Curated Credibility

Like anyone trying to grow a business, I spend a fair amount of time on LinkedIn. Well, maybe at times, more than a fair amount. Last week, I caught myself somewhat mindlessly scrolling. Which, as we all know, is a dangerous pastime. Looking at all the posts, I wasn’t sure if it was “Fake Award” season or the masses started their own “Look at Me” campaigns.  

My feed was a relentless parade of “humbled” leaders and “blessed” professionals, all sharing the same flavor of manufactured excitement. It felt less like a digital town square and more like a high-end showroom where every item is polished to a mirror finish. Authenticity had vanished. I couldn’t help but wonder if my connections were truly excited to fly cross-country for yet another theatrical-filled conference. They proudly professed it, and maybe I was merely mirror-imaging, but I wasn’t buying it. I couldn’t be more pleased with the fact that I was not making the very trip that they were. 

Simultaneously, I saw several companies celebrating that specific members of their teams were finalists in a popularity contest fabricated as another made-up award with zero selection criteria. Don’t get me started on the “Top Executives to watch out for” or “Top 100” theater.

We’ve reached a strange peak in our professional culture where we feel the need to fake excitement and narrate our own greatness through the lens of third-party validation, especially when that validation is often bought and paid for by well-meaning marketing departments.

I recently saw a post about an “Innovation Vanguard Award.” It sounds prestigious, but if you pull back the curtain, it’s often a pay-to-play ecosystem. A company pays a fee, fills out its own nomination form, writes its own glowing narrative, and then “wins” a title based on no objective criteria other than the check clearing.

Then comes the inevitable post. You know the one:

“Humbled to be recognized as a Top 10 Visionary Disruptor…”

If we have to tell people we are “humbled” while sharing a professional headshot of ourselves holding a plastic trophy that was essentially purchased, are we actually practicing humility? Or are we just managing a persona?

The most impactful leaders I’ve known didn’t have a shelf full of “Vanguard” plaques. Their recognition lived in the quiet respect of their peers and the intentionality of their actions. They didn’t need a curated narrative because their character spoke far louder than a LinkedIn caption.

When we prioritize the persona over the person, we lose the very thing that makes us worth following: our humanity. We don’t need more “Visionaries.” We need more people who are willing to be seen as they are. Flaws, warts, and all.

One of the things I enjoy most is shining the light on the greatness of those I am fortunate enough to know. And one of the things I find most cringeworthy is people who choose to pre-empt the opportunity for another human to give them a figurative (or literal) high-five, instead shining the light on themselves.

If a post requires you to lead with “Humbled” or “Blessed”, perhaps it’s a sign that the story isn’t quite ready to be told. Perhaps it’s a signal not to press the “Post” button. The best contributions are felt by others, not announced by ourselves.

• Which parts of our professional identity are built on genuine impact, and which are “curated gloss”?
• When was the last time we quietly celebrated a win, focusing on the work rather than the optics?
• How can we swap “humbled” language for actual, grounded service to our team today?