The feeling is unmistakable. An endless scroll through a LinkedIn carnival of contrived self-promotion and corporate-speak. Each post teeters on the brink of parody. “Thrilled to announce.” “Congrats mate!” “Excited for what’s coming!” You can picture the unseen scorecards flashing behind computer screens: applause, confetti, sympathy. And there you are, shrinking into the shadows, your own achievements contorted into trivialities.

For law students, this pressure is not just an unwelcome intrusion; it often feels imperative. If networking is our currency, LinkedIn is our trading floor. But is it a necessary evil, or just some Kantian illusion that we’ve convinced ourselves is indispensable to our profession?

Like other social platforms, LinkedIn cultivates an environment where the veneer of success is masterfully curated. Accomplishments are sculpted. Each milestone is an exercise in performative humility. It’s all “humbled” and “grateful” here, where the humble brag is the lingua franca and the algorithmic approval of likes and comments provides a dopamine hit of validation. You log off, feeling depleted, having measured your own worth against the gilded profiles of classmates who seem to navigate it all so effortlessly.

And yet, LinkedIn offers undeniable value. It’s a potent tool. I found my last job on LinkedIn from a post that one of my connections had made. I reached out cold to attorneys whose career paths I was interested in through the platform, and ended up with them as mentors. The very act of curating my profile helped me transform my chaotic and arcane life experiences into a polished narrative.

This is how it pulls you in. The lure of connection and recognition. The siren calls of a networked identity. My own profile bears the unmistakable gloss of LinkedIn speak. Somewhere the algorithm may flick over comments I made, congratulating others in the same banal language I mock. My own posts might feel performative, complete with the self-congratulatory messaging I claim to resist. My email signature conveniently sports a link to my profile. Have I lost myself in this scripted artifice? Or have I simply succumbed to a collective delusion, the theater of “professionalism” that we all, knowingly or not, participate in?

I am resentful, yet complicit. But I hope my cynicism serves a point. The truth is, LinkedIn is neither savior nor villain. It’s a tool, wielded as effectively or ineffectively as we choose. It can open doors, create connections, and even provide a structure to your experiences that would otherwise remain inchoate.

But it’s not life itself. No number of connections, likes, or congratulatory comments can capture the full scope of who you are and the relationships you have cultivated, nor should you let it. So, go ahead, post that update, share that article, refine your “brand”—if it helps you move forward, do it. But don’t mistake LinkedIn for the arbiter of your worth or the sum of your story. It’s just another platform, another medium that you have the option of using. Just remember to sometimes close the app, step back, and look at yourself—not through the curated lens of a digital profile, but as the complex, evolving, and entirely unquantifiable person you are. No algorithm can or should measure your potential or worth. No amount of scrolling will ever reveal your truest accomplishments.

https://www.linkedin.com/in/christopherwtan/

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Christopher Tan is a second-year student at BC Law. Contact him at tanbw@bc.edu.