem, I've reluctantly become what I once mocked: I now "celebrate" when complete strangers get promotions. "Congrats on the new role, Jeremy!" I write to someone who might be Jeremy or possibly Jason—hard to tell from the tiny profile pic of a man in sunglasses holding a fish.

I've caught myself drafting broetry.

One sentence per line.

Because engagement matters.

When searching for jobs.

I actually typed that.

And contemplated posting it.

#KafkaesqueNetworking

I spend hours making my profile "searchable," stuffing it with keywords like I'm optimizing a desperate dating profile. "My role bridges innovation, strategy, and execution—driving user insights that shape product direction and business growth."

The final blow? Thinking about creating one of those "What I've learned recently" posts, complete with bullet points of wisdom I made up while eating cereal straight from the box at 2 PM. I even considered including one of those polls: "What matters most in a job? A) Culture B) Compensation C) Growth D) The sweet release from LinkedIn job searching"?

I now regularly send "keeping in touch" messages to former colleagues. "Just checking in to see how you're doing!" is the professional equivalent of texting an ex at midnight.

My LinkedIn notifications have become my new dopamine source. Someone viewed my profile! Was it a recruiter? No, it was a bot trying to sell me Bitcoin. Still counts as engagement.

I've started endorsing people for skills I have no way of evaluating. Sure, Dave, you're definitely in the top 5% for "Quantum Blockchain Strategy." Whatever gets you to endorse me back for "Not Currently Living Under A Bridge."

So here I am, my transformation complete—from LinkedIn critic to LinkedIn creature. Though I draw the line at adding that "Open to Work" banner—I'd sooner live under a bridge than submit to that final indignity, that digital equivalent of standing on a street corner with a "WILL RESEARCH USERS FOR FOOD" sign. Instead, I prepare yet another follow-up message to a recruiter who's suspiciously quiet.

Welcome to LinkedIn: The perfect example of Goffman's dramaturgical theory - where our front-stage self delivers TED Talk-worthy insights while our backstage self is still trying to assemble that IKEA bookcase I bought two years ago and the screws don't align but it kinda stands so why finish it when I've already stacked my books on it and sure it leans a little to the left but who doesn't these days and every time I walk by I think I should really tighten those bolts but then I remember I lost the Allen wrench somewhere in the couch cushions..... SIRI: REMIND ME TO FIX THE BOOK CASE.

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