Set up once, in 2019.
- A headline that just repeats your job title
- An About section in third person, four jobs out of date
- Last post: a work anniversary
- Featured section empty, or a PDF from a 2021 conference
They scroll past. You never know.
I'm Apurva. I run LinkedIn for founders and CXOs who have strong opinions and no free hour on a Tuesday. We start with a long conversation about how you actually talk. Then I rebuild your profile. Then I write posts you sign off on — nothing goes live without your yes.
I'll tell you the three things I'd change first. Free, and you're not on a list afterwards.
They came from a comment you left, or a name someone mentioned on a call. They'll give it about eight seconds before they decide what you are.
“VP of something, at a company I don't know. Can't tell what he'd actually do for us.”
Tab closed, back to the search results. You never find out they were there.
“Oh — this is the person I've been trying to find.”
Connection request, with a note. Sometimes a calendar link.
They scroll past. You never know.
They read it twice. Then they message you.
Most people start with the first one and decide about the rest later. That's fine — the revamp works on its own.
We talk for ninety minutes about the arguments you keep having and the work you're actually proud of. Then I rewrite every line of your profile and hand it back for your edits.
The revamp, plus the writing. I draft, you approve, nothing publishes without your yes. Most people find their rhythm around week six — that's when it stops feeling like homework.
For when posting isn't the point and pipeline is. Same writing, but we also work the network: who's reading you, who should be, and what to send them.
I started doing this because I kept meeting people who were brilliant in a room and invisible online. Not because they had nothing to say — because writing it down is a different job from knowing it, and nobody has a spare hour on a Tuesday.
So I ask the questions instead. What you argue about. What you changed your mind on. The thing you say on every sales call that you've never once written down. Then I go away and turn it into something people stop scrolling for, and you tell me where I got you wrong.
I do the discovery call on every account myself, and I write the first drafts myself. If that ever stops being true, I'll tell you before you find out. I'll also tell you if I don't think I can help — that's happened more than once, and it saved us both a quarter.
It usually comes about forty minutes into the first call, and people are a little embarrassed to ask it. Don't be — it's the right question.
Here's my honest answer. Every business book you've finished had an editor who reshaped it. Every keynote that moved you had someone in the room helping cut it down. Nobody thinks less of those people, because the thinking was theirs. Someone else just made the sentences work.
That's the deal here. I'm not inventing opinions for you — I couldn't if I tried. I don't know your market the way you know it after fifteen years in it. What I can do is take the thing you said offhand on a Tuesday call, notice it was the most interesting thing said all week, and give it a shape people will stop for.
If a draft doesn't sound like you, it doesn't go out. That's the whole rule, and it's why you approve everything.
Three of these are cheaper than me. Sometimes one of them is the right call — I'll say so if it is.
Genuinely fine for a first draft, and free. The trouble starts around week three, when everything you post sounds like everything else written about your topic.
Often excellent, and cheaper than an agency. The risk is simple: they take on a bigger client in March and you become the account that slips.
Real process, real reliability, and someone answers the phone. You're also account forty-three, and the person writing you is usually not the person who sold you.
I take on a small number of people at a time, which is the whole trade-off: I'm more expensive than a freelancer and slower to start than an agency. What you get for it is the person who interviewed you writing every first draft, and a month-to-month arrangement that doesn't trap you if it isn't working.
I'd rather you decide from here than find out three weeks in.
Answered the way I'd answer them on the call, which is to say honestly.
That's the only thing I really worry about. It's why we spend ninety minutes talking before I write a word, and why the first month usually needs more of your edits than the third. You'll know by post four — people either tell you it sounds like you, or they don't, and I'd want to hear about it either way.
Ninety minutes up front, then roughly thirty a month: one call for ideas, plus a few minutes to read drafts and reply. If you're spending more than that, I've set this up wrong.
You can, and for a first draft it's honestly not bad. The problem shows up around week three: it writes the average of everything ever posted about your topic, which is exactly the thing nobody stops scrolling for. It doesn't know that you lost a client over this in 2022. That's the part worth reading.
No. I write, you post — or you add me as a limited collaborator if your setup allows it. You keep the account, and nothing appears on it without you pressing the button.
Then we're not finished. Two rounds of edits are built into the revamp and there's no cap on the monthly work — if a post isn't right, it doesn't run. If we're several rounds in and still missing, that's a sign I've misread your voice, and I'd rather refund the month than keep guessing.
You email me and we stop at the end of that month. No notice period, no exit call. The rebuilt profile and the voice guide are yours to keep — you paid for them.
I'll read it properly and send back the three things I'd change first, and why. Takes me about twenty minutes. If you want to talk after that, we talk — and if you'd rather just go fix them yourself, please do.