Linkedin Mirage

The LinkedIn Mirage: A Recipe for Professional Self-Sabotage (Yields: One Very Confused Adult)

Ah, LinkedIn—the digital equivalent of a 19th-century salon where the only currency is Professional Envy, and the only currency you’ll ever have is the kind you spend on coffee to fuel your existential dread. You’ve spent years crafting your “personal brand,” only to realize it’s just a digital version of a Halloween costume you forgot to take off. Welcome to the LinkedIn Mirage, where every “thought leader” is just a person who Googled “how to sound smart in 140 characters” and then spent three hours perfecting their “about” section. The goal isn’t to build a career—it’s to build a curated illusion of one, while quietly questioning whether your last promotion was a mistake or just the universe’s way of saying, “You’re welcome.”

This isn’t a guide to networking (though it will make you excellent at it). No, this is a recipe—a step-by-step manual for turning your professional life into a high-stakes game of “How Low Can You Go Before Someone Asks for a Reference?” Follow these instructions closely, and you’ll achieve the ultimate career milestone: looking like a rockstar on paper while internally screaming, “I don’t even know what a rockstar is anymore!”

The LinkedIn Mirage

(Yields: One C-Suite Shadow, 100% guaranteed)

Ingredients:

1 cup of “grateful” for every minor achievement
2 tbsp of “new chapter” (for layoffs, quits, or existential crises)
3 oz of “disruptive innovation” (use sparingly; it’s mostly just “I used Excel”)
1 tsp of “thought leadership” (preferably regurgitated from a podcast you half-listened to)
1/2 cup of “networking” (aka pretending to know people who don’t know you)
1 dash of “Imposter Syndrome” (mandatory; adds depth)
1 LinkedIn Premium subscription (optional, but highly recommended for the “Comparison Audit”)

Instructions:

The “Announcement” Protocol Never let a win happen without a 10-step PR campaign. If you got a raise, don’t just take it—announce it. Use phrases like “After years of humble growth, I’m honored to share this milestone” (even if the raise was 3% and you had to ask for it). The key is to spend more time crafting the post than you did on the actual work. After all, if you’re not busy curating your success, you might realize it’s not as impressive as you thought.

Pro Tip: If you’re feeling bold, add a hashtag like #BlindSideHustle. It’s like #GirlBoss but with more existential dread.
The Comparison Audit (Premium) Every morning, fire up LinkedIn and spend 30 minutes scrolling through profiles of people who:
- Started their careers five years ago.
- Have titles you can’t pronounce.
- Post selfies with their dogs wearing “CEO” bandanas. Use their “Announcements” as a personal benchmark for failure. If their “thought leadership” is just reposting a LinkedIn article from 2018, congratulations—you’ve officially entered the Professional Rat Race. The goal isn’t to keep up; it’s to convince yourself you’re keeping up while secretly Googling “how to fake a startup.”
The “Endorsement” Game Exchange endorsements for skills you’ve never used. Endorse someone for “Python” even though you last wrote code in high school. Endorse a colleague for “Project Management” while they’re currently managing their own panic attacks. This builds your “professional credibility” (or at least the illusion of it). Just remember: the more endorsements you have for skills you don’t possess, the more you’ll dread the day someone actually asks you to use them.

Optional: If you’re feeling really committed, endorse yourself for “Emotional Intelligence.” It’s a safe bet—no one will call you out on it.
The Thought Leadership Loop Post “content” that is 90% platitudes and 10% sheer desperation. Share articles about “how to build a personal brand” while your personal brand is currently a Tinder profile from 2016. Quote motivational speakers you’ve never met. The key is to sound like you’re ahead of the curve, even if you’re just repeating what everyone else is repeating. After all, if you’re not contributing to the noise, you might realize you’re just another cog in the Content Grind.

Bonus: If you’re feeling extra, start a newsletter. The worst that can happen is you get 12 subscribers—your mom and your uncle Bob.

Note from the Chef:

This recipe is not a joke. It’s a metaphor. Well, it’s a metaphor for a joke. Either way, the LinkedIn Mirage is a self-fulfilling prophecy of professional misery. You’ll spend more time managing your online persona than actually doing your job, and by the time you realize it, you’ll be so far removed from reality that you’ll start believing your own hype. Which, let’s be honest, is the only way to survive in this digital age.

Conclusion: So there you have it—the LinkedIn Mirage, a culinary masterpiece of self-sabotage served with a side of existential dread. You’ve spent years building a digital alter ego, only to realize it’s just a fancy way of saying “I’m not as together as I pretend to be.” But hey, at least you’re not alone in your delusion. The entire platform is one giant group chat of people pretending to have their lives together while secretly Googling “how to quit my job without burning bridges.”

In the end, the LinkedIn Mirage isn’t about success—it’s about the illusion of success. And honestly? That’s the only kind of success most of us can handle. Just don’t tell anyone I gave you the recipe. They might start asking for seconds.