I’m not sure if you seen or heard about this Lucky Hustle thing with Linkedin. If you haven’t, well best you read on.
The Joburg based creative agency took a mysterious LinkedIn ban, not as a crisis but a casting call and held a fu*king funeral.
Honestly, beyond the clever marketing of it all, there’s something deeply annoying about the situation.
The thing is, we spend years building these digital footprints. You post the painstaking updates, you “engage,” you play by the invisible rules. Then on some random Tuesday, a bot in a fu*king server farm somewhere decides you don’t exist anymore. There’s no human to talk to. No “why. ”Niks“ It’s a specific kind of modern helplessness that feels especially frustrating when you’re trying to build something of your own.
Darren Morris and his creative geniuses at Lucky Hustle did the only thing that actually works when the system treats you like a glitch: they made it human by throwing a funeral.
Yes an actual bloody funeral. The funeral of a ghost.
They literally buried the old page. Black suits, somber faces and all. It’s funny, sure, but it’s also a bit of a middle finger to the platform. They’re basically saying, “If you’re going to kill our presence without a word, we’re going to make sure everyone watches the burial.”
When you’re an entrepreneur, especially in the creative space, your narrative is the only thing you actually own. And boy did they own this.
Renting your reputation
The truth is, we’re all just squatting on LinkedIn. Or Instagram. Or whatever the platform may be. We’re building these massive houses on land we don’t own, and the landlord can change the locks whenever they feel like it.
I’ve seen this first hand, in corporate, while building my own businesses and working with clients. Business is challenging enough without a platform making you feel like a ghost overnight.
What I appreciate about what Lucky Hustle did here is the honest, very human side of it. They didn’t put out a dry, “we are experiencing technical difficulties” statement. They leaned fully into the absurdity of it all:
- The stories are ours, the platforms aren’t: If you lose 10,000 followers, it hurts. But if your brand has a pulse, they’ll find the new page and “Resurrect” it.
- The mess is the message: Sometimes the most “on-brand” thing you can do is admit when things have gone off the rails.
- Creativity isn’t a pivot, it’s a shield: Turning a frustrating, bureaucratic nightmare into a moment of connection is the only way to stay sane in this industry.
The Resurrection
Darren mentioned how brands usually try to fix these things quietly, hoping nobody notices the cracks. But I think we’re all tired of the “perfect” corporate front. We’re in an era where the cracks are the only parts that feel authentic anymore.
The old page is gone. Whatever. You can find the new one—appropriately named “The Resurrection”—right here.
It’s a reminder to the rest of us: don’t get too comfortable. And if the algorithm comes for you, make sure you have a shovel ready.
