The pointlessness of LinkedIn

Most days I get an email from LinkedIn. Content may vary, but often it’s to tell me I should congratulate people I don’t really know about work anniversaries in jobs I didn’t know they had. Then a few days ago I got one asking me to congratulate a work colleague on his 10th work anniversary. He died two years ago. That clinched it. I wondered if anyone EVER actually benefitted from being on LinkedIn. I decided I may as well delete my profile completely, but then somehow didn’t quite get round to it – instead I just ranted on about how ridiculous linkedin is to anyone who was prepared to listen at the time.

Then I got a few requests to join the LinkedIn network of a few fellow writers. And following the latest ‘if you add your school, viewings of your profile may rise by 25%’ email (which incidentally I find hard to believe – why would anyone be interested that I went to Devonport High School for girls in Plymouth for a few years some time last century?), I decided it was probably time to check my profile to see if it was remotely relevant to my current life.

God it was boring. People I hardly know, some of them semi-literate (no offence to my very elderly but well intentioned aunt) endorsed me as being able to proof read (seriously? I put proof reading as one of my skills? I can’t even spell for goodness sake!) Lots of people endorsed me as a copywriter, even though I hadn’t done any copywriting for them. How did they know? And okay, I spend a lot of time editing, both my own work and other people’s – but why would the second cousin I met once (yes, in my whole life) who now lives in the back end of the Bible Belt in America, want to endorse me for my editing skills? LinkedIn, I decided, is total bullshit.

I was about to delete my profile when I spotted the one saving grace on my page. A written testament from one of my lovely (possibly slightly more out there) friends, which described me as ‘a true shaman and warrior’.

I’m so proud of that. Seriously. It might not win me any business copywriting work, but who cares? It’s probably the best thing anyone has EVER written about me.

So instead of deleting my Linkedin profile, I decided to change it. It’s an ongoing project, and involves plenty of procrastination time – they encourage you to regularly update, and let your network know about your work changes. I’m planning on adding ‘world domination’, ‘training guinea pigs to break dance’ and ‘making it up as I go along’ to my key skills section. It’s a work in progress.

Talking of which, it’s time to get back to the one job I’m actually interested in pursuing. Writing my next novel. Meanwhile you’re welcome to join my linkedIn network anytime. My ability to train guinea pigs might need a few endorsements…

Break-dancing Guinea pig


6 thoughts on “The pointlessness of LinkedIn

  1. Pingback: Pointless internet profiles | esmebarnaville

  2. Yes, Lu, I quite agree with you about Linked-in. Or is it Link’d In or Linkedin…maybe Lnkd’N? I sometimes wonder what exactly I’m linked in to. A secret job society? A network of highly…professionals, massaging each other’s egos and endlessly endorsing each other until the end of time? I have a profile. Somewhere. I never visit the site or the profile and it’s probably a hundred times more boring than yours. And yes, people keep endorsing me for skills that I never knew I had. If I’m so good, surely someone somewhere must offer me job one day. But no. And I don’t want a boring job writing about stuff that never interested me in the first place anyway. I still think there’s mileage in our Chicken Escape story but then Nick Park and the Wallace and Gromit crew had to get there first. One of the fondest memories in you coming to my house with a car full of balloons and the us tying the stuffed chicken to it and watching it float away. A fitting end to the chicken. Lu, I love you blog and am so proud of you. Good luck with book 2. lots of love xxx


    • Releasing the stuffed chicken into the skies of Bristol tied to a bunch of helium balloons was one of the transformational moments of my life. The end of writing crap to help sell stuff that no one needed anyway.It was a joy to share it with you, Olly! Xxx


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