Last month, I came across a LinkedIn business post from a company I follow. It turns out that, while on a countryside walk near their house, the founder had stepped in a puddle.
C’est nes pas une puddle, it seems. Through the magic of LinkedIn, an event so bland it could barely be described as an anecdote became a Guardian Long Read on the importance of staying alert in business (complete with three CSI-worthy photographs of said puddle).
Forgive me for forcing this duller-than-puddle-water story onto you, dear reader. But it got me thinking: when exactly did LinkedIn users say goodbye to shame? Most of us have noticed a steady decline in our feeds that has seen good business sense replaced with colossal levels of cringe. With a side of, for some reason, shirtless gym pics.
It turns out there is a cause: enshittification. First coined in 2022, it’s now been named word of the year twice in a row (first by the American Dialect Society in 2023, then by the national dictionary of Australia last week).
Writer Cory Doctorow, who originated the term, describes enshittification as “the gradual deterioration of a service or product brought about by a reduction in the quality of service provided, especially of an online platform, and as a consequence of profit-seeking.”
In the case of LinkedIn-shittification, that profit-seeking is embodied by so-called ‘LinkedInfluencers’. Identified by their AI-generated LinkedIn photo,they are eager to publish the next viral LinkedIn post. Sadly, though, the thought leaders are overthinking things.
You can’t just have a normal week if you’re going to build a personal LinkedIn brand. Any banal interaction must now be revamped with the elevated language of a TedTalk, every private milestone demands a press release decorated with a wreath of flexed bicep emojis.
Look at James Watt, ex-CEO of Brewdog, who recently wrote a post entitled ‘How I lost £150,000 but gained a fiancé’ (do those two come in order of importance, James?). Later this month, I predict the site will be flooded with grown men and women making ‘deal announcements’ to document the PS5 they got for Christmas.
Tech analysts have also been tracking the decline of LinkedIn Recruiter. Limited integrations, coupled with an outdated “buy-more-and-blast-all” model, have resulted in a frustrating experience for recruiters, who now spend more time InMail than connecting with candidates.
Unsurprisingly, engagement is dropping. Data from analyst Richard van der Blom shows large drops in reach, with average views per post falling by 16% in the year to October 2023. Platform algorithm changes are likely having an impact here, but so too is user satisfaction.
Of course, LinkedIn is not alone. Enshittification, says Doctorow, is part of the tech cycle. Look at Facebook, effectively a feed of AI-generated ads. And X, now a ghost town following a takeover by Elon Musk, it’s filled with bots and emptying of both users and advertisers.
X’s disastrous third act has shown us what comes after enshittification. Let’s call it enlist-ification; a mass exodus where users flock to rival platforms like BlueSky. But no real alternative has emerged to rival LinkedIn yet. Where do we go from here?
Some have turned to parody. SURREAL is one brand that has used anti-marketing tactics to satirise the holier-than-thou language of LinkedIn. Those desperate to escape the Matrix have started a subreddit called r/LinkedInLunatics, a channel for “sharing and discussing” (naming and shaming) what moderators describe as the platform’s rampant virtue signaling.
Image source: linkedin.com/company/surrealuk/
It’s easy to poke fun. Credit, though, must also be given. Running a business can be lonely, and LinkedIn has helped many sole traders to build their network. The site has also created real career opportunities: I got my first ‘adult’ job out of university from a LinkedIn message.
It’s even become a trigger for genuine social change. In September, female entrepreneurs using the platform brought to light how Innovate UK had short-changed women founders by holding back £2m worth of grants. Their online activism led to a U-turn from the organisation.
Such trophies are now rare, however. And enshittification has hit at a time when the platform might never be more necessary. LinkedIn launched shortly after the Dot Com bubble burst in 2001. In the ensuing economic bloodbath, two million workers were laid off globally.
Today’s landscape looks remarkably similar. Tech layoffs have continued and unemployment is at a record high in the UK. At the start of 2024, LinkedIn saw a 55% increase in premium subscriptions as job hunters leaned on the site. Further evidence that, despite the issues, no younger, better platform has arrived to challenge the ‘professional’ social media space.
Ironically, that entrepreneur’s puddle could now provide a good metaphor for enshittification. Perhaps all tech platforms are temporary and, in a dreary economy, a new, brighter solution will always emerge. Perhaps it is a source of reflection; a chance for LinkedIn to address the problems and mop up its image. Or perhaps, in the end, it was always just a puddle.
