the cringe on LinkedIn is unbearable - by Duy Le

If you ask me, there isn't a better embodiment of cringe than LinkedIn, the crown jewel of performative professionalism. If social media is a stage, LinkedIn is the over-enthusiastic actor who keeps forgetting they're not auditioning for an Oscar. LinkedIn has 1 billion active users as of 2024. Every second, three new people jump on the bandwagon. If it were a country, LinkedIn would be the third most populated. But it’d definitely be the cringiest country. There, the humblebrag has reached an art form, and self-promotion is disguised as "thought leadership." Every post feels like a carefully scripted monologue, where job titles become badges of honor and endorsements are the standing ovations everyone craves. This disconnect between intention and execution is where we find ourselves cringing—not just at the awkwardness of the delivery, but at the blatant violation of the social codes that keep our interactions comfortable. But exactly why do we cringe on LinkedIn? What makes us do wha

If you ask me, there isn't a better embodiment of cringe than LinkedIn, the crown jewel of performative professionalism. If social media is a stage, LinkedIn is the over-enthusiastic actor who keeps forgetting they're not auditioning for an Oscar. LinkedIn has 1 billion active users as of 2024. Every second, three new people jump on the bandwagon. If it were a country, LinkedIn would be the third most populated. But it’d definitely be the cringiest country. There, the humblebrag has reached an art form, and self-promotion is disguised as "thought leadership." Every post feels like a carefully