Why LinkedIn Bios in Third Person and Credential-Soup Names Are the New Mid-Life Crisis

If LinkedIn is the promised land of professional networking, why does it so often feel like a backstage pass to an off-brand celebrity awards show? You know the vibe: third-person bios that reek of self-congratulatory desperation—“Jane Smith is a visionary disruptor redefining paradigms in the logistics space” (translation: she once streamlined the office printer queue). It’s the kind of pomp that makes you wonder if there’s a red carpet hiding behind their profile photo.

And let’s not forget the acronyms—those jumbled badges of honor people slap onto their names like they’re assembling a personalized license plate. MBA, PMP, ITIL…sure, they’re valid credentials, but do they need to introduce you? It’s like showing up to a dinner party shouting your entire résumé before saying hello.

Then there’s the tone—so stiff it could double as a Victorian corset. Why write like a human when you can channel the energy of an HR memo penned by an AI? All of this feeds into a spectacular collision of insecurity and narcissism, wrapped up in a shiny bow of corporate jargon. Welcome to LinkedIn, where self-promotion and misplaced confidence unite in a dumpster fire visible from space.

Third-Person Bios: “John Doe is a Visionary Thought Leader” (That John Doe Definitely Wrote Himself)

The third-person bio: LinkedIn’s equivalent of writing your own wedding toast and pretending someone else gave it. There’s a special kind of audacity in crafting sentences like, “John Doe is a transformative leader who has spearheaded groundbreaking initiatives in the synergy space.” You can almost picture John, hunched over his laptop in sweatpants, sipping lukewarm coffee and typing those very words with the self-satisfaction of a cat knocking over a glass.

But why do people do this? It’s the professional equivalent of shouting, “Hey, everyone, look how modest I am!” while standing on a soapbox. Writing in the third person gives off the illusion that your achievements are so objectively monumental, someone else had to document them. Except, no one else did. Jane Smith didn’t hire a ghostwriter for her LinkedIn bio; she just Googled “how to sound important in 500 words or less.”

The result? A bizarre, stilted tone that makes you wonder if Jane moonlights as her own publicist. It's a thinly veiled attempt to project gravitas, but instead, it lands somewhere between awkward and desperate. If LinkedIn is a casual barbecue, the third-person bio is the guy who shows up in a tuxedo with a business card for his “side hustle.”

What’s worse is how transparent it all is. Everyone scrolling by knows it’s self-written, which makes the whole thing feel a bit like wearing sunglasses indoors. Sure, you think you look cool, but the rest of us are just squinting and wondering what you’re hiding. Here’s a radical idea: just be real. Own your voice. Because unless your bio was actually written by Morgan Freeman, no one’s buying the third-person act anyway.

Alphabet Soup: The Credential Arms Race

It’s a bird! It’s a plane! No, it’s John Doe, MBA, PMP, ITIL, CSM, CPIM, and occasional DTF. Somewhere in the evolution of professionalism, someone decided that a name wasn’t enough—oh no, it needed seasoning, like alphabet soup made from overachievers. And now here we are, with LinkedIn looking like the aftermath of Scrabble tournaments gone horribly wrong.

But does cramming every certification you’ve ever brushed against into your name really impress anyone? No, it doesn’t. Instead of shouting “qualified,” it whispers “trying too hard.” You’re not fooling anyone into thinking you’re a captain of industry; you’re just advertising how much time you’ve spent on LinkedIn Learning and at weekend workshops.

What’s fueling this need to turn names into acronyms? Insecurity’s attention-seeking sibling: overcompensation. Credentials, after all, make an excellent shield. Can’t speak confidently about your actual work? No problem—just let those shiny letters fill the awkward silence. Surely no one will notice that your “spearheaded $10M project” involved organizing spreadsheets and fetching coffee.

Then there’s the narcissism factor. For some, credential stacking is less about security and more about the performance. It’s not about having the letters; it’s about making sure you see the letters. Never mind if half of them don’t apply to the job at hand—“Look, Jeff, I’ve got an MBA! I’m special! Notice me!” Except…no one does. The MBA isn’t rare anymore, Jeff. The market for impressive acronyms is oversaturated.

Here’s the thing: if you really want people to respect you, maybe focus less on the acronyms and more on the actual work. Because while an MBA might get you in the door, it’s your skill (and a little humility) that’ll keep you there. Or, you know, keep shouting those letters—whatever works for you.

Authenticity Is Dead, and LinkedIn Killed It

Once upon a time, LinkedIn was supposed to be a haven of genuine professional connection—a place where you could find your next gig, celebrate milestones, and maybe even share a thoughtful article about trends in your industry. Fast forward a decade, and now it’s less “networking” and more like stumbling into the world's most uncomfortable talent show. You’re not connecting with colleagues; you’re wading through a swamp of humblebrags, “thought leadership,” and third-person bios that would make even a press agent cringe.

The third-person bios and alphabet-soup credential stacking? Oh, they’re just symptoms of a larger epidemic: professional insecurity. Somewhere along the line, people decided that being relatable was a liability, and thus the Great LinkedIn Performance Era began. Profiles now read like résumés that have been airbrushed, auto-tuned, and run through a corporate buzzword generator. Instead of connecting, everyone is competing—to sound more polished, more accomplished, and more important than they probably feel.

But here’s the thing: all that over-polishing doesn’t make you look impressive; it makes you look ridiculous. The stiff, formal tones and gratuitous self-congratulation might fool no one, but they do succeed in creating an unintended side effect: they make the writer completely unrelatable.

Gone are the days when you could scroll through LinkedIn and think, “Wow, this person seems approachable and fun.” Now it’s more like, “Is this a human or the spirit of a corporate training manual come to life?” Authenticity has been sacrificed on the altar of professional branding, leaving us with profiles that feel less like introductions and more like a parade of carefully curated personas.

In the end, the irony is delicious: LinkedIn was built for connection, but its users are too busy performing to connect with anyone. Bravo, LinkedIn. Bravo.

Let’s Get Real: The Big Picture of Professional Performance Art

Deep down, we all want the same thing: to be seen, valued, and maybe even admired. That’s perfectly fine—human, even. But the way LinkedIn users go about it? Well, that’s where the wheels come off the professionalism wagon. Third-person bios, names bloated with acronyms, and a tone so formal it feels like you’re reading a eulogy for authenticity—these are just modern cries for validation, shouted into the professional void.

And yet, they don’t land the way people hope. Instead of screaming, “Confident and capable!” these strategies often whisper, “Desperately trying to impress.” The third-person bios suggest you’re too insecure to own your successes in your own voice. The alphabet-soup credentials? They read more like a frantic résumé dump than a sign of actual expertise. And the over-the-top formality? That’s not professionalism—it’s overcompensation wrapped in jargon, tied with a bow of self-doubt.

Here’s the wild idea: what if we all just relaxed? What if LinkedIn profiles were, dare we say it, human? Imagine reading a bio that didn’t sound like it was ghostwritten by a PR intern or a corporate buzzword generator. What if, instead of wielding acronyms like weapons in the Great Credential War, we let our actual skills and accomplishments do the talking?

The ultimate irony here is that the real flex isn’t in the acronyms or the fancy phrasing—it’s in being good at what you do. Write your bio like you’re introducing yourself to an actual human, not pitching yourself to a panel of judges on “Next Top Corporate Superstar.” Because the truth is, nobody cares about how good you sound on paper if there’s no substance behind it. Chill out, LinkedIn. It’s not that deep.

If you’re still out here writing about yourself in the third person—“John is a visionary leader disrupting the industry”—or turning your name into a certification buffet, it’s time to take a step back. Seriously, who are you doing this for? Is it to impress others? Or is it to plug that nagging hole of self-doubt that LinkedIn seems uniquely capable of widening?

Here’s the hard truth: real confidence doesn’t need a hype machine. It doesn’t need an alphabet soup of acronyms trailing behind your name like corporate confetti. And it definitely doesn’t need a bio that sounds like it belongs on a movie poster. No one’s buying tickets to “Karen: Thought Leader Extraordinaire.”

Let’s remember what LinkedIn is supposed to be: a place for connection, not performance art. Nobody wants to work with the walking embodiment of corporate jargon or a “thought leader” who clearly thought too much about sounding important. What people actually value is authenticity, relatability, and—get this—actual competence.

So let’s retire the third-person bios, the over-stuffed credentials, and the unnecessary flair. You’re better than this. Probably. And if not? Well, at least try pretending you’re better than this. It’s a start.