You Must Perform...They Say

If you don't, then why are you even here...they say.

Photo by Possessed Photography on Unsplash

What’s happening, my people? It is Sunday, and August has grabbed the mic. Hope you are ready to dance o.

So, how has your LinkedIn been lately? Right? Man, that space is crazy. These days you open LinkedIn and gbam! Everyone seems to be crushing it. and letting you know. And the only one not crushing it is you. Making you pour out your soul to ChatGPT on how your uselessness is making you feel useless.

That's what is called mimetic desire. Mimesis, as Philosopher René Girard explained it simply: we want things because we see others wanting them. Someone you admire (the model) achieves something visible (the object), and suddenly you want that same thing too. Basically…mimicry. You should read the book Wanting; it will scatter your brain.

Essentially, LinkedIn is now a bona fide sophisticated comparison engine, a professional leaderboard. Causing wahala for those of us just minding our business.

The LI algorithm, which is clearly on a different frequency these days, shows you people like you talking about things you care about. That’s to be expected; that’s fundamentally why we’re on LI. Abi? However, that algorithm seems hell bent on creating what feels like more like an incessant and robotic real-time ranking system. I dey lie? All those blue Top Voice badges? The viral post metrics—likes, loves, celebrates, supports? Follower counts? Slowly but surely, our professional development has turned into a non-lethal (well, it depends on what lethal means to you) Squid Game with public scoreboards.

Wahala all over the place. You see someone get recognition for exploring AI tools on LinkedIn, so you start posting about AI. You watch someone build an audience around product leadership insights, so you start sharing product leadership content. Your genuine interests get hijacked by what performs well in the feed. Your genuine curiosity starts chasing the crowd instead of following your actual interests. The platform pushes you toward linear goals: hit X followers, get Y engagement, achieve Z recognition.

Photo by Daria Nepriakhina 🇺🇦 on Unsplash

Pressure o.

And AI has changed the game. Like play, like play…Adamu is now dropping these serious thought pieces, and you are wondering since when did this twenty-something-year-old become an expert on building product teams that create billion-dollar businesses. And getting hits out the wazoo writing this stuff, meanwhile you that has serious depth and breadth and done the work is lucky if you can get three views, that’s if LinkedIn will even let you post the thing in the first place.

Now, you’re cranking out content that performs rather than ideas that genuinely intrigue you or the people that follow you. You avoid exploring topics that might not translate into viral posts. This constant comparison analysis, algorithm gaming, and applause chasing creates competition, head wahala, and isolation despite LinkedIn's claim to be the ultimate connection platform. And sadly, our natural curiosity gets replaced by productivity theater, which is the performance of learning rather than actual learning.

Have you noticed some of the real badasses that you used to enjoy reading are not posting as much, or not even showing up on your feed anymore? That’s happening especially for folks who didn’t have the humongous followings already.

So, what have I done to not become a performance artist? I have had to put some evasive maneuvers in place and activated “protect my sanity and curiosity from the performance” mode in the ChidiOS.

I love how Anne-Laure Le Cunff lays out her "tiny experiments" approach in the book that is named the same. First, I cranked down the number of interactions on the platform that are just transactional. I am increasingly reducing my what will get engagement or financial benefit interactions, and loading up more on what genuinely sparks my curiosity activity. Using her methodology, I run these small nyako nyako (little little) learning experiments that aren't designed for LinkedIn glory or short term dopamine hits—read stuff off platform that has limited or not bearing on my field of expertise or work. I learn new tools and skills that no one will ever hear me post about. I follow and jump down into intellectual rabbit holes just because they're interesting. Have serious conversations and workshop questions with people that will never become content.

Chidi Afulezi that likes my privacy to be extra private? Sounds like a freaking plan. Some of my coolest professional breakthroughs in the last year have come from these so-called irrelevant explorations. For real.

Honestly, the bet…the commitment should be to track what you discover, not what others see. Come on now…protect some of your learning from your LinkedIn. Not every insight needs to be transactional or shareable. Ah-ah!

Because why, Chidi? Because…here's the thing: the baddest pros I know aren't the ones with the most LinkedIn engagement. They're the ones whose curiosity outside of the theater led them somewhere unexpected. The gig isn't to just document every insight for your network…you have an epiphany in the bathroom, you order Perplexity to craft your LinkedIn post, and you fire off your latest deep insight. Nah, mba o…the job is to stay genuinely curious about the world around you, and let that curiosity surprise you even when no one's watching, as opposed to being anxious about nailing the performance.

Anyways, let me come and be going. Abeg, stay curious, protect your learning, and remember—not everything needs an audience. I trust you are well.