I Went Looking for Comradery and Instead Found Toxic Capitalism - My Relationship with Influencer Culture Through Matrescence

Let me paint you a scenario: a mom gives birth, and her tiny baby’s tiny little nasal passages sound stuffed up. This concerns her; she has a problem, and she needs a solution. Then, she remembered her favourite influencer had just posted about a tool she uses to help with this very thing – yes, a literal nose-picking product for babies, marketed to mothers. The thing is, though, that this wasn’t a new mom. She had already gone through three births and dealt with tiny nasal passages before; utilizing a Q-tip or her fingernail seemed to suffice in the past. What was different this time was that this particular product was being marketed to her through someone who she followed on Instagram. Someone who she, over time and likely unconsciously, formed what is known as a parasocial relationship with.

We all know capitalism’s main objective is to solve a problem with goods or services the day. Have a problem? There’s a product for that. We see ads all day selling us solutions to our problems. But what about when marketing comes in the form of a person? A walking, talking, living, breathing human being who has convinced you that you’re their bestie and they would never steer you wrong on a product. It’s very one-sided, as The Influencer relies on parasocial relationships to sell those very items. Back in the early days of blogging, influencers as we know them now used to make a good chunk of their money by having banner ads on their website. If you’re unfamiliar with what a banner ad is, it’s just like it sounds. It is a media-based, rather than text-based, ad that usually sits at the top of a website, promoting a product or service for (x) company. You probably see them often throughout your time on the internet, though I think we have mainly managed to ignore anything that looks like an ad these days. Gone are the days of willfully giving Big Business our time and attention while they try to sell us anything and everything under the sun. If there’s a skip option available, we are all collectively clicking it.

Companies knew we were tired of their customary tactics; they needed a new player. The early aughts brought us reality TV; whether it was lifestyle porn or watching young mothers go through their journey of matrescence, the everyday person was getting their 15 minutes. People were curious, which kept them tuning in, resulting in wanting to know even more about the person on the TV. Or, in simpler terms, they became fans. That fandom, paired with up-and-coming social media apps that invite us into every corner of a person’s life they allow, meant product placement was able to leave the screen and go real-time. Where a mom in need of advice usually hit the blogs, she was now finding that same person or new people to follow on Instagram and Facebook. Fewer and fewer women were heading to those aforementioned blogs and instead hanging out on Instagram and, again, likely unknowingly, forming parasocial relationships with the content creators they discovered there. With the traffic on the blogs down, companies had to innovate. You know, God forbid anything be free from the taint of corporate greed. And while it took a while for the shopability to come into effect, once it did, it proliferated, eventually giving us The Influencer as we know them to be today.

I, like many other (particularly female) social media consumers, went through a time in life where I scrolled in complete awe of The Influencer. I was the target audience: a young, white-presenting, heterosexual female - bonus points for also being newly married and freshly postpartum with my first child. These new chapters meant a plethora of fresh and challenging life experiences. By fresh and challenging I mean wildly unforeseen, difficult, sometimes minor, sometimes complex experiences not written about in bridal magazines or “What to Expect When You’re Expecting”. (I know now through shedding many layers of perfectionism that new things generally are hard. And that’s okay.)

What I loved most about The Influencer was being able to shop a look without having to find what works for an entire outfit. Back then all you saw were predominantly thin conventionally pretty women who of course looked good in everything they put on. I know this created a sore spot for a lot of The Influencer’s followers when the package arrived and it didn’t sit on our bodies like it did theirs. It’s the same thing many a lot can be said for the growth the app has seen in terms of body positivity and representation. We now also see more mid-size and plus-size influencers, influencers of different races and abilities - and it can be argued that they are doing a great service for representation where brands fail. I know it’s a lot better seeing what clothing will look like on a body like mine, than someone 3 inches taller and 20 pounds thinner.  This doesn’t mean they aren’t participating in the toxic effects of influencer culture and really at the core of it, consumer culture. 

While I did enjoy watching was the endless outfits The Influencer put together, I had questions. Where were they putting all this stuff? How were they even able to wear this amount of clothing in a week, month, year? My doubts were validated when I learned most of the fashion girlies I was following and buying from weren’t even keeping half of the clothes themselves. They do what is called a “try-on haul” – essentially just modeling all the clothes a brand sends to them live – where they talk about how “obsessed” they are with every piece and why you need it in your life. What they didn’t show was the piles of clothes they either donated or worse in my opinion, went and sold online. There are many gray areas in the world of influencing – hello sharenting – and this is one of them. Is it ethical to sell clothes for profit after you’ve already been compensated by a brand to market those clothes via advertisement? Is it ethical to talk about how much you love every piece and then turn around and black-garbage-bag it up and dump it off at the local Value Village? I don’t think The Influencer is ill-intentioned, but I do think many are money-driven, and that’s where things can get hairy. This little crack in the facade of the world of influencers is what led me to realize that even The Influencer isn’t truly living the life they put out there for the world to see.

My fascination with The Influencer was pretty short-lived, but I loved being able to shop a look without having to find what works for an entire outfit. It was also 2017, and back then, all you saw were thin, predominantly white, conventionally pretty women who, of course, looked good in everything they put on.  I did have my doubts, though, about The Influencer. Where were they putting all this stuff? How were they even able to wear this amount of clothing in a week, month, year? My doubts were validated when I learned most of the fashion girlies I was following and buying from weren’t even keeping half of the clothes themselves. They do what is called a “try-on haul” – essentially just modeling all the clothes a brand sends to them live – where they talk about how “obsessed” and “in love” they are with every piece and why you need it in your life. What they didn’t show was the piles of clothes they either donated or, worse, in my opinion, went and sold online. There are many gray areas in the world of influencing – hello sharenting – and this is one of them. Is it ethical to sell clothes for profit after you’ve already been compensated by a brand to market those clothes via advertisement? Is it ethical to talk about how much you love every piece and then turn around and black-garbage-bag it up and dump it off at the local Value Village?

To some credit, nowadays, we do have mid-size and plus-size influencers, and it can be argued that they are doing a service for representation where brands fail. I know it’s a lot better seeing what clothing will look like on a body like mine than someone 3 inches taller and 20 pounds thinner. I don't want to discount the work those people are doing for that representation. Again, this is another grey area. However, it also doesn’t mean they aren’t participating in the toxic effects of influencer and consumer culture. I don’t think The Influencer is ill-intentioned, but I do think many are money-driven, and that’s where things can get hairy. This little crack in the facade of the world of influencers is what led me to realize that even The Influencer isn’t truly living the life they put out there for the world to see.