No matter which table you peer over, the LinkedIn feeds look cloned. Headlines add little; bullet points are recycled from the last viral “How to Succeed” thread. The people scrolling barely blink. Likes trickle in, but the comment sections are eerily quiet—just a thumbs-up emoji here, a “great insights!” there. No one seems moved, or even awake.

Jamie, tapping her pen, sighs. "Why does everything sound so… flat? It’s like we’re all pretending to be robots." She scrolls past another post with the same Medium-style phrasing. There’s no spark, no story, just a safe procession of buzzwords. The urge to comment disappears; she wants to look away.

Alex mutters, "We’re losing people. They’re tuning us out, like we’re just another template with a logo." The numbers confirm it: likes and comments have dropped, and even those feel automated. The team’s weekly brainstorms grow tense—everyone senses something vital is missing, but no one says it out loud.

Jamie types, "Okay, forget what you’re ‘supposed’ to say: Here’s what actually happened when our launch flopped. Spoiler—it was messy, and we learned more from that than from any win." She adds vivid details, admits mistakes, and ends with a laugh. Her language is bold, specific, and unmistakably hers.

One reply reads, "Finally, someone’s being honest! Thanks for sharing the messy parts." Another says, "This actually helped me. More of this, please!" Jamie grins, watching a genuine conversation unfold in the thread. Even Alex looks up, surprised by the energy returning to their feed.

Alex laughs, "Guess people can tell when it’s real. Algorithm can’t fake heart." Jamie raises her mug in a toast. "Let’s keep talking like humans—risk the mess, own our stories. Otherwise, we’re just noise." The screens around them still glow with sameness, but at their table, the conversation is alive.