Believe It or Not, Reality Is Real Life

In the bygone era, we had résumés—and today, many of us still maintain these professional summaries (or curriculum vitae, for the academically inclined). But now we also curate digital identities through social profiles that serve as our new first impressions in an increasingly online world. For the professionally ambitious, these digital personas have become the initial point of contact, the gateway through which career opportunities flow. In the context of employment, these digital breadcrumbs form a constellation that hiring managers use to make judgments about your candidacy long before any interview. Best hope those recruiters don’t unearth your anonymous Reddit alter ego.

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: your LinkedIn profile doesn’t represent reality. Neither do traditional résumés, for that matter. Both are carefully curated projections—blank canvases verified by essentially no one, where you can paint whatever professional portrait serves your purposes. The boundary between strategic self-presentation and outright fabrication remains blurry, maintained only by the possibility that someone might eventually ask you to demonstrate that expertise you claimed or check with the references you provided.

Over the years, I’ve encountered numerous self-proclaimed Thought Leaders of the Internet—individuals who command impressive followings on various platforms—who, in unfiltered reality, struggle with basic productivity. Their daily accomplishment often amounts to little beyond scrolling their feeds with increasing dissociation. They aren’t the authorities they project themselves to be, or perhaps they grapple with unaddressed challenges like anxiety or attention disorders. Whatever the case, their actual professional output reveals the carefully constructed online persona as precisely that—a construction.

Since deliberately deleting my LinkedIn profile, my attempts to secure employment with health benefits have occasionally encountered baffled recruiters who cannot comprehend my disinterest in irrelevant outreach, collecting superficial professional connections, or witnessing the latest performative posts from what Reddit aptly describes as LinkedIn Lunatics.

I had accumulated hundreds of LinkedIn “connections” over the years, but can recall meaningful interactions with remarkably few. I’ve maintained contact with anyone worth knowing through fundamentally human channels—primarily email and phone communications—without requiring algorithmic intermediation of these relationships.

The Pragmatic Case for Keeping LinkedIn #

Despite my personal stance, I recognize that most people should likely maintain their LinkedIn profiles. We inhabit a professional landscape where deviating from established norms creates unnecessary friction in the employment process. I enjoy the privilege of financial independence that allows me to exist without conventional employment, affording me the luxury of opting out of these systems. Most working professionals don’t share this privilege, and I understand that reality.

Nevertheless, I find it profoundly strange that we’ve arrived at a point where professional judgment hinges partly on one’s willingness to participate in what is, fundamentally, an advertising delivery mechanism dressed in professional networking attire. My personal aversion to advertisement in all forms makes this particularly distasteful.

But I digress. The central point remains: your LinkedIn profile exists as a professional fiction—one you author and curate. This fiction can certainly advance your career objectives when deployed strategically. But it isn’t reality. Reality consists of your actual capabilities, experiences, and behaviors when not performing for digital audiences. Real life encompasses what you do between social media posts, during moments when you’re not optimizing for external validation. It’s the mundane weekday moments between your carefully photographed vacations. Whether examining LinkedIn, dating profiles, Instagram highlights, or Twitter feeds, we’re witnessing carefully edited self-projections, not unfiltered reality.

I’ll refrain from rendering absolute judgments about whether these platforms deserve your participation (though my personal choice is clear). Certain exceptions exist—I maintain appreciation for GitHub, which some might classify as a social platform, though its utility transcends social validation.

Digital Authenticity and Human Connection #

As fundamentally social creatures, we naturally seek belonging, approval, and community alignment. My personal preference, however, gravitates toward unmediated experiences—walking through parks, immersing in music, reading books (primarily audiobooks these days), developing personal projects, and writing. I maintain peripheral awareness of current events and still browse old Reddit in read-only mode, while consciously avoiding the negativity vortex that characterizes much online discourse.

Do you genuinely need a profile on any particular platform? Not intrinsically. Will having a LinkedIn presence simplify your job search? Almost certainly. Will prospective dates feel more comfortable meeting someone whose Instagram provides social proof of normal human activities? Probably. But are these digital presences necessary components of a meaningful life? Absolutely not.

To those hesitating at the digital crossroads, concerned about missing opportunities or feeling the gravitational pull of scrolling addiction, I offer this encouragement: consider deleting that account. The initial withdrawal may feel uncomfortable, but you’ll likely discover yourself more present, productive, and authentically engaged with your actual life rather than its digital simulacrum.

The irony doesn’t escape me—writing about digital authenticity on a blog that itself represents a curated perspective. Yet perhaps that’s precisely the point. Our digital and physical lives aren’t entirely separate realities but rather different expressions of the same complex human experience. The question isn’t whether to have an online presence, but rather how consciously we choose to shape it, how authentically it reflects our actual selves, and most importantly, how much of our finite attention we surrender to its maintenance.