Hold on to your professional network, LinkedIn’s catching strays today from some rando on the internet. Never has it felt so important for me to bury my head in the sand of 1’s and 0’s of the internet, not worry about what the hell other people are doing, and get on with my own life and work.

A pre-post disclaimer:

• If you find yourself in this post and you don’t like it, feel free to post on LinkedIn and give your “7 top reasons why I hate this post – and you should too”.

I don’t hate everyone that uses LinkedIn. No, not at all. It’s just, how do I put this… Spending more than about five minutes scanning posts and profiles, where everyone is a Chief-Something-Or-Other, sharing their latest industry insight that they thought up and definitely no-one else ever did before, gassing up a “connection” who’s saying a heart-felt goodbye to a solid 7 years in their previous role to move into that inevevitable level-up they’re totally ready for, excited about and deserve – makes me, before tearing out my eyeballs, want to post a “Bye-bye, Internet – Hello freedom!” story on my own LinkedIn.

I’ll be sure to include overinflating of my confidence, qualifications, work achievements, friendships, and use it as a clever segue into advertising for my new company and next meet-up or LinkedIn event you should totally come to.

I have been LinkedIn.

But I always felt on the outside. I felt like an awkward character in a sitcom. The one that walks into a conversation with a big smile on his face and fake laugh, says something awkward and off-base, to have everyone shuffle off looking into their drinks or stare at him blankly.

I am on the autism spectrum. On the line between “this person has autism” and “this guy is just a bit wierd and flakey and needs to just get better at life”. It’s an awkward place to be sometimes. I’m thankful I got diagnosed with that and ADHD as it does explain some experiences.

For example, there are stories of people absolutely shocked to hear about their antics the previous night after their 7th shot of Tequila which was definitely only 3 wasn’t it? They swear they don’t remember a damn thing. “Did I REALLY say that?”, and “Oh how embarrassing… Was I being mean? Was I a dick?”

Imagine having that experience, but instead of 7 shots of Tequila, it was 7 hours of doom-scrolling old acquaintences’ and current friends business successes and prowess.

LinkedIn’s special brand of FOMO I like to call “You gotta be LinkedIn to win”, drives you to re-word your profile for the nth time in the last 2 years. Now you’re posting some crap about your achievements over the last 2 decades: You’ve been a professional pilot, videographer, software engineer, flight simulator builder, work-culture reformer, tech guru and ambassador, transforming the processes, practices and technologies of multiple organisations, making a measurable impact to the outcomes of staff, clients and KPIs. To make yourself human, it’s vital to remind the world you like to play board games, smoke meats, and/or are an amateur classical pianist. Like a normal person.

Imagine coming back in 3 months, and reading words that, like the aforementioned morning-after, you have absolutely no recollection of writing. Realising that hackers have better ways to use their time than hacking into and writing this rubbish on your profile – and a quick check on the level of your Tequila – you come to the conclusion that some strange, historical shadow self wrote this. You’ve been grinding the last few months, super busy, head down, getting stuff done! ACTUALLY making a difference and loving life – it’s been great.

Ashamed of this obviously drunk-on-something persona, you quickly log in to empty your profile details – perhaps even “temporarily suspend” your account. Then come the questions.

“What part of me can write stuff like this? What possessed me to think this sounded good at the time?” You ask, as you take a swig from the Tequila bottle.

So I hear (from your profile) you’re a culture expert?

Brilliant. Then you’ll understand exactly what I’m about to say.

LinkedIn is a cult.

No wait – that was a joke! More like a cult-ture. Culture, yes, that’s what I meant. Can’t spell culture without cult… That’s a joke too! Hahahaha… ahh.

A story for another post, but I’ve had a couple of involvements with organised religion over my life. I feel roughly the same sense of shame when I look back at myself in those periods, as I do looking at my old LinkedIn writings.

Another bias of LinkedIn shows when even people’s “failure” posts are wrapped in a glowing story of success. It’s all about positive self-promotion. Which hey, you go guy/girl, get it, shout those successes from the rooftops. I’m introspective, and self-critical to a healthy degree (after much work). I have had my most transformative and wonderful interactions, by sharing my stories, unfiltered and honest. And that’s not for everyone, and not for LinkedIn!

So what DID happen to me? What part of me DID write this bollocks? This is where you and millions of other LinkedInians can go about your merry network-updating, plus-oneing, “I’m stoked to announce” lives. LinkedIn is not a healthy place for a person like me. To someone with my neurology, I’ve had to learn that not everything on LinkedIn is fake, phony, and insincere. Even if some of it IS, in the neurotypical world this still has some kind of societal value in terms of “normality”. It’s “the way it’s done around here”, the culture. It can help people feel generally optimistic, connected, excited, motivated to do better perhaps. Calling it out as fake, makes me look like almost as much of a dick as <redacted> was trying to dance with the bouncer saying “he loves it” while spilling their Tequila all over him.

I “get” this on an academic level, but I do not and can not feel this value in my own life. When trying to participate, I feel like I’m broken, different, missing out, and not living up to this standard, this “way” – this culture – of LinkedIn. I do not belong there – I feel fake, phony, and insincere.

It’s ok to not belong.

So that embarassing rubbish that I wrote on my profile? Well (and boy I feel some of that self-loathing rising up in my gullet even saying this) it’s mostly true. I didn’t need LinkedIn at all to get where I’m at now, and I won’t need it, or choose to use it where I’m going (don’t ask I have no idea). I get far more genuine success, productivity, happiness, optimism, networks, friendships, and general well-being from being LinkedOut.

But, that’s just me. Is it you too?

Do you have your own views on LinkedIn culture and whether some people just “don’t belong”? Post a reply and let me know below, or join me at my next networking event…