Welcome to the LinkedInverse

I have been thinking recently about whether LinkedIn has developed its own parallel universe. Not a separate platform, not a different website, but a strange version of itself where the rules appear to have changed. I call it the LinkedInverse and it isn’t the LinkedIn most of us signed up for.

No, the LinkedInverse is the artificial LinkedIn universe where the platform decides to behave in the opposite way to how it was intended. In my, possible naïve, mind LinkedIn was created to help professionals build meaningful connections, share knowledge and develop relationships. Yet somewhere along the way, some of the things that perform best are now what make genuine connection more difficult. It’s a strange condition where a platform designed to bring professional people together can now reward behaviour that encourages distance.

It’s a strange condition where a platform designed to bring professional people together can now reward behaviour that encourages distance.

I should say at this point that I don't dislike LinkedIn. I actually quite like it, although I find that feeling waning. I have met some excellent people through it, learned from experts in areas far outside my own experience and had conversations that would never have happened otherwise. So there are obviously many people who use the platform exactly as it was intended.

And the problem is not LinkedIn itself. The problem is what happens when humans learn how to play the system.

I'm self-employed, working as a trainer and consultant, which means a lot of my working life happens from home. My office is not in a fancy glass building overlooking the city. There are no dramatic views behind my desk (although there is a funeral home directly in my line of sight) and, unfortunately, my morning coffee – brewed in my trusted Tassimo machine - does not usually provide me with a sudden revelation about leadership.

Most days, instead, involve developing training courses, writing material, delivering sessions, researching new topics, responding to clients and trying to solve ordinary problems. Occasionally it involves wondering why my laptop that worked perfectly yesterday has decided that today is the day it will behave differently. Or not at all.

That’s the reality of professional life for many people. It’s often quiet. It involves preparation, checking, learning, making mistakes and trying again. For the self-employed it is often work that has no immediate financial reward. The valuable work is frequently the work nobody sees. But if you believed LinkedIn, this sort of work doesn't exist.

A significant part of my own, unpaid, work involves writing. Yes, I write training material, but I also write blogs because writing helps me explore and share ideas. I tend to ask questions about the things that interest me, particularly around data, AI, ethics, governance, leadership and communication. All of these are important conversations, but they’re not always the conversations that receive the most attention online.

I tend to ask questions about the things that interest me, particularly around data, AI, ethics, governance, leadership and communication. All of these are important conversations, but they’re not always the conversations that receive the most attention online.

This is where the LinkedInverse begins to appear.

LinkedIn's algorithm is designed to reward engagement. This obviously makes sense from a platform perspective. More interaction means more people using the service. The difficulty for me and for many others is that engagement is not the same as value.

The algorithm can count comments, reactions and shares. It can measure activity. What it can’t measure easily is whether those interactions came from genuine discussion, thoughtful disagreement or simply because someone tagged several colleagues hoping their own profile would become more visible.

The algorithm sees activity. it doesn’t necessarily see insight.

A carefully written article that challenges assumptions, explains a complex issue or shares genuine experience may receive very little attention. Meanwhile, a vague statement about leadership, a recycled motivational quote or a post ending with "Do you agree?" can attract hundreds of comments because it requires almost no effort to respond.

The platform rewards reach, but reach isn’t the same thing as relevance. A post can be seen by thousands of people and still change very little, if anything. Another can be read by a small number of people and genuinely influence how they think or work. The numbers don’t always tell the story.

The platform rewards reach, but reach isn’t the same thing as relevance. A post can be seen by thousands of people and still change very little, if anything.

This also changes the meaning of the word "connection". LinkedIn proudly displays the number of connections someone has. But what does a connection actually mean? Someone who has worked with you for years, understands your expertise and would recommend you to others? What about someone who sends a generic invitation, never interacts with anything you share and then contacts you a few days later asking for a "quick chat" about their exciting new service? The contact exists but the relationship may not.

It’s a little like collecting business cards at a conference and then claiming you have a relationship with everyone whose card you collected. The information exists, but the connection hasn’t necessarily been created.

This leads to another feature of the LinkedInverse: networking that is sometimes not really networking. There’s nothing wrong with selling. Businesses need customers and professionals need to promote their services. The problem occurs when every interaction becomes transactional. The pattern is familiar. Someone connects with you, thanks you for accepting, compliments your profile and then quickly moves towards a sales conversation.

"Thanks for connecting. Love your profile. I’m really interested in your company. Would you be open to a quick call?"

Sometimes the answer is yes and a useful conversation follows. Other times the "quick call" is simply a sales pitch that could have been an email (or not made at all). The platform encourages people to talk about building relationships, while sometimes what they are really building is a list. A list of contacts. A list of potential customers. A list of people who might eventually buy something. A glorified social media CRM.

The LinkedInverse also loves statements that are difficult to disagree with.

"Leadership is about people."

"Data is the new oil."

"AI is changing everything."

"Your network is your net worth."

None of these statements are necessarily wrong. The problem is that they require very little thought. They create the appearance of wisdom without necessarily providing much insight. They are LinkedIn wallpaper. They generate reactions because people can agree without needing to stop and think.

Meanwhile, a detailed article about data ethics, poor governance, organisational culture or the unintended consequences of technology asks more from the reader. It requires attention. It requires curiosity. And maybe that’s why it struggles. The LinkedInverse rewards what’s easy to consume rather than what is worthwhile.

The LinkedInverse rewards what’s easy to consume rather than what is worthwhile.

Then there are the experts. I genuinely admire their ability to continually reinvent themselves. One month they are specialists in blockchain. The next they are AI strategists. A few weeks later they are advising organisations about quantum computing while also offering leadership coaching and personal transformation. Their careers move at a speed I can't match. This is true for people I have worked with in the past. Look at their LinkedInverse profile and it bears no relationship to the person I know or the jobs that they've had.

Maybe I've approached expertise incorrectly. It took me years before I felt comfortable saying I knew what I was talking about when it came to statistics, analysis and training. Apparently I could have saved time by simply changing my headline every few weeks and reading a few cheat sheets also posted in the LinkedInverse.

The storytelling culture is another interesting part of this world. Storytelling is anew approach to business and an even newer approach to data. It is powerful if done right, but its not an excuse to make things up…

There are certain posts that appear again and again.

"I was interviewing two candidates..."

"I noticed the cleaner in our office..."

"My taxi driver taught me the greatest lesson about leadership..."

"My child asked me one simple question that changed my entire approach to business..."

Perhaps some of these things happen. After all, we all learn from unexpected moments. The strange thing though is that every experience now seems to arrive with a perfectly packaged lesson attached. Even children in the LinkedInverse appear to spend their spare time developing insights into organisational culture and leadership strategy. That doesn’t sound like real life to me.

Then there are the LinkedInverse announcements.

"I am proud and humbled to announce..." The classic oxymoron

Being proud makes perfect sense. People work hard and should celebrate their achievements. The "humbled" part is where things become problematic. Somewhere along the way it became almost compulsory to announce success while also explaining how modest you are about it.

Somewhere along the way it became almost compulsory to announce success while also explaining how modest you are about it.

I mean, imagine using it in everyday life.

"I'm proud and humbled to announce that I found a parking space outside of Tesco."

"I'm proud and humbled to share that my printer connected first time."

"I'm proud and humbled to reveal that my Teams meeting had no technical problems."

Actually, that last one probably does deserve some recognition even if not to this extent.

And then there are the “airport posts”.

There is obviously something about airports that encourages deep reflection. A laptop, a coffee and a view of an aircraft wing apparently create the perfect conditions for discovering the secrets of leadership.

"As I sit here reflecting..."

I have never seen anyone write a similar post while waiting for their car at Kwik Fit or standing in a queue at the Post Office. But maybe airports have better Wi Fi. Maybe the coffee is stronger and has more caffeine to stimulate the leadership gene. Or maybe, and more likely, certain backgrounds simply look more professional in photographs.

Of course, this is not limited to LinkedIn. Every platform creates incentives, and people naturally adapt to those incentives. If a particular style of content receives more attention, more people will create that style of content. Its not the platform that’s forcing people to do this, but we are simply learning what works. The challenge is that what works for engagement is not always what works for learning.

If a particular style of content receives more attention, more people will create that style of content. Its not the platform that’s forcing people to do this, but we are simply learning what works. The challenge is that what works for engagement is not always what works for learning.

Despite all of these observations, I still enjoy LinkedIn sometimes. There are many thoughtful people who use it well. They share knowledge without pretending to have all the answers. They admit mistakes. They ask questions. They discuss ideas rather than simply promoting themselves. They are there, but just sometimes harder to find.

You often have to scroll past the airport reflections, the overnight experts, the proud and humbled announcements and the motivational statements before you find the people who are actually trying to have a conversation.

So I’ll continue writing and posting on LinkedIn. Not because every article will become popular. Most won't. I’m under no illusions.

I’ll continue to write because exploring ideas helps me understand them. I share with others because some subjects are worth discussing even when they do not fit neatly into an algorithm. I write because every so often somebody adds a comment and says something I wrote helped them think differently about a problem.

That's probably the best type of engagement. It’s not about the biggest number. Or the most reactions. It’s about just knowing that something was useful to somebody else.

And that, I think, is the real difference between LinkedIn and the LinkedInverse. One is supposed to create connections. The other sometimes rewards the appearance of connection.

And now, if this article somehow receives thousands of views, I am of course proud and humbled to announce that my small home office has become an internationally recognised centre for thought leadership.

I may even take a photograph of my mug of coffee, stare thoughtfully towards the funeral home and explain what it taught me about the future of work.

I am sure the algorithm will love it.

Welcome to the LinkedInverse.