Quitting LinkedIn, On LinkedIn
I joined LinkedIn in August 2011. I should, by now, be able to tell you what value I received from LinkedIn. I am sure that, during the hiring process, my interviewers looked at my work history before a call, but the honest answer is more of a shrug. The obvious answer should have been "distribution" — it is for many. For those willing to play to the algorithm, their work can be distributed to tens of thousands, even millions, but I no longer feel comfortable playing to the algorithm.
I feel that the way to truly know if I am getting meaningful value from LinkedIn is to remove my profile and see what happens. See how my network suffers — if it suffers. I've removed my profile photo, which sort of removes any attribution to a human. I've deleted my work history; I probably didn't need to do that, but I think it would remove me from other people's LinkedIn search results. I kept my projects, mostly because some of them have co-authorship with other people, and removing them might get complicated — especially if I decide to come back.
That's probably enough to make my profile more or less useless.
This is NOT a protest; this is theatre, art, a performance piece On Work and the Future of Work. LinkedIn is the de facto platform for "work" — it's where people tell you how good a job they are doing at their job, it's where people like me are supposed to go to build their network, social and economic capital and ultimately their careers. So it seems fitting that I use my profile as the canvas for making a statement about what work is.
I will try another way.
It's not LinkedIn, it's me
For as long as I can remember, when too many people are doing the same things, I start looking for the exit. Social media requires everyone to play to the same algorithm in the same way, same content, same tone, same schedules, same cheat sheets, same audience — same shapes. I still feel the FOMO; it's why I pushed through these uncomfortable feelings for 15 years. I believed that if I cared about my career, I needed a LinkedIn account. I saw the potential to build my network. But always looking for the exit makes me ineffective.
LinkedIn probably just isn't for me — I will try another way.
Plenty of people get real, measurable value from LinkedIn — jobs, clients, an actual network. I have not!
This is why I'm excited about this experiment. Am I going to miss it? Is my network actually going to suffer? How?
LinkedIn becomes a one-way sign. Lead gen with no inbox. If someone's interest survives the trip from there to here, that's a pretty good filter, I'd say.
Rented space vs. land
A profile is rented space — arranged to someone else's template, ranked by someone else's algorithm, yours right up until it isn't. This site is land. I own it. If my work is worth finding, it should live somewhere I control, not in a room I'm borrowing inside someone else's building.
If my work is worth finding, it should be findable on land I own — not in rented space in a feed.
So the experiment is half test, half excuse to finally tend my own corner of the internet.
- Admit I don't know what I get from it
- Strip the profile down to a signpost
- Last a full year without logging in
- Build something I'd rather send people to anyway
If you came here from a LinkedIn profile that suddenly looks abandoned — good. It isn't abandoned. It's pointing. The work didn't go anywhere; it just moved to where it belongs.
Check back in a year. I'll tell you what I missed.