The cursor blinks. It’s a patient, rhythmic pulse against the word ‘synergy.’ It has been blinking for what feels like 47 minutes. The screen’s light is the only thing illuminating a face tight with a specific kind of modern dread-the dread of the late-night LinkedIn post. The draft has been rewritten seven times. Is it too salesy? Too philosophical? Does it sound like a person or a corporate-to-human translation bot that’s malfunctioning? This isn’t a thought leadership crisis. It’s a quiet, desperate plea to a screen, asking, ‘Is this good enough for the algorithm?’ And then, ‘Can I please just go to sleep?’
“We were told to be authentic. That was the great promise. Bring your whole self to work, and by extension, bring your whole self to the digital town square where work happens. But the promise had fine print. It wasn’t ‘be yourself.’ It was ‘construct a compelling, consistent, and relentlessly optimistic version of yourself that performs well within a narrow band of professional acceptability.'”
It’s not authenticity. It’s broadcast management. It’s becoming the tireless public relations agent for an increasingly exhausted client: you.
The Algorithm’s Brutal Clarity
I used to argue against this. Fiercely. I’d tell anyone who would listen that genuine connection was possible, that you could find your voice and people would respond. Then, a few years ago, I posted about a significant project failure. I was trying to be vulnerable. I wrote about the missteps, the lessons, the gut-punch of it all. It got 7 likes and a private message from a former colleague asking if I was okay. A week later, I posted a sterile, boring certificate from an online course. It got 237 likes and 17 comments congratulating my ‘commitment to growth.’
The lesson was brutally clear.
The algorithm doesn’t reward authenticity; it rewards the performance of a specific, easily digestible narrative of upward momentum.
This isn’t just about us.
The Absurdity of Max Z.
It’s about people like Max Z. I met Max while getting a piece of equipment serviced. He’s a field engineer. He installs and calibrates highly complex medical imaging machines. He is brilliant, meticulous, and spends his days working with seven-figure devices that save lives. His company recently launched a ‘social advocacy’ program, encouraging employees like Max to build their professional brands. Now, Max, a man who can explain the physics of magnetic resonance imaging with beautiful clarity, is supposed to log on after a 12-hour day and share his ‘key learnings.’ What is he supposed to post? ‘Today, I calibrated a gradient coil with 7-micron precision to ensure a neurosurgeon can accurately target a tumor. #Engineering #HealthcareHeroes’?
“It feels absurd because it is. It’s asking a master craftsman to stop his work and write marketing copy about it.”
The Colonization of Self
We have been sold the idea that the personal brand is an asset, a form of career insurance. But for many, it has become a debt.
We’ve turned our inner lives inside out for public consumption, and we’re wondering why we feel so hollowed out.
This creates a relentless pressure to consume, too. To have something to say, you must be constantly absorbing information-reading articles, listening to podcasts, watching industry talks. It’s a firehose of input just to generate a trickle of output. Sometimes the sheer volume is the biggest barrier. I find myself with 17 tabs open, all articles I’m supposed to read to form an ‘opinion,’ and the idea of synthesizing them into a single, coherent thought is exhausting. Lately, I’ve started using a service that turns texto em audio just so I can get through the material while doing other things, absorbing the information without being chained to the screen. It feels less like a productivity hack and more like a defensive measure, a way to keep up with the information quota demanded by the branding machine.
The Personality Ergonomic Chair
It’s a strange tangent, but I often think about the design of modern office furniture. It’s all sleek lines and ergonomic support, designed to keep you comfortable enough to be productive for hours. It’s not about true comfort; it’s about sustained output.
The personal brand is the ergonomic chair for your personality.
It shapes you into a form that can endure the long hours of professional performance, sanding down your interesting, uncomfortable edges until you fit the template perfectly. It’s not about making you better; it’s about making you more efficient for the network.
And I have to admit, even as I write this, a part of my brain is calculating its engagement potential. Another part is cringing at that first part. I criticize the game, yet I spent a baffling amount of time last month-at least 47 minutes-choosing a new profile picture that looked ‘approachable but authoritative.’ The contradiction is the point. We can see the absurdity of the system and still feel its gravitational pull. We are both the audience and the performer, and it’s exhausting to play both roles at once, especially when the script is so limiting and the applause feels so cheap.
The Unending Shift
So that marketing manager at 10 PM, staring at the blinking cursor, isn’t just trying to write a post. They are trying to reconcile who they are with the person they’re supposed to perform. They are tired. Not just from a long day of work, but from the long, unending shift of their second job as brand manager for the corporation of Me, Inc. There’s no easy answer. There’s no 7-step guide to breaking free. There is only the blinking cursor, the faint hum of the laptop, and the quiet, draining weight of having to have something to say.