the influencer as (false) idol
stop trying to be god!
OK, I’m about to get into my Christianity bag. Editor’s Note: I grew up as a church girlie, attending weekly Sunday school throughout my entire adolescence. If you slept over at my house on a Saturday night, you were attending 9 a.m. service with me and my family the next morning. While I may have gone kicking and screaming, I, in fact, do cherish these memories and the value system that it instilled in me. A principal sermon I remember spoke to the notion that Thou shalt not worship false idols. Effectively, God says I’m that girl, and you shall have no no other gods before me be it something or someone else that you elevate to the level of worship.
The share of Americans who do not identify with a religious group is growing. According to Pew Research Center, currently, about three-in-ten U.S. adults (29%) are religious “nones” – people who describe themselves as atheists, agnostics or “nothing in particular” when asked about their religious identity.1 This rise in secularism has bred alternative ways for people to fill the void of spirituality traditionally satiated by religion: astrology, for-profit wellness companies2 and influencers. Unlike astrology and wellness, which are systems or institutions and therefore harder to translate into idols, influencers are individuals.
There are many breeds of influencer (the fashion influencers, the life-style influencers, the home-and-interior-design influencers, the wellness influencers, the health-and-fitness influencers… the list goes on), but perhaps none is more susceptible to its followers elevating them to idol status than the lifestyle influencer. Given their content provides us the most all-encompassing lens into their lives, it breeds familiarity and enables us to blur the line between follower and friend. We consume daily vlogs in which these creators invite us directly into their homes to experience the spectrum of their every day from the glamorous to the mundane. And frequently, we look up to them for advice, which is consistently doled out via the “Ask Me Anything” feature on Instagram.
This differs dramatically from the traditional celebrity like an actor or an athlete who is famous for playing a role. We can appreciate their talent in a single arena; however, there is intentionally significant distance between their role and their reality. For example, while Rihanna is a global megacelebrity, I cannot begin to imagine the interior of her home let alone witness her most intimate moments within it.
There are a few notable exceptions: the Kardashians and the Architectural Digest Open Door series on YouTube3 that presents an inside look into celebrity homes. However, Architectural Digest feels sanitized and remote. There is no visible mess nor activity. One can only imagine what goes on behind closed doors. Conversely, the Kardashians defy our expectations wherein typically the level of access declines as the degree of celebrity increases. But it’s perhaps this level of visibility which explains their chokehold on popular culture. As of today’s post, the sisters have a collective nearly 1.3 billion Instagram followers and are five of the top 20 most followed accounts on the platform.
Traditional celebrities do not need to provide access to their interior lives for material gain because there is no financial incentive. But, influencers rely on the commercialization of their identity: merch, live shows and partnerships where they are their brand. Because these are people we aspire to be on some level, we model our behavior on these strangers on the internet, purchasing products and consuming content based on their recommendations, which is innocuous enough. However, when we begin to not only look up to their material suggestions but also rely on advice on how to live with the only qualification that they have amassed an online following, we enter idol territory.
I have been dumbfounded by the proliferation of dating, medical and financial advice that people are willing to accept from non-experts. It’s mystifying to watch single, twenty year old women speak directly into the camera, “If he wanted to he would” or “Block him” to answer any question about how to navigate the messiness of dating in 2022.
Oftentimes, there becomes an inflection point when the followers begin to question their idol because as one’s following rises, he or she becomes the target for investigation and what they find isn’t always pretty (remember the Joe Rogan compilation of him using the N-word?). Internet sleuths create entire subreddits dedicated to uncovering scandal and holding their feet to the fire to account for past missteps inconsistent with their current brand.
New York Magazine article “The Best, Fakest and Most Teary Influencer Apologies of 2020” rated and chronicled the frequency of the influencer callout / apology cycle with exacting accuracy.
If you’ve seen one influencer apology, you’ve kind of seen them all. The video, Instagram Story, and Notes App apologies that internet stars have become notorious for all tend to follow a familiar pattern, even as 2020 turned up the chaos threshold on their scandals. Often posted after a hiatus, a true influencer apology will deflect some of the accountability to age or ignorance, while also claiming they “take accountability.” (Bonus points for using the phrase!) It can be short or long, unedited or over-edited, and for some reason, they’re always dressed comfy-casual or in all white. Tears are key, especially if they’re crying over the response to their wrongdoing, not the hurt they’ve caused. If they’ve engaged in some racism, an NAACP donation typically isn’t far away. 2020 also saw the rise of new kinds of influencers, the TikTokers and the OnlyFans creators, plus the many mishaps they found themselves in amid a global pandemic. Whether they’re owning up to decades-old videos, apologizing for completely ignoring the coronavirus, or accepting fault for whatever Gabi DeMartino thought she was doing, these influencers are sorry in pretty much the same ways. The scandals are getting more intricate, but the apologies are just as thin as ever.
Personally, I find that the level of vitriol directed at influencers is rarely commensurate with the offending act when the alternative option is to simply unfollow. Because influencers are unlike traditional celebrities, they occupy a more private space. They may have several million followers, but if you are not one of them, it is rare for them to penetrate your media ecosystem.
Perhaps I’m more capable at this because of my Christian upbringing. I have been trained to acknowledge the fundamental fallibility of human beings as sinners and therefore to see through idols who try to present as the example.
This isn’t meant to be holier than thou but to present a way to have a healthy engagement with our problematic follows: either disengage and unfollow or accept their shortcomings and heed their advice on a topic that makes sense. For me, that means cooking Alison Roman’s4 recipes and replicating a good outfit from Leandra Medine5 while not looking to them for spiritual or moral guidance.
What do you think?
SoulCycle founders second venture Peoplehood is SoulCycle minus the Cycle.
Devin Booker, please invite me over.