I was desperate.

Why weren’t my posts on climate change and climate action getting hundreds – if not thousands – of Likes on LinkedIn? I was an acknowledged decarbonization industry expert, run a leading (a credential, I admit, given by ourselves) climate tech consulting firm, and industry organizations invite me to talk at their CEO forums. If someone were to ask me to name the top 10 global experts on climate tech, I would, throwing modesty – which I have never had much of – aside, place my name near the very top.

Surely, went my logical reasoning, if climate change is one of the hottest topics in the world, any content around climate change solutions should be lapped up by the users of every social media platform, even those such as TikTok, Instagram or Facebook, though detailed studies suggest that the most serious topic discussed in the history of all three combined was whether Lady Gaga’s next outfit would feature a live monkey embedded in it.

Without a doubt, however, professionals on LinkedIn must be literally waiting for my posts – but I was yet to see any signs of such queues.

When I asked my friends who were far more socially active, some of them with self-proclaimed LinkedIn titles such as Social Quotient Thought Leader, Virtual 30 by 30 (whatever that might mean), LinkedIn Marketing Top Voice (without any supporting evidence), and Multi Media Maverick (I doubt real mavericks would bother to call themselves that), I was offered diverse suggestions – ranging from the astute to the absurd.

“You have to post something high-impact every day, and post precisely at times when your target audience will be active,” suggested Mary. I ruefully realized that to do the above will suck up at least a few hours of my time every day in research and writing, and require an intricate understanding of social arithmetic, and a deep appreciation of behavioral quirks – I neither had the time, nor was my brain wired suitably, to do any of these.

“Just because you are a super expert in your field doesn’t mean the social media will consider you a super expert, man,” chimed in my close pal Yaon, “Social media is an entirely different world, you see, and to succeed in that you have to don a different personality, and dance to a different tune.” The dance thing really got my goat so much that I screamed that I was not going to transform myself from a respectable industry professional to a social jig dancer.

“No one has ever listened to the advice of well-meaning friends,” he muttered, “Okay then, I suggest you get it from the horse’s mouth – talk to Tango Tickler Tromboli.”

I initially thought he was referring to a horse, but obviously the horse thing was an idiom – is that the word? Sounds dangerously close to idiot. Anyway, I couldn’t believe that any human could have a name like that, unless his parents had been living through one of the weirdest periods of their lives when it was christening-time – or they were close relatives of Elon Musk.

“Is that the assumed name of the latest stand-up comedian in town, perhaps one with a horse accompanying him for enhanced effect?”

“No, old chap. He is the most popular social media expert, and when I tell you that he has made social media zeros to social heroes, you have to believe me.”

Willing to take help from any professional, even if his name happens to be as ridiculous as Tango Tickler Tromboli, I said that I believed him, and got Tango’s contact soon after, thanks to Yaon’s “awsum” connections.

I called up Tango a day later over the phone. After fussing that he had not more than fifteen minutes, of which fussing alone consumed a few, and for which he would be charging me an aristocratic $500, he started off.

“Are you a celebrity?”

Both of us knew it was just a protocol question; he moved on to the next one, pronto.

“So, what are your posts all about?”

“I write on some pretty important stuff – decarbonization, climate action, you know, world-saving stuff”

“You write on what?”

“Decarbonization – it’s all about decreasing CO2 levels in the atmosphere, making the planet a safer place to live.”

I heard a sound that was unlikely to be anything other than a groan, one that carried in it a strong whiff of disgust. The term decarbonization seemed to have badly affected his sensibilities.

Tango, however, was a man of quick actions, and pat came his next question.

“Ummm…all right…do you look good?”

What a random pivot, and more to the point, what a ridiculous question!

Do I look good? No one has ever asked me the question before, at least not so directly, possibly because the answer was written all over my face. Though I was beset by depressing thoughts while pondering the answer to this question, I decided to be honest.

“No. I have always had a feeling that most people thought my face was rather avoidable, especially first thing in the morning.”

Silence from Tango. But this time, I think he was impressed by my frankness.

So far, honest but rather depressing answers, he seemed to be thinking, but he must have been comforted by a few other questions he had for which I could be getting good grades.

“Have you completed any course and obtained a certificate recently, or been promoted?”

At least we had left the rather unpleasant topic of aesthetics behind.

“Matey,” I decided to get firm and tell him things as they were, ”I’m an industry expert, and I’m the boss. I give certificates and promotions to others.”

Silence the second time. He seemed to be thinking hard, though I had a feeling that it had nothing to do with my impressive leadership credentials. His next question confirmed my feeling.

“OK, are your posts emotional and will they make readers cry?”

Cry? Cry! This was going from ridiculous to atrocious. Cry! Why should anyone cry on reading any posts on LinkedIn? I was not running the Interviews with Abandoned Children channel on Instagram. But I soldiered on.

“They will not make them cry today, but if they don’t listen, perhaps ten years later.”

I doubt he got it. I doubt that folks with names like Tango Tickler Tromboli will ever get such nuances.

After a brief silence, Tango’s voice piped in again, this time making a crisp summary of the discussions thus far.

“So you are not a celeb, do not look good, have not got a certificate or been promoted recently, and nobody cries on reading your posts. But you write some pretty important and sophisticated stuff.”

“You hit it, man.”

It was clear we were coming to the end of the discussion; he came to the crux.

“How many Likes do your posts get?”

That was a really raw wound he had hit, but one needs to be honest with three types of people – doctors, lawyers, and social media experts.

I cringed before making the confession, “1 or 2, and if it’s a lucky day, 3”

Silence the third time. I could hear his heavy breathing that carried, I felt, a significant dose of incredulity.

Well, anyone would be incredulous, ran my thoughts, when they hear that a super specialist in one of the world’s hottest fields gets single-digit, near-zero Likes on LinkedIn!

“I know, pal,” I said in a rather understanding tone, “you must be wondering, concerned, and sad that such profound expert posts are not getting thousands of Likes.”

Silence the fourth time, a silence that I thought was more pregnant with the first adjective than it was with the other two. He seemed to be searching for the right words. And finally appeared to have zoomed in on those he felt were the most appropriate.

“Not really. I’m wondering who those 2 or 3 people are.”