I’ve Had It with LinkedIn’s Pyramid Scheme
Why I’m stepping back—and where you can find me instead
Every couple of months, like clockwork, I open the LinkedIn app and am greeted by a full-screen pitch urging me to upgrade to a “Premium” membership. It’s not subtle. It's not gentle. It’s more like a sales rep yelling in your face: “Buy now or miss out!”
I always decline. Not because I’m stingy, but because LinkedIn simply isn’t worth the absurd fee they demand. What do you really get in return? A golden badge and some vanity metrics? Access to the same people you can already connect with if you’re, say, a functioning adult who can send a normal message? Alert after alert about jobs that are not a match for your profile and skills, and all bogus anyway?
But what really gets me is what happens after I say no. LinkedIn puts me in what I’ve come to call “jail”.
Let me explain.
For 24 to 72 hours—yes, it varies—I notice strange restrictions creeping in. Sometimes I can comment on a post, sometimes not. Sometimes I can’t even reply to people who’ve commented on my own posts. There’s no warning. No explanation. No official message from LinkedIn saying, “Hey, you’re being throttled for declining Premium.” But it happens every single time I reject their sales pitch.
This is a punishment system, plain and simple. A penalty box for saying no.
What makes it even more ridiculous is that I’m not some fly-by-night spammer or flame-war instigator. I write. I post. I share thoughtful, well-written content. A lot of it. I talk about translation, languages, AI, culture—topics that matter to the community I’ve built. And many of my posts perform well, regularly hitting thousands of views, shares, and meaningful comments. I engage with others. I support their work. I don’t fling insults. I don’t stir up outrage. I’m just active—something LinkedIn should value.
But apparently, prolific writing without payment is frowned upon in the halls of LinkedIn HQ. Too much free content, and suddenly you’re a problem. You’re using the platform “too well”. How dare you!
It’s this kind of thing that reminds me LinkedIn is, after all, a Microsoft product. And Microsoft—let’s not kid ourselves—isn’t exactly known for its transparency or integrity. Their playbook has always been about coercion wrapped in convenience. Get the user hooked, limit their options, and make the paid version seem like the only viable way forward. Sound familiar?
And let’s not forget: Microsoft’s track record with user-friendly innovation is... well, dismal. Anyone who’s had to use Teams for more than five minutes or “enjoyed” one of those forced Windows updates knows exactly what I mean. Bloatware and broken promises are the company’s native tongue. Not surprising, given that the company’s founder has never played with a full deck.
So no, I’m not buying Premium. Not now. Not ever.
And yes, I’ll be posting a lot less on LinkedIn from now on.
Instead, I’ll be focusing my energy where I actually own my content—and where the platform doesn’t try to shake me down every few months for doing what it should want: creating value.
If you’re one of the many people who’ve followed and supported my work on translation, language learning, or general linguistic curiosity, you can still read all my articles. Just not on LinkedIn. I’ll be publishing everything on external platforms (Substack and Medium) where I’m free to post without arbitrary limits and quiet punishments. The link (via my own “Linktree”) to my writing hub is in my LinkedIn profile under Featured—because yes, they haven’t yet figured out a way to censor that. (Give it time.)
To those who’ll miss seeing my regular updates in their feeds, I hear you—and I appreciate you. This isn’t a dramatic exit or some hollow threat. It’s simply a decision to prioritize quality, control, and respect. I’ve grown tired of building castles on someone else’s turf—especially when the landlord keeps moving the fence and demanding rent for breathing the air.
Platforms like LinkedIn love to talk about “community”, “thought leadership”, and “authentic engagement.” But when the mask slips, what we’re left with is a gamified, pay-to-play machine. You either feed the algorithm with your wallet or get nudged into silence. No thanks.
The irony, of course, is that user-generated content is the value. Without the thinkers, writers, professionals, and yes, prolific posters, LinkedIn is just a digital phonebook with a newsfeed.
So here’s to moving on. To writing without handcuffs. To building conversations where the platform doesn’t decide whether I’ve earned the right to reply.
You’ll still hear from me—but just not from a jail cell.
(A shorter version of this text has been posted to LinkedIn to alert my followers to follow me to “my turf”.)
Werner Patels is a translator, editor and writer in Quebec City