Did anyone else have that “It’s winter break and I’m still yet to secure that summer internship” meltdown, or was that just me?
I raced to every platform and hit “apply, apply, apply,” only to realize that, according to the internet, what people really wanted wasn’t just my resume or that god-awful cover letter. They wanted that blue-and-white website page to look sexy too. And mine absolutely did not. So I glossed her up, pressing all the buttons, maneuvering all the things, hoping confidence could be added retroactively.
To put it simply, LinkedIn is where panic puts on business casual.
The platform asks us to perform competently at all times. But not actual competence, just the visual suggestion of it. You need a photo that says approachable but not fun, ambitious but not desperate. This is not a dating app, and the rules are somehow stricter. I had exactly one photo, taken last summer specifically for LinkedIn. After asking to retake it five times and still hating the result, I selected the “best” one and prayed everyone would be too distracted by my so-called accomplishments to notice that my face looked puffy and my smile was awkward.
I’m constantly lining myself up against others for the sake of looking good online, carefully curating my language to match my peers. On LinkedIn, no one is “looking.” They’re “exploring opportunities.” No one is unsure. They’re “eager to grow.” And every time I see someone’s “excited to announce” post, I submit ten more internship applications out of spite and fear. I commented that last bit on a TikTok, and it got a whole 30 likes. People agree.
College turns LinkedIn into a spectator sport. My peers become updates. Every scroll delivers another smiling face, another new role, another reminder that time is, in fact, passing. To me, it feels like performance art because it feels so staged. And yet, we endorse each other. We hit the clap button or the heart if we’re feeling bold. We comment “Congrats!” like it’s a reflex.
I’m not hating on LinkedIn. I can’t even lie, I’m a little addicted. I’m nosy. I like to check in on recent graduates from my school or see what internships my classmates have lined up, but I also can’t deny that the platform feels deeply artificial and deeply anxiety-inducing at the same time.
I get it. We want a way to measure success, especially when the future feels so uncertain. LinkedIn just so happens to be the place where we do that measuring publicly. Still, sometimes it feels like the site belongs in a museum, sealed behind glass with velvet ropes, so we can all stand back, observe, and let out our quiet “oohs” and “aahs” from a safe distance.
So if my LinkedIn profile feels like performance art, that’s because it is. A carefully curated exhibit titled Emerging Professional. I did get that summer internship, by the way, but I’m not quite ready to spend an hour crafting the perfect announcement just yet.Â
In the meantime, be a dear and connect with me. I’m nowhere near that 500+.