There’s a saying in Pakistan: if you work for the government, you have to take part in corruption at some point—because if you don’t, you won’t survive the system. That’s exactly how the epidemic of self-promotion feels these days. Even if you don’t want to do it, you must in order to survive in the market. Otherwise, you’ll simply cease to exist in the eyes of your peers, your industry, and especially your employer. It’s not about shamelessness anymore—it’s about survival.
Even if you’re a naturally humble person who would rather let your work speak for itself, you’re not spared. Today’s corporate culture demands visibility at all costs. If you don’t document, post, and “share your journey,” you risk becoming invisible in a workplace obsessed with optics. You end up forcing yourself to shamelessly promote your tiny achievements—like completing a half-day training course or attending a webinar—because in this world, if you don’t tell people you’re valuable, they assume you’re not. It’s no longer enough to be competent; you must also be publicly competent. The performance is part of the job description now.
Remember the good old days when self-promotion meant slipping a humble line into conversation, like, “Oh, I just got a little award for my work”—and your friends would find out the rest from the local paper? Yeah, those days are gone. Welcome to 2025, where the human race has collectively agreed that the only thing more important than living is broadcasting the living.
We now live in the golden era of LinkedIn humblebrags, where people write essays that start with “I’m truly humbled…” and then proceed to announce something so smug it could power a small village. Humility, these days, comes with a 4K headshot, a carefully crafted backstory about “the challenges I overcame,” and 37 hashtags. Each post is a cinematic retelling of an event that, in reality, took 15 minutes and a functioning Wi-Fi connection.
Instagram, once a casual place for sharing pictures of brunch, has evolved into a résumé in soft lighting. There’s always the classic “casual coffee shop shot” with a laptop strategically positioned just far enough in frame so you know they’re working on something Important™. And by “important,” they usually mean updating a Canva template or googling “motivational quotes for self-branding.” The captions are a whole art form—lengthy reflections about “personal growth” triggered by nothing more than getting oat milk instead of regular.
And then there’s the role imposter syndrome plays in all of this—a quiet but powerful driver of the over-posting epidemic. Some people don’t actually have the knowledge, skill, or experience they present, but the fear of being “found out” forces them into a relentless cycle of projecting expertise. They start posting more, showing up everywhere, clinging to networking events, and forcing “connections” with a desperation that’s palpable through the screen. It’s like watching someone loudly insist they’re fluent in French while panicking inside every time someone says bonjour. The performance has to be maintained, and the louder they shout about their “value,” the more they hope no one notices they’re bluffing.
In this world, no one simply does anything anymore. You don’t “help out at a local charity,” you become the Chief Philanthropy Strategist of your personal brand. You didn’t “attend a webinar,” you “co-led an international knowledge exchange initiative.” The inflation of job titles is so severe that one wonders if anyone is actually doing any work, or if we’re all just promoting ourselves doing it.
Even milestones have shrunk to microscopic proportions. People now make official announcements that they’ve “completed their first day” at a new job. Congratulations, mate—truly heroic that you’ve managed to open Outlook and locate the coffee machine. Some even go so far as to announce that they’ve “started the journey” of a project they will probably abandon by next Tuesday.
And the posts themselves? They’ve become a genre. A few crowd favourites:
LinkedIn: “Thrilled to announce that I’ve been entrusted with the opportunity to coordinate the weekly stationery order for our team. Grateful for the trust my colleagues have in me and looking forward to driving innovation in pen and paper procurement.”
Instagram: Photo of coffee cup & MacBook — Caption: “Sometimes all you need is caffeine and commitment. #RiseAndGrind #BuildingMyEmpire” (Note: the “empire” in question is an Etsy shop with two listings.)
Twitter/X: “Just got an email reply from a senior VP. Never stop dreaming, folks.”
WhatsApp Status: A blurry shot of a lanyard with the caption “Big things loading…” (Spoiler: it’s a pass for a corporate training on “How to Use Excel Filters”).
Self-promotion has blurred the line between networking and narcissism. We tell ourselves it’s about “building connections” when, in reality, it’s about building audiences. Everyone is a one-person marketing agency now—copywriter, photographer, PR consultant—all rolled into one, fuelled by the dopamine hit of likes, claps, and little blue thumbs. The irony is that most of the people we’re promoting ourselves to aren’t even paying attention; they’re too busy crafting their own self-promotional content to notice yours.
We can’t stop because we’ve been sold the idea that visibility equals value. If you’re not constantly shouting about your life, people might assume you’ve ceased to exist altogether. It’s the existential dread of the digital age: If I don’t post it, did it really happen? The algorithms are complicit in this madness, rewarding those who post often, say very little, and smile a lot. The subtleties and quiet wins don’t trend—polished success stories with dramatic arcs do.
And here’s the kicker: the more you promote yourself, the more you feel like you need to. You become trapped in a cycle where your public persona needs constant feeding, like some ravenous pet that dies without attention. Stopping feels like disappearing, and disappearing feels like failing. You could, of course, live a quiet, fulfilling life offline, but then how would anyone know you’re living it? And more importantly, how would they know you’re living it better than they are?
So go ahead, post that “just because” selfie with a caption about “gratitude” and “growth.” Share that screenshot of your step count as if it’s a Nobel Prize. Write a lengthy thread about how a minor inconvenience taught you “resilience.” After all, in today’s world, if you’re not promoting yourself, are you even yourself anymore?