On Influencer Representation
Yesterday evening, YouTuber James Charles trotted down the Met Gala’s pink carpet wearing satin parachute pants and a top made from safety pins, dressed by Mr. Alexander Wang. Whether or not that constitutes as camp is still to be determined, but Charles’ presence signified a turning point for representation in the mainstream media — that of influencers.
A milestone, maybe, for people whose vocation is declining plastic straws.
Do influencers need representation? Are we, in 2019, still operating under the assumption that mainstream media and social media are totally separate entities? We know that social media can affect the outcome of elections — it created a president. With 1 billion monthly users, it’s hard to believe that Instagram and E!’s audiences don’t totally overlap.
I would argue that influencers absolutely do not need representation anywhere. This should not even be a conversation. I would argue even further that influencers should be hidden. They should be a secret we guard from future generations, who must never know that we taught our children to sell their souls for Subway sandwiches, Purell, and eyeshadow. Let them be better than us.
Who, after all, is consuming mainstream media that isn’t also constantly confronted with a barrage of influencers across every platform? Shut-ins?! Do the influencers really want to be seen by them?!?
“Content” creation — especially in the influencer sense—is meaningless. It’s too democratic. It’s unsatisfying, unfulfilling, and pays practically nothing — not to mention the market is oversaturated, with wannabes climbing over each other for the ability to make ads for brands that don’t treat them like people. Show me an influencer that’s not on their parents dental plan.
It’s hard to see influencers as people. While it is, fundamentally, a job (and a stressful one at that), it’s jarring to spend every day slinging lattes, studying, and writing reports while bearing algorithmic witness to hordes of people who spend all their time carefully crafting their feeds to suggest lives of leisure, clear skin, and comped subs — and then complain about it.
Instagram knows the constant measuring of content performance doesn’t do anybody’s mental health any favours. In Canada, they‘re testing the removal of like counts and considering worldwide implementation. Meanwhile, Apple’s Screen Time is forcing users to confront how much time they spend on their phones (what are you reading this on, by the way?), encouraging people to spend time in the moment rather than crafting pretend ones. We live in a mobile-first world, but the cultural zeitgeist is edging towards something a bit more granola. It comes as no surprise that Silicon Valley parents don’t let their kids play with screens.
There is nothing left to be excited about. Tastemakers are either underground where most of us will never see them, or selling preset filters to people who think having a uniformly beige Instagram feed is something to aspire to. It’s too measured, too inauthentic, and ultimately unsustainable. The minority of people who have achieved monumental success on the platforms that make them possible want to be recognized… outside? I already can’t look at my phone without being forced to see an attractive 20 year old shilling an antihistamine.
Realistically, influencers are not going anywhere. We can hope that they will fade into obscurity amongst each other before we stop tolerating them, while the rest of us fade into the obscurity of time itself.
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