At the time I am writing this, almost exactly four months—to the day— have elapsed since I ecstatically handed in the very last assignment of my undergraduate career at Trent University, and thus– stopped ‘bleeding green’. Needless to say, this transitional period other recent graduates and I attempt to navigate is naturally accompanied by an abrupt shift in priorities. I spent the subsequent days celebrating the submission of my final assignment (a media studies essay essentially about ‘society’ and how we ‘live in one’) by basking in late April sun, paying my Stardew Valley crops much needed TLC, and guzzling White Claws slightly earlier in the day than what is widely considered socially acceptable. My screen time was high, and step counts were low. My appearance was haggard, and you couldn't pay me to care. Hedonism never felt so good. 

After successfully lobbing my empties in the recycle bin from my seated position on the porch, I let out a relieved sigh, “I earned this…” I thought to myself.  In this moment, the smile that had found refuge on my face over the last 48 hours felt immovable, and the glowing sillage of pride I now radiated felt like less of a brief celebration–but a new way of life. Years of blood (more than I would have liked), sweat, and prerequisite waivers later, I had at long last been spat out the backside of the beast that is higher education, beaten and battered—but alive—in a pool of (green!) blood I had (metaphorically) shed for Trent.  

….That was, until day three, where—much like that of a recent corpse—I began seeing some real decomposition with regards to my post-graduate bliss. It was on this day I had realized there was a synonym for freely waking in the wee hours of the afternoon with no responsibilities beyond finding my next meal. Unemployment. And just like that, the aforementioned euphoric state was instantly diluted with enough truth serum for me to comprehend that the absence of one responsibility does not signal the absence of another. I sculled the remaining third of lukewarm seltzer, reclined my lawn chair to an upright position, paused my podcast, and sat with myself for a moment. 

“Enough is enough”, I hissed. 

I proceeded to close the open Sephora app on my phone and, for the first time in months, entered the cybersphere where any budding young professional goes to flourish. No, not Indeed—I have my coveted piece of paper now. I’m talking about LinkedIn, baby! It had been so long since the time I had last touched my profile, I was still a ‘Biology major’ whose anticipated program completion was ‘April 2022’ (*weeps in 5th year Arts & Science*)—not to mention my display photo had a brunette bob and a beautifying snapchat filter on—I had my work cut out for me. 

As a prospective journalist who up until very recently (Thanks, Arthur!), had no relevant experience to show for it, convincing faceless media publication companies to hire me based on my passion, respectable essay grades and newly obtained B.A.Sc. title was a rather daunting task, and saw little payoff. My legitimate professional connections were few and far between, and mostly consisted of retail managers who probably couldn't tell you what colour my eyes are—let alone vouch for my interpersonal skills and work ethic. 

Though the majority of my LinkedIn screetime was spent in the ‘jobs’ category (while trying not to perceive algorithmic alerts that I have ‘matching qualifications’ for a retail position as personal slights) the ‘home’ feed is where I truly began to develop my passionate disdain for the platform. Full of innocuous, slightly exaggerated, topical horn-toots, all acting as desperate shots in the dark, hopeful to spear the interest of a potential paycheque provider, the ‘LinkedInfluncer’ who is constantly ‘thrilled to announce’ something, is an online entity I could never quite wrap my head around (TLDR; LinkedIn encourages an awkward fusion of users' professional and personal identities that often come off as vapid and braggadocious). As my ill-fated career cruise continued, LinkedIn quickly began to feel less like an episode of Succession and more like Indeed wearing an RW&CO pantsuit…

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Since the majority of my connections at the time were my closest friends from school who I love and respect, I remained willing to give LinkedIn a chance and better understand why it is widely regarded as an asset in the unceasing rat race. Seeing a handful of profiles belonging to my especially driven peers with extensive academic and personal accolades to attest to their brilliance, inspired me to build a ‘lurkable’ profile of my own. One that clearly states my experience and goals so any potential wandering eyes of CBC producers will know exactly which inexperienced young and budding journalist to take a chance on. 

I devoted more time perusing LinkedIn’s ‘My Network’ and ‘Analytics’ sections to polish up my outdated personal details and drown out some of the faux-intellectual noise on my home feed. After following companies of my interest, in addition to any and all employees with one or more mutual connection, I swallowed my pride and crafted my first LinkedIn post, a premade template alerting my network I am ‘looking for a new role’ and ‘#OpenToWork’. I then kicked back, waiting on the algorithm ‘to do its thing’, letting hiring managers flood my inbox—this would not, in fact, transpire. Seven months later and my post has received a total of three comments, two being bots, and one being an obviously LinkedIn-generated reply prompt from my dear friend and infamous community troll, writing; ‘Good luck on your search!’. I could feel their conniving giggles from behind the screen. 

Today, my general attitude towards the platform is neutral, teetering on negative, but the fact I still have an active profile, and promptly update my network when I reach professional and educational milestones, tells me I still see enough potential for personal gain in it to keep it installed. What potential is that exactly? probably the same as what I saw when I crafted my inaugural post/unemployed self-report, either way, the mixture of feelings I hold towards this app is a spectacle in and of itself.

I was interested to know if my peers harboured similar resentment, or not, and why. I cast my line to the waters of my Instagram following, and managed to get a few bites from exhausted students and recent graduates who were willing to share their thoughts and experiences on the platform with me. To no surprise, the responses were overwhelmingly negative. One recent graduate expressed her profuse contempt and suspicion concerning the effectiveness of the  network's mission statement that promises to “...connect the world's professionals to make them more productive and successful.” 

She wrote “...i hate it mostly because half of the profiles on it are pyramid schemes…*laughing emoticon*”, I smile at my phone, letting out a forceful exhale from my nose, ‘liking’ her message in agreement. She followed up saying she feels LinkedIn is quite challenging to efficiently utilize as a networking tool because it is “...not effective”. She elaborated, “...i’ve asked many people for 'coffee chats'”, “...some of them never replied or never felt interested to connect with me…I don’t know anyone that actually benefited from LinkedIn”. Me either anon, me either. 

Another Trent community member responded via Instagram briefly summing up the platform as “Annoying and kinda cringe, but extremely useful when used correctly…”. He clarified what it means to use the platform ‘correctly’ writing; “If there’s a job you want, find hiring managers and message them directly. Once you get hired and have a steady job, post every here and there to get seen, it allows recruiters and other potential jobs to reach out to you in the future to job hop and find better opportunities and salaries…”, “...it can sort of function as an extended resume.” 

“Have you ever personally benefited from LinkedIn in your professional life?” I asked.  

“When I was running a small home services business, I would search and connect with people based on [their] jobs and income who would be able to have the spare money to get their home painted,” he responded. He emphasizes the ‘extended resume’ metaphor referenced earlier as being an industry-dependent phenomenon that has been especially beneficial in his new sales position. “Sales is an industry within industries…”, “...being able to show customers you’ve worked with, how you found a client [...], [or] quotas you’ve beaten, can act as that extended resume.” 

The seemingly popular consensus that LinkedIn’s efficiency varies between industries was poignantly described by a Trent alumnus as a “fantastic idea in theory, but extremely flawed in practice”. This Environmental Science and Resource Management graduate, who we will call “Anna” for anonymity’s sake, believes the lack of transparency embedded in LinkedIn’s innate ‘hustle-culture’, epitomizes the platform's negative perception among young professionals. For reasons ranging from verbal abuse to sustaining a permanent injury from a corrosive acid at the fault of her employer, Anna shrewdly describes her nightmarish recent work experience as a lab technician a “Paris syndrome-opportunity”, I laugh (with, not at her–of course).

“You can’t say anything negative because it also makes you look bad from the employer’s side too…,” Anna wrote, reflecting on her decision to abstain from excessive profile curation, despite obtaining relevant work experience, and highlights her frustration surrounding the overwhelmingly positive narrative among braggadocious LinkedIn posts, dubbing them as misleading to entry-level professionals. Anna writes; “part of me regrets not posting about my jobs and experiences because that's what the platform is for, but I almost can't bring myself to do it because I know how much these opportunities cost me in my personal life and I feel like a fraud boasting about them.”

Anna’s story provoked visceral recollections of my position several summers ago as a ‘marketing associate’ where I aggressively pitched bottles of car wax to unassuming (and uninterested) gas station patrons in remote locations up to 200km away from home, all while making minimum wage, and filing numerous HR complaints against my balding and…’persistent’ colleague. Though the humiliating gig was a source of some of my worst memories, it unfortunately looked the best on paper (and LinkedIn), greatly outshining my meek previous teenage retail experience. Regardless of its legally questionable business practices and reliance on the naivety of young and/or new immigrant employees, I described this god awful position as one where I was ‘heavily depended on for my interpersonal skills, accounting duties and Microsoft Excel proficiency’. 

While I opted for a much louder, sugar-coated route detailing my horrible work experience online than Anna, Anna’s story, much like my own, illustrates that one size most definitely does not fit all with career building. Despite the collective frustration my peers and I share, LinkedIn—in its 930 million user-boasting and fruitful Q3 glory— makes it abundantly clear the platform’s success is not imminent on keen, young, #OpenToWork professionals like Anna and I’s approval. While it can be a great tool for keeping in touch with business contacts,  ‘networking’ doesn't necessarily make the dream work, you do (did anyone else just get chills?)! 

Like a barn cat leaving lifeless vermin at the doorstep of a trustworthy farmer—eager to impress, surely there is a more beneficial use of that discretionary time between jobs besides littering the inboxes of previous professors with connection requests…right? As always, dear reader, that is for you to decide. To speak to my own experience, as I do so often, I have since adopted a more nuanced approach to the ceaseless ‘network network network!’ bulletins spewed at career fairs, deciding it was time I retire from parading the polished turds that are my previous, barely relevant, work experiences in the inboxes of hiring managers, as I believe there are several facets of my professional life worth tending to instead of putting all my inexpert, embryonic eggs into LinkedIn’s shallow basket.