"I'm paraphrasing, but he said a big part of him was cringing at the idea of joining the fray and contributing to so much of what he saw in his own LinkedIn feed, which he characterized as "bullshit." Too many empty platitudes, obvious takes, and calculated attempts at vulnerability (he was determined no one would ever see him cry on LinkedIn). He didn't want to be a thought leader if the treacle he was seeing in his feed was "thought leadership.""
"All fair points, and I was fixated on the idea that he thought he had to adopt this manner of speaking and engaging online. Or that he had to adopt a certain manner at all. He was worried he'd be breaking some kind of social contract if he was just... himself, and that worry was freezing him in his tracks."
"This is one of the downsides of influencer creep; it isn't just that more people in every walk of life feel pressure to create more social media all the time; or that we're all posting meta versions of ourselves that further alienate us from our actual experience of the world. People feel pressure to craft a meta-self they don't even agree with."
A fintech executive resisted becoming active on LinkedIn despite marketing goals centered on credibility, subject-matter reputation, conversation, and event visibility. The executive's reluctance stemmed from existential discomfort rather than ignorance of benefits. He described much of LinkedIn content as "bullshit": empty platitudes, obvious takes, and calculated attempts at vulnerability, and refused to perform contrived emotional displays. The executive feared that authentic self-expression would violate an unwritten social contract and freeze his willingness to engage. Influencer creep amplifies pressure across professions to produce staged, meta selves, prompting many people to craft personas they do not actually agree with.
Read at The Drum
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