When did "influencer" become an insult?

I sit here this morning, writing at 5:30am on a Wednesday, before my son wakes up, and I start seeing back to back therapy patients. This is the only time of day I have the wherewithal to form a fully fledged thought and make a plan for my weekly content on now several social platforms including Instagram, Substack, Shop My, Pinterest and my original blog turned brand website, MonicaGisele.com.

The things I like to share range from detailed accounts on why I chose a hotel room in Provence who’s wallpaper matched my vacation wardrobe, ideas for re-creating a 60’s set I had my tailor completely re-work, or dreamy images of a low-lit tablescape with a creamy bokeh. It’s a mix of both the highlights from my actual life, and the more fantastical ones I have no trouble dreaming up.

Since I work full-time as a psychotherapist in private practice, raise a young son and primarily cover most of the unpaid domestic labor in my household (cooking, laundry, scheduling, etc.) finding time for this creative outlet is limited, but somehow I always find my way back to it and have been doing it since 2011.

My content has always oscillated between personal style, chic places, entertaining and my therapist-led opinions on everything from pop culture to politics, which I love to share for the world to see. With the advent of so many forms of content and platforms, I often feel overwhelmed and discouraged, however, I have never ever once considered stopping. The creator part of myself will always be there, just in the same way I will never not be a therapist, forever, engaged and energized by stepping into someone else’s world.

Becoming a blogger (in the early days of blogging) gave me a tangible place and tools for which to start pursuing this interest. Ever since Pinterest and Instagram, the world has been blessed with an avalanche of female content creators online, “influencers” as we now refer to them, denoting their power in turning content into commercial success.

Somewhere along the way, however, the narrative seems to have shifted, and I would like to explore that here.

What you tend to see on social media is a moment, but I would argue we’re building something much more deep.

My thoughts on “influencer” below,

How did we get here?

Like the magazine spreads I grew up with in the early aughts, content on the internet these days seems to just magically appear. We arguably have the most choices in what we consume digitally, with nonstop access to an algorithm that could predict pregnancy faster than our best friend, delivered directly to us, for free.

Unlike the days of Vogue, Better Homes and Gardens and Veranda, you no longer need a magazine subscription or a morning ritual to consume something great. You can access multiple forms of content across an array of various platforms, without a green light from the three largest media conglomerates. You can experience places, ideas, recipes, parenting tips, fashion and meaningful information that wasn’t approved by Miranda Priestly and the other “people in this room.”

Of course with any level of change comes concerns. The advancements in digital tech are riddled with danger, addiction and legitimate moral dilemmas to be solved, our children’s wellbeing at front and center of this conversation as I identify here.

And despite those concerns, one can argue either way which is better—having a highly curated group of knowledgeable experts hand select the information you receive on any various topic, or seeing the value in allowing anyone, whether expert or amateur, whether fact checked or fiction, have the opportunity to share their ideas freely to the entire world online. But those criticisms I would argue are a result of technology’s rapidly increasing role in shaping the thoughts, minds and pocket books of our culture.

Somehow in the male dominated social and digital tech space, influencers have been blamed.

The Original Influencer

As a fashionable, female millennial who grew up on monthly magazine subscriptions, the E! Network and movies like The Devil Wears Prada—the idea of working for a magazine was a well-established dream of mine. The industry had always seemed so elusive, until reality shows like The Hills, America’s Next Top Model and Project Runway added more access into how careers in fashion actually work. The truth being you needed an insider network to break in to the industry and a trust fund to support your life in NYC while there, the entry-level pay so low and the opportunities so scarce.

The average American woman often relied on the expertise of fashion editors to help bridge the gap between Paris Haute Couture Week and the options available to her at a local boutique or department store. We relied on famous actresses and supermodels representing a brand to tell us what was stylish or a pop star turned ambassador for a heavily marketed acne company to sell every 13 year old at school a skincare routine. Finally we were blessed with the likes of Martha Stewart, Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian, who weren’t just representing a company, but instead, representing (and selling) themselves.

The advent of the internet created a path for stylish people like me to create a mini version of that. Which is to share our direct and unvetted takes on fashion, culture and the development of one’s personal style, originally in the form of blogs such as my own in 2011, Gisele Chic. These blogs would often mimic that of a full-scale magazine including content ranging from daily style, travel diaries and links for recommended products; similar to what you see now on social media. However, creating this content was and still is time consuming, and most often relies on the work of one woman doing the job of several, a personally funded budget and no guarantee or recourse for fair and equal compensation/recoupment.

Where we are now

Fast forward ten years and social media has transformed our OG bloggers into “influencers” denoting the impact these women have had in the business of promoting and selling mainly female-centric goods and services via their social media platforms. But a term that had perhaps originated with the intent of crediting this new industry, built off the backs of female-led entrepreneurship, has now taken on a much more generic, and I would argue disrespectful, sentiment.

At its most basic definition, the term influencer is essentially meant to convey one’s ability to convert their personal style, brand or point of view into commercial success. The concept of this is nothing new, we’ve been using human connection, aspirational lifestyles and marketing to sell fashion, travel and home products for years now. The only difference is who has the creative and financial control. Martha Stewart had to court the favor of players in the space to prove her influence, whereas women like Aimee Song and Hannah Neeleman, are able to provide more direct-to-consumer content, goods and services.

The idea that anyone can become successful using a singular tool we all have access to should not water down the significance of achievement via said tool. People throughout history have tried and failed whilst attempting to break into new industries and fewer have succeeded. A tale as old as time.

Female digital creators have tapped into something extremely unique and I would argue extremely feminist, in that women have benefitted the most from the advent of this industry. Offering us accessibility and autonomy over our own careers in an unparalleled way since the Tupperware parties of my mother’s generation.

It’s easy to question the legitimacy of influencers, because the term is insufficiently defining the scope of the internet-led entrepreneurship it actually represents, but in my opinion, more often because it’s an industry built for women, and one that in many ways, women benefit from the most both in entrepreneurial access and information sharing.

Since the beginning of time, women have relied on their social relationships with other women to survive our evolutionary roles as nurturers. We are the most interested in knowing one another and forming strong relationships with one another, in-person and now, online. The content that gets shared by women is overwhelmingly made for us women, offering resources, entertainment and relevant cultural commentary. And while the dangers of comparison, negative influence and impact of social media on low self-esteem are entirely legitimate problems, I would argue it’s the responsibility of lawmakers and the people running these platforms to provide safe guards to harmful content, just like we have oversight in every other industry such as farming, manufacturing and traditional television.

Being critical of digital technology is not a crime, however, when you denounce influencers, you are in fact, denouncing women.