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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the influencer economy—and not in the way brands want us to. Somewhere along the line, influencing stopped being about influence and started being about performance. We’ve all seen it, the influencer who documents her entire dating life like a scene from Sex And the City. She packs her bags, moves across the country and suddenly falls head over heels in love (documenting every minute). Or the girl who records her Home Alone Experience at the Plaza with a $500 ice cream sundae. Because even though she’s a size 00, approaching 30 and single-ordering a 16 scoop sundae solo in the Plaza seems realistic.
Once you see it you can’t unsee it. The perfectly timed enthusiasm, the identical phrases, the “I’m obsessed” energy that appears on Monday and vanishes by Friday.
The holy-grail product. The skincare routine that changes every three days. The fashion must-have that somehow never makes it into real life. More and more, it feels like influencers on social media aren’t sharing their lives at all—they’re playing a curated role for the camera.
The Rise of the Polished Persona
What we’re watching isn’t authenticity, it’s casting. Influencers don’t just promote products; they audition for them. They apply (or their ad agency/managers do), are vetted and then shape their entire personalities around exactly what the brand wants. Of course there’s the exception to every rule, and I do believe there are some good-eggs out there who only work with brands they love and use, but more common than not influencers feeds are less diaries and more scripts.
Their captions read like ad copy because, frankly, they are.
The same person who “can’t live without” a supplement today will swear by a completely different one next week (although typically brands have strict contracts in which you must steer clear from competitors-so it’s usually 90 days+). But what you will notice is that whenever their contract ends, the candle that “transformed their home” disappears. The workout brand that they loved so very much somehow never appears again unless it’s tagged with an #ad disclosure.
And the audience is expected not to notice. But I believe we’re all starting to wake up to the lies we’re fed.
Liking a Product vs. Selling a Product
There is a massive difference between:
- Using something and sharing it
- Being paid to convincingly pretend you love it
The first builds trust.
The second erodes it.
Some influencers have become so good at selling that you’d never know whether they actually like anything at all. Everything is amazing. Everything is a favorite. Everything is the “best”.
When everything is special, nothing is.
It’s not that brand deals are inherently bad—far from it. Influencers deserve to be paid for their work. Content creation is work (and coming from a girl who has lived and breathed social media for 10+years, I can confirm it’s HARD work). But there’s a line between monetization and misrepresentation, and that line gets crossed when enthusiasm becomes performative rather than real.
Why This Feels So Off Right Now
I think part of the discomfort comes from timing.
People are more discerning. More financially cautious. More emotionally exhausted. We’re living in a moment where trust matters more than polish—and yet the industry keeps doubling down on gloss.
Audiences don’t want perfection anymore; they want honesty. They want someone to say:
- “I tried this and didn’t love it.”
- “This worked for me, but here’s what didn’t.”
- “I was paid for this, and here’s how I actually feel.”
Instead, we’re often given monologues delivered with flawless lighting and zero nuance.
And it starts to feel less like recommendation and more like theater.
The Cost of Constant Performance
Here’s the part no one talks about enough: pretending takes energy.
If you’re constantly curating a version of yourself that exists solely to appeal to brands, you eventually lose touch with what you genuinely like. You stop asking, “Do I enjoy this?” and start asking, “Will this sell?
That’s not just disingenuous—it’s unsustainable.
The influencers who burn out the fastest are often the ones who never allowed themselves a real opinion. Because once you build a career on acting agreeable, you can’t suddenly become honest without risking the whole thing.
Why I Still Believe in Influencing (Done Right)
Despite all this, I don’t think influencing is dead. I think performative influencing is.
There is still immense power in recommendation when it’s rooted in lived experience. When someone has used something long enough to form a real relationship with it. When they share the context, the flaws, the why.
The creators I trust most are not the loudest or the most polished—they’re the ones who repeat themselves. Same coat, same skincare, same coffee order. The ones whose “favorites” don’t rotate with the algorithm or aren’t based on a hefty paycheck.
Consistency is the new credibility.
A Quiet Shift Is Coming
I believe for 2026 we’re entering an era where:
- Audiences value restraint over excess
- Transparency beats enthusiasm
- Trust is more profitable than virality
The influencer who says no to deals they don’t believe in will ultimately outlast the one who says yes to everything. Because attention can be bought—but credibility can’t.
And maybe the future of influencing isn’t about acting at all.
Maybe it’s about showing up as yourself, even when it’s less shiny, less lucrative, and less scripted.
Because in a world full of performances, honesty stands out.
