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I’ve spent a lot of time being influenced. Sometimes without even knowing it was the case. Let me explain.
I’ve been watching YouTube since its early days. My tastes have matured slightly since then, away from comedic sketches, Primark hauls, and makeup tutorials (although, I was only watching those for the drama – if you know, you know) to video essays or creators talking about books, food, and art.
Sometimes I caught myself differentiating the YouTubers currently on my feed from the textbook ‘influencers’ I used to keep up with. Clicking play on their videos felt like it gave me something more meaningful than just the obvious paid ad suggestion to download Candy Crush or get a VPN.
But it wasn’t until recently that I realized: If there’s a sponsorship in the video, or I buy a book because someone I watch recommended it, they’re an influencer, and I’m the influenced, even if they prefer the labels content creator or filmmaker. But doesn’t that awareness dampen the effect? Especially when our feeds have been saturated with brand deals since the early 2010s.
That thought sent me down a rabbit hole to answer the question: Are influencers losing their influence?
First, a definition. As Paris Martineau put it for Wired in 2019: “The term is shorthand for someone (or something) with the power to affect the buying habits or quantified actions of others by uploading some form of original, often sponsored, content to social media platforms.” That explanation still holds up pretty well.
In early literature, the term influence often carried a negative connotation. For Oscar Wilde, it meant surrendering your soul, authenticity, and what makes you who you are. Ironically, modern creators aren’t exempt: they, too, influence themselves. A TikToker might insist they like the bedsheets they were sent to promote, but how genuine can that preference be when their income depends on it? All while they have to stand back and watch the algorithm – the ultimate influencer – decide whether their content gets seen at all.
Yet, this doesn’t seem to be enough to deter those who are chasing the dream. And there are many: if given the opportunity, 57% of Gen Zers in the US said they would like to become an influencer, with 53% considering it to be a reputable career choice.
That enthusiasm isn’t hard to understand when you consider how the lifestyle was sold to us from the get-go: Going viral overnight, racking up millions of followers, scoring invites to exclusive events… and, of course, combing through piles of emails from companies offering the sponsorships necessary to make it all financially worth it.
But, in reality, the career choice is slightly less lucrative than what we were led to believe. In 2023, a study found that only 4.3% of influencers made more than $100,000 a year, while over 48% earned less than $15,000. Pair that with pressure to partner with brands whose ethics you may not agree with and lack of clear work-life-balance, and the choice already looks a lot less glamorous.
Creators have pointed this out as well. A few years ago, influencer Mikayla Nogueira posted a viral video on TikTok, telling viewers, “Try being an influencer for a day.” She complained about the heavy workload and even suggested that not everyone is cut out to do the job. The backlash was impossible to contain, and the video quickly turned into a meme.
Then, in 2025, OG beauty influencer Jaclyn Hill gave spreading the message another go, this time from the angle of her waning audience engagement. In a TikTok, she, too, vented about her career, focusing on the drop in interaction she’d been seeing from her followers lately. She prefaced it as a controversial opinion, and her audience didn’t hesitate to respond with indignation. One of the top comments, with 78 thousand likes, sums it up pretty well: “We’re tired of watching influencers rub their wealth in our faces.” Another reads: “Because your era is over and that’s ok.”
While selling a lavish lifestyle full of 8-step skincare routines may have worked a couple of years ago, it seems slightly out of touch in a world of rising geopolitical tensions and the cost of living crisis. Instead, people are craving opinions, insight, and expertise, creating a demand for content that is not aspirational, but educational.
I agree with the general sentiment: If we’re constantly glued to our phones, we might as well get something useful in return, whether it’s art history facts or crafty hacks to repurpose old sauce jars.
And while that’s not necessarily reclaiming lost time, it’s a step toward walking away with something tangible. However, the question that still remains is if the influencer dream will continue to hold its appeal – or whether, like viewers, creators are starting to watch it crack.
What do you think?
Anna
P.S. Most of the data referenced here is US-focused, where the influencer economy is especially developed. In other contexts, these dynamics may play out differently, but the questions around authenticity and influence still apply. I also didn't get into the connection between influencers and politics, there’s enough to say on this to fill a whole other edition.
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