Viveka 
Why does everything on LinkedIn suddenly sound the same?
Because when AI dropped the cost of posting something to almost nothing, everyone started generating content at once, so the bar to stand out went up at the same moment the effort to produce forgettable content fell through the floor. The feed got crowded and samesy, every third post carrying the same tidy hook and the same five neat bullets and the same confident little sign-off, and you genuinely can’t tell who wrote which one, because often enough a machine did.
The creator Tommy Clark made this case in a video I almost scrolled past (there are roughly nine hundred of these right now), and he’s right about the core of it: the 2025 playbook — post helpful tips, build trust, show up consistently — doesn’t set you apart anymore, because AI can crank out helpful tips all day long. It can copy a format, a writing style, the breezy cadence everyone’s using. The one thing it can’t copy is the thing that actually happened to you. It comes back to the first computer class I took in 1984: garbage in, garbage out. The machine was never what made everything generic — the generic prompts people feed it are, and then they wonder why nobody engages.
What’s the shift from “how to” to “how I”?
It’s exactly what it sounds like: stop posting how-to and start posting how-I. Take every point you’d make and pair it with a real story from your own life, and if a point has no story attached, treat that as your signal that a machine could have written it, and rework it until it does.
This is the whole thing I’ve taught for years, and it’s the part my clients sometimes fight me on, because the old algorithm trained us to create constantly, show up everywhere, and automate as much of it as possible. But automation is exactly what turned the feed beige. The story is the one part of your content that can’t be automated, which makes it the only part worth protecting.
Why do accomplished women keep leaving out the good part?
Because your stories feel boring to you. You lived them, so they feel ordinary, and you post the tidy generic take instead — which is precisely the part the robot already nailed better than you did. The experience reads as unremarkable to you for the exact reason it’s valuable: it’s yours.
I walked straight into this one myself. When I left Vengreso I had years of LinkedIn and tech expertise sitting in my back pocket, and I ignored all of it for a full year — threw the baby out with the bathwater, classic me — because I’d decided somewhere that reinvention meant starting clean. It didn’t. The experience was the whole asset; I just couldn’t see it, because it was mine and it felt ordinary (that year is the mistake I now tell people not to make). The twenty-five years of “ordinary” you’re sitting on — the deal that fell apart and taught you everything, the client who changed how you work, the thing you believed in 1998 that turned out to be dead wrong — that is the only thing on the entire timeline a machine could not have produced. It’s the same folder I keep pointing people back to in Your IP Is Already an App. So tell your freaking stories. That’s the headline; everything below is just how.
What actually works on LinkedIn right now?
A handful of moves still matter, and I’d put my name next to most of them: post from your own profile rather than a company page, spend real time on your first three lines, and use a real photo of your actual face. None of it is complicated. All of it depends on you being willing to be visible as a person.
Post from your personal profile. Company pages are close to a ghost town for organic reach now — even well-known B2B brands pull a fraction of the engagement their founder’s personal account does, because people follow people. If you’ve been hoping your business page would carry the visibility so you didn’t have to be seen yourself, that ship has sailed. You’re the brand, which is uncomfortable and also the entire point. (I’ve been saying this since 2011; it’s in my very out-of-date book, LinkedIn Marketing: An Hour a Day.)
Spend real time on the first three lines. The hook has always mattered, but with the bar this high, a strong post buried under a flat opener just dies in the feed. Use the classic levers — a story opener, a specific number, a little earned credibility — but write them so they sound like a person talking, because your reader is fried on the guru template and clocks it in half a second as “ah, AI wrote this.”
Use a real photo. Not stock, and please not one of those beige AI-generated women over 50 who all somehow have the same grey-blond bob and the same soft cardigan in the same soft beige room. (We were punk rockers, dammit.) A picture of your actual face, at the actual thing, does more than another graphic with a quote on it. If you want the fuller argument for choosing tools that keep you sounding like you, I made it in using AI vs building with it.
So where’s the actual system?
The full how-to — the content-interview workflow I use to get a week of posts out of one 45-minute conversation, plus the audience-design cadence that decides who actually sees your work — is in the paid version of this piece on my Substack. The shift underneath it, though, is free, and it’s the whole game.
If you’d rather build the LinkedIn presence with someone who can see what you can’t see about your own positioning, that’s the work I do with women one on one (start here). But you don’t need me, or a workflow, or a single new tool to begin tonight. Open a draft, take the last tidy how-to post you were about to publish, and put the real story back in. That’s it. That’s the new way, and it’s the oldest thing there is.