Students, LinkedIn, and the Pressure to Stand Out

Written by Kaitlyn Prince, Photographer, BA International Relations & Politics

By the time we arrive at university, many of us already feel like we’re behind in a race we never signed up for. First-years worry about graduate jobs, and second-years panic about internships on a daily basis. I, too, find myself scrolling late at night, comparing myself to strangers my age, and typing out achievements that aren’t that impressive with the hope of making them sound like milestones. Platforms like LinkedIn turn that common anxiety into a constant background noise. It’s a constant reminder that you should be doing more, planning more, achieving more.

Online professionalism becomes a sort of performance. Scroll for five minutes on LinkedIn, and you’ll see: ‘Thrilled to announce…’ ‘Grateful for this opportunity…’ ‘Humbled to accept…’ Everyone sounds like they’re permanently accepting an imaginary award. The platform feels less like a network and more like a stage, where students audition daily for invisible employers. It’s a talent show where only confidence exists, and doubt disappears.

Behind this performance is a surprising amount of unpaid work. We spend longer polishing CVs than writing essays. We tweak profiles more carefully than coursework. We collect certificates and ‘transferable skills’ like trading cards. We become unpaid interns for our own future, doing marketing work for companies and platforms long before we’ve even figured out who we are. Managing your ‘employable self’ turns into a part-time job, squeezed between lectures, deadlines, and burnout.

This pressure doesn’t come from nowhere. Universities proudly advertise their employment rates. Students quickly learn that they’re expected to start building their professional profiles from their first year. Employers list ‘three internships preferred’ for entry-level roles. Social media feeds overflow with carefully edited success stories. This all comes from a system that rewards early certainty and doesn't allow room for hesitation. It teaches students that standing still, even briefly, means you are falling behind.

When your personality becomes a CV, everything is measured for practicality. Students choose modules for ‘employability,’ swapping curiosity for anything that looks vaguely good on a CV. They drop interests that ‘won’t help.’ Rest feels irresponsible. Hobbies become ‘skills.’ Slowly, worth is calculated in achievements and comparison becomes constant. Feeling ‘behind’ at nineteen starts to feel normal.

This culture reshapes how we understand success and purpose. Self-expression turns into self-promotion. Exploration becomes risky and uncertainty, which is a natural part of growing up, is seen as something that needs fixing.

But maybe university isn’t supposed to be efficient. Maybe confusion is healthy. Higher education was meant to be messy: a space to try things, abandon them, change direction, and start again. Behind every confident headline is someone quietly uncertain. Every ‘excited to announce’ hides a dozen doubts.

LinkedIn makes it look like everyone else has a plan, a pathway, and a perfectly outlined future. In reality, most of us are improvising: trying things, dropping things, panicking, and then starting again. 

We are not late. We are not failing. We are just human, learning as we go, even when we pretend we’re not.