Opinion
Influencers are paid to love themselves loopy. But at what cost?
Jo Stubbings
Writer and reviewerSomething strangely dark wells up inside while I’m looking at the Instagram post of a popular Australian fashion influencer. She’s doing a modelling shoot of her silvery sea-snail outfit for a gala event. She runs her hands over her body and preens before the floor-to-ceiling mirror. Wiggling like a mermaid, she executes a hair flick and looks at herself in her phone that’s pointed at herself in the mirror. Again.
In the comments section I’m tempted to write: “How do I love me? Let me count the ways.” But I dare not do this. It’s not nice and I know I’d be hammered by all the other commentators who simply adore her. Their comments are rapturous: “Sooo hawt!” says one. “WOWWWWWWWWW”, says another. “OMG”, “Yessssss”, “The best!!!! GOAT”, “Umm stop!!! Beyond.” Flame emojis and love hearts ensue.
Didn’t these people learn at school that one exclamation mark is enough and that three reduces impact? And must they repeat the same consonant to get their message across? I counted all the Ws in the WOW comment and there are 10. What are these people thinking??? (Whoops.)
I know, I know. I sound crusty because I have as much chance of competing with this beautiful mermaid as a slab of sand mullet. Not that I want to compete, but I’d love to be loved by the 758,000 people who are “following” her. I’m imagining the surge of endorphins that must flow every time she wakes in the morning and checks out her Instagram page.
I explore more fashion influencers, feeling like I’ve crept into their bathroom while they’re doing their face – though they have invited me. I check out the Insta of a model on the tennis scene. She likes mirrors and smartphones too, and the colour pink – and clothes that have shrunk in the wash.
A message stuck on the back of her mobile phone (inside a pink heart) reads: “Don’t f---ing touch me”. But then she lightens up. “Ken only had a good day if Barbie looked at him,” she captions one pic, borrowing from the movie, in a moment of self-deprecation. Beauty and humour. So what’s not to like?
It’s all this über-love. By that I mean, loving to love yourself silly. It’s just not a good look. It’s kind of cringey and it makes the influencer look a bit, ah, nutty. Worse, I’m worried it will spawn a whole new generation of self-absorbed preeners and pouters when we need them to be absorbed by weightier stuff like purple crocs in parliament and how to recycle space junk. Are we in fact reinventing the wheel girl when we’ve already come so far?
Don’t get me wrong. I know most psychologists tell us you’ve got to love yourself before you can love others – but avidly adore yourself? As US communicator Dr Adam Earnheardt puts it, had Narcissus been around today, “[he] would have died in front of his computer screen with a mouse in one hand and his smartphone in the other”.
I know the fashion influencer is more than a pretty face. They’re savvy enough to earn a living from flogging just about every visible body part. Hair, eyebrows, eyes, mouth, ears, neck, skin, boobs, butt … and those nails – they look mean enough to dismantle the Sydney Harbour Bridge.
All these body bits, of course, are attached to sponsors who pay top dollar to make their person not just look great but mention their name up front or en passant. “Where is this ring from?” a follower asks the pink influencer. “Do you have extensions?” “Someone tell me where the jacket’s from. I know she said it like five thousand times but I still can’t find it [crying emoji].”
I understand why people become influencers – money and free lippy and adoration of the masses, for starters – but I’m wondering what it’s like to live as an influencer because you’re not just a model anymore. You’re a walking, talking commodity, constantly feeding little bits of yourself to the public.
Do influencers lie on the couch (supplied by x) at the end of the day, against cushions (supplied by y) in PJs (supplied by z) and just yearn for a no-brand cup of tea from Woolies? Would they secretly kill for a chocolate bar from NQR (Not Quite Right) because they can’t stand to utter one more freaking endorsement – even if it did come in a pink wrapper with gold trim?
Clearly, it can’t be a totally bad gig because an awful lot of people want to do it. According to the Influencer Intelligence website, there were more than 56,000 influencers in Australia last year. On Instagram they’re categorised into nano, micro, mid-tier, macro and mega influencers. A mega influencer, estimates Joe Hitchcock for Shopify, has more than 500,000 followers and can earn as much as $10,000 per post.
I might have a rethink. Seems a small price to pay for loving yourself loopy.
Jo Stubbings is a freelance writer and reviewer.
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