There are very few things in adulthood that hit harder than opening a budgeting app and realizing you’ve been voluntarily paying for something that does not love you back. Not a gym membership you swore you’d use. Not a streaming service you forgot existed. No. This was worse.
This was LinkedIn Premium Business.
$69.99 a month.
Not annually. Not a one-time “oops.” Monthly. On purpose. For long enough that Rocket Money had to gently ask if I was okay.
I didn’t see a charge — I saw an accusation. A glowing number staring back at me like, So… what are we doing with our life? I blinked. I refreshed. I stared again, hoping the decimal would move or the number would apologize.
It did not.
Sixty-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents to professionally loiter on the internet. To be slightly fancier ignored. To wear a digital gold badge that screams “hopeful” in the same way a participation trophy screams “we tried.”
Naturally, I did what any responsible adult would do. I spiraled.
Because if I’m paying nearly $840 a year for a networking platform, I expect clarity, closure, and at least one job offer wrapped in a bow. What I got instead was existential curiosity, robot-written messages, and the ongoing privilege of watching strangers silently judge my profile.
So let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about what LinkedIn Premium says it offers… and what it actually delivers.
The Price Tag — When Networking Starts Charging Rent
Let’s start with the number, because the number is aggressive.
$69.99 a month is not a casual expense. That’s not “rounding error” money. That’s “do I need this or am I emotionally negotiating with myself” money. That’s groceries. Gas. A decent dinner. Several bad coffees that at least try to make you happy.
And what is LinkedIn Premium Business positioning itself as at that price point? A professional upgrade. A strategic advantage. A competitive edge.
Which is hilarious, because nothing about job hunting feels competitive in the way they imply. It feels more like yelling into a canyon and waiting to see if your echo gets a recruiter title.
The marketing suggests Premium will open doors. In reality, it opens tabs. It gives you insights like, “This company viewed your application,” which is not an insight — it’s an emotional prank.
The value proposition seems to be: Pay us, and you’ll feel like something is happening. And for a while, that works. You see more numbers. More badges. More charts. More proof that activity exists somewhere near you.
But activity is not progress. And progress is what we’re all paying for.
The Features — Luxury Ghosting in High Definition
Premium loves to list its features. They sparkle. They promise. They look incredible in bullet-point form.
Let’s review.
AI Writing Tools:
These sound impressive until you realize the AI writes like a motivational poster that was trained exclusively on 2015 LinkedIn posts. Every message reads like, “I hope this message finds you thriving and synergized in your role.” No one talks like this. No one wants to receive this. But it’s there, ready to help you sound professionally unhinged at scale.
InMail Credits:
Ah yes, the ability to message people who are not expecting you, did not request you, and will absolutely not respond. Premium lets you send these messages beautifully. Clean formatting. Professional delivery. Straight into the void.
There is nothing more humbling than crafting a thoughtful InMail, sending it with hope, and watching it sit there… unopened… like a digital message in a bottle that never made it past the dock.
The Gold Badge:
The badge deserves its own section because it’s deeply funny. LinkedIn wants you to believe this badge signals authority, seriousness, prestige. In reality, no one notices it. No recruiter has ever said, “We should hire them — they have Premium.”
The only entity impressed by your badge is LinkedIn. And they are charging you for the privilege.
Who Viewed Your Profile — Reality TV for the Professionally Curious
Now let’s talk about the real reason any of us keep Premium longer than we should.
Who Viewed Your Profile.
This feature is not a tool. It’s entertainment. It’s suspense. It’s emotional roulette.
Every time you click it, you’re hoping for meaning. A recruiter. A hiring manager. Someone important. And sometimes you get that. Briefly. Until you realize they looked and did nothing, which somehow feels worse than not knowing.
Other times it’s chaos. Someone from a company you’ve never heard of. Someone with a job title that sounds made up. Someone you went to high school with who has no reason to be there but now lives rent-free in your mind.
This feature feeds curiosity, not opportunity. It answers a question no one asked: Who glanced at me and moved on?
And we pay for it. Monthly.
For $840 a year, I don’t want to know who viewed my profile. I want to know why they didn’t hire me. I want feedback. I want snacks. I want salary transparency. I want less emotional whiplash.
Instead, I get digital peekaboo.
Final Thoughts: Canceling Premium Is Self-Care
Canceling LinkedIn Premium wasn’t just a financial decision. It was an emotional boundary.
The badge disappeared. The robot writer went quiet. The mystery returned. And honestly? Peace followed.
If you are paying $69.99 a month for a service that mostly fuels curiosity and professional anxiety, this is your sign. Unsubscribe. Reclaim your money. Invest in something that gives actual joy or tangible value.
Because if I’m spending $840 a year, it needs to do more than remind me I’m being silently evaluated by strangers with no follow-through.
LinkedIn can keep its badge.
I’ll keep my sanity.
