Part 1 of The reroute. Start here; every part is listed at the end.
When my job ended, my first instinct was LinkedIn: make sure it's up to date. In college I'd been told it was the new résumé, and that without a good one you'd be behind everyone who was more online, more present. So I went back to the window dressing: how creative I am, how professional, how big my network. It felt like a chore. It always has.
In my last job, LinkedIn was the main platform I was building, and the rules showed up fast. Post often. Stay consistent. Like other people's posts and they'll like yours. Somewhere in there I noticed I'd stopped making things that said something and started making things that pleased people. A piece of my creativity slowly left.
Here's my opinion, and I'm labeling it as one: these platforms don't reward the best work. They reward the most output. Is it quick? Does it have captions? Is there a cool time-lapse? It became a contest to be the most captivating thing on the screen this minute, and AI makes winning by volume easier: shake the Etch A Sketch, start fresh, post again. I miss the part where you researched an idea, studied other people's work, sat down, and wrote something with a purpose.
Video used to earn trust because it was hard to make well. Now the quality is even, and I can watch an anonymous account explain ancient Egypt and take it as true. I've done that. Who am I trusting, and why?
So what have I actually gained from fifteen years of this? Some publicity, maybe. A handful of clients. But when someone is deciding whether to hire me, they don't need my Instagram. They need to see the work. People have always done business that way: you see what someone made, you trust their word, you make the deal. No tricks required.
My work is going to live in my own home. I'm taking ownership of what I've experienced and what I want to share: the insights, the opinions, the stories.
These are my ideas. I want to start owning them.
