Taking Stock on a Decade of Influencing

Nearly 10 years ago, I posted my first Instagram picture and thus began a brand new career. Here I reflect on some of the perceptions and truths of influencing and my personal take on its morals

Back in 2013, I was a big fan of filters and saturation. The fabulous online life in LA, NYC and Ibiza.

Last week, I was asked by a friend to send over my first ever picture on Instagram as part of a game for a hen do (not mine). As I was deep back-scrolling through the archives, I realised that I am only two months shy of a decade of gridlife. Aside from reminding me of my mortality, that realisation has also sent me into a pool of reflection. A quarter of my existence recorded in these little squares. It’s not hyperbolic to say Instagram has upended nearly every part of that life and reformed it for a world remade. So, this week I wanted to have a transparent (as usual, probably too transparent) appraisal of how influencing has impacted my career, my finances and ultimately, my sense of self.

Originally, I only set up my Instagram account because it was part of my job description as an editor at Grazia magazine. Way back in the halcyon days of 2013, I was asked to ditch my BlackBerry (R.I.P) and given an iPhone to facilitate my new social sharing. My proto handle was @katherine_grazia and in those first years, my follower count ticked up effortlessly. Before I knew it, brands were offering me collaboration briefs and the earnings soon eclipsed my editor’s salary. Back then, my account was an archetypical highlight reel. A plate of cinnamon buns, a pretty flower stall, a new pair of heels I’d snared from a sample sale and wanted to show off. Nothing was laboured or thorny or deeply considered. It was also basic AF. While my life was never really like that – especially in the years before my first marriage imploded – it’s easy to look back through rose-tinted squares wistfully. Was that what youth was really like?

When I launched my website in 2017, to explore the less than perfect corners of my IRL, authenticity didn’t yet have a hashtag. Disenchanted by the digital airbrushing of any kind of struggle, my book, Why Social Media is Ruining Your Life, drew the curtain back on what was really going on for scores of first generation influencers and the milk was spilt. Not everything, sadly, was as it seemed. These days, the aspirational content I post is muddied with depth and balance; I can’t go back to fairies and unicorns, however much I might like to sometimes.

Over the early years of building my family, social media became my only gig. I found being professionally popular in the era of cancellation incredibly anxiety-inducing, especially as it was the only thing keeping a roof over our heads. I also missed my vocation as a writer and with it the key to unlock my mind; working exclusively as an influencer sent my mental health nose-diving. I was so caught up with engagement and growth and which brands were asking me to their fashion shows. It was one of the most vulnerable times of my life and coincided with a phase of deep loneliness. It was the only time I ever really considered quitting in a bid to try and pull myself back from the abyss.

But while it’s true there are plenty of elements of digital media to hate on (did I mention this book I wrote?) and however much I have never really been a particularly ‘good’ influencer (not enough followers, I post spontaneously, I speak to disparate topics rather than more commercially, honing in on just one USP), I will never ever bemoan the good fortune my following has bestowed on me. The platform I’ve built over the past ten years has enabled me to earn money without anyone else. No boss, no company. No team mates until 2020 (when I signed with my badass partnerships director, Lucy) nor co-founder. Just me. It has enabled me to continue to live in London, and support both my kids, and until last year, my partner too. That is like some kind of pure magic and beyond my wildest dreams. These days, we all know the pitfalls: the trolls, the comparison, the validation loop. More and more the negatives don’t even touch the sides for me. Most likely that is because I could pay my rent without my Instagram income now. Just before C-19 hit, I made the decision that I needed to diversify professionally and start to make money from other sources. I needed to get my family’s castle off the sands of popular opinion. Now I earn a more stable income from ghost-writing, I can rest a little easier and worry less about making indelible mistakes on the internet. I’m more outspoken and less scared. I’m also a far better writer.

The image on the right is the first I ever posted to Instagram, passport pictures for a Russian visa in preparation for a work trip to Moscow

The atmosphere on IG has changed so often over the past ten years, offering a mirror into our tumultuous times. The job itself has become harder in many ways, (harder to engage, harder to grow, harder to stand out from the ever-growing crowd), but work has never put me off. What I’ve struggled with is the shift towards more strategic, superficial and repetitive posting. Watching lowest common denominator content beat the algorithm has, at times, ebbed my enthusiasm for it. I’m happy to grind, I’m not happy to pretend I’m stupid. Nor am I happy to take my followers, for whom I have a huge amount of respect, for fools.

As for general opinion about influence as an industry, it has always been dismal. This week’s furore as establishment fashion journalists carped about veteran digital tastemakers at fashion week yet again is no surprise. From both within old media and without through the public at large, influencers are seen as parasites. That the digital revolution has enabled so many women from so many backgrounds to become entrepreneurs, to provide for their families and democratise the voice in which media is communicated is subsumed by the belief that we have debased the entire system. The young women who were the architects of this new form of communication are blamed for a decline in cultural standards. I maintain, that like traditional media publications, social media platforms span the spectrum. If you buy a copy of the FT, you expect certain journalistic benchmarks. If instead, you go for a tabloid, you can presume a level of softness there. Exactly the same goes for new media. In the early days, it was harder to differentiate, because we simply didn’t have the lexicon. Today, we have more experience. If a social account is endlessly driving you to Shein (or the like), recommending weight loss pills, or cosmetic surgery purveyors they have not personally used, you are on a tabloid account. Conversely, if you find layered, quality content, whether that’s incredibly produced visuals or thought-provoking copy and ideas, you have hit Insta’s high end. Tarring all with the same brush is like suggesting Pulitzer Prize winning journos are related to phone tappers. In no way is this a diss on accounts which serve and target a different demographic to mine. More there are deep differences between channels and their respective cultural standards which you don’t need a PhD to identify.

The biggest bugbear amongst the public is the amount of money (for a perceived modicum of graft) an influencer can earn and the free goods we receive as part of the game. I have always received perks for my job. As journalists, we survived on salaries well below the London average wage (two years working on £5200, first salary £15.5k, second salary £18.5k, final salary as a senior editor in my 30s, £36k which remained unchanged for three years. I never once got a salary increase in any of my roles), but thrived on the trips, moisturiser and Christmas booty. Other jobs might have healthcare packages, company cars or advantageous mortgage rates. Mine had heels. No one seemed to care about it until I also started to earn good money as an influencer. Now there is a whole digital community of haters, dedicated to tearing women down because of their supposed corruption. All I can say is it was always corrupt, most industries are to an extent. Chefs eat for free, artists swap paintings, medics get cost price surgery from colleagues. If you’re obsessed with cars, decide to work at a car dealership and build relationships with car sellers, you’re probably getting a discount on your car. Anyone working in lifestyle is corrupted by their passion for the lifestyle.

I will say I have never, ever shilled a product that I didn’t like (conversely, I have put items on magazine pages that I would never ever buy because they were paid for directly by an advertiser). I would never recommend anything that I thought was naff, poorly made, a rip off, or latterly created by a brand with ethics which don’t align close enough to my own values. I am not incorruptible, by any means. If 2023’s version of Robert Redford offered me £5mil (adjusting for inflation) for a quickie, I’d have to use all my lifelines to make the decision. Is what I advertise always the number one brand I would spend my money on? No. I’m a big fan and supporter of small, often independent labels who barely have any budget for marketing and mama’s gotta eat. But there is no way I’m going to bareface pretend I like something I don’t. Integrity is part of my DNA and I am very selective. On the flip side, while dwindling, I do have some savings, so I don’t judge anyone who might need to take a dodgy job so they can pay for their kids’ tea that week. I consider every moral compromise and always do my best to make the right (generally harder) choice, but I absolutely understand that not everyone is in the privileged position to turn down money and we do need to keep it in context. No laws are being broken by wearing a jumper.

When it comes to the gifts, there is no doubt that influencing can come with a wildly abundant lifestyle. Lots of us are so incredibly spoilt that we’ve forgotten what it was like before the gravy train of stuff pulled in. When I was in my early 20s, working in retail and doing sums in my head to work out how to maximise my uniform allowance, I would imagine what it would be like to go to a shop and have whatever I wanted, Pretty Woman style. Today, if I chose to, I could line up monthly appointments at countless high street shops and have exactly that. I could supermarket sweep up all the merch I could possibly desire. I have peers who rarely wear the same item of clothing, because there is ALWAYS more stuff coming through the door. The cardboard recycling alone could be a job if you let it be. The piles and piles of parcels that I could accept would fill a room to hoarding height. So why don’t I do it? 

My first year on Instagram included work trips to Paris, Tokyo and the Love Ball in Monaco where I wore a dress borrowed from Oscar de la Renta.

Firstly, I don’t sell on PR products. While I was working on a magazine, it was drilled into you that being found to be making cash from gifts was unacceptable, could ruin your relationships forever and was frankly pas chic. These days I try to separate the morality from snobbery (fine for wealthy editors not to sell gifts as they didn’t need the money for, say, milk and bread. I definitely should have been selling that stuff back then). But now I receive so much, my personal compass makes me feel I should give everything I don’t wear or use and which a brand doesn’t want returned, to charity or else share the largesse with people in my life. As there is no fencing (ok I know they’re not stolen goods 🤣) going on, I don’t have a rapacity for never-ending wares. There is only so much I can fit into my wardrobe. While I’m happy to do charity shop drops a couple times a month, I’m not Robin Hood. I do understand this is a very profitable side-line, as are affiliate links (which I use infrequently) and all sorts of other ways of capitalising on social reach. I am probably an idiot for not maxing my earnings. If the world already thinks I’m cheating, I might as well go for at least a cheeky snog, right? But I just can’t. Secondly, I have children, I consider my footprint. I’m not going to delve any deeper, because I’m obviously also a hypocrite when it comes to environmental impact. I work in fashion after all. But I do at least try and push against the tide. Thirdly, I find over-abundance terrifying. As a renter, the idea of having to pack it all up sends a shiver of ice down my spine. I have everything I need and more. That doesn’t mean I don’t still love fashion and clothes (ohmygodido), but when your house resembles a DHL depot, it’s just not the same. As I said, spoilt.

There is no doubt that having spent my entire career receiving free things that I have also lost track of the value of said things. Growing up, money was always tight, and we counted every pound. I won’t have anyone lecture me on making ends meet because I did it for more years of my life than not. However, I often catch myself today beyond the reality of how I know people live. I catch myself thinking that a £300 dress is good value or that a £150 facial treatment is a good investment. I know how difficult I would find it to live without the influencer bounty, because the frank truth is that I cannot afford the incredibly privileged life I lead. It is entirely subsidised by free products and services. On the other hand, over the past decade I have helped launch brands and shone a spotlight on women-led, British businesses. I’ve shared my platform with innumerable people and been at least a tiny part of so many incredible success stories. I wouldn’t have been able to afford to buy all the products I have showcased, transparently and mostly for free, so I wouldn’t have been able to lend my platform of tens of thousands of grown-up customers to any of these brands. If we all were to give up the gifting system, the entire DTC (direct to consumer) marketing channel would go up in smoke as would many of those successes. I have no conclusion on the righteousness of the brand to influencer gifting relationship, but it’s definitely is a win-win for anyone directly involved. Does it serve the customer? It certainly makes it easier to shop, so I suppose it depends on your assessment of capitalism and businesses making profits.

Looking back on my decade online, I can see how much I have grown into myself. My God, I used to live for other people’s opinion. So much. But now… if you don’t like what I do or who I am, that’s absolutely fine. The feeling is probably mutual. For someone who makes a living from being liked, I am concerningly unconcerned about my likeability. Obviously, I can see if something I post is popular and that is always great. But I can’t analyse it too deeply and lose myself in that mental quagmire. I absolutely want my followers to enjoy my content and I still put heart and soul into making it. I definitely want my collaborations to do well too, because I want other people’s investment in me to pay off. But if it doesn’t, I can’t kill myself over it anymore. I can only lead a horse to water after all. As I reach radical self acceptance, I can only live and post in truth and if that’s off-putting to you, I get it. Erase me from your following list and mind.

Will I be doing this in 10 years’ time? Tricky. I’d say probably yes unless there is a dramatic change in my finances. Or unless I am cancelled. I love the connection side of social media, I always have. I have had conversations in my DMs which have altered my reality and I have learnt so much (not all positive, admittedly) about my fellow man (well, woman as 93% of my followers lack a Y chromosome). I am not a private person and I live without shame (which is not the same as being shameless), so I don’t have any hang-ups about a public life. I still love the creativity of making beautiful images and writing concise, yet impactful captions. But all of this could definitely live somewhere else. What my decade on Insta has taught me is to not plan too far into the future, because everything you have today could change on a heel spin. You can either see that as an incredibly insecure way to work or as full of opportunity. I suppose I feel a bit of both.

Being able to make a living online with ease has taken a lot of work, but that is mostly on myself. In terms of the hours you put into content that you get paid for, it is extremely well paid. In terms of the hourly rate for ten years of building a platform and posting some kind of content pretty much every single day… not quite so impressive. Let’s get real, we are neither saving lives, nor are we at the coal face. I know what draining non-stop office work is like; I also know what exhausting manual labour is like. Clearly Instagram posting is nothing like either. But a social media career can entirely overwhelm you as a person. Your mind could be working 24/7 on being liked and that mental and emotional load can lead to bleak places, especially if you start seeking out validation for your own negative thoughts in the rank things someone might have said about you online. The beauty of the industry is that anyone can build a career in it. The reason not everyone does, is because you have to be extremely relentless and resilient and that kind of determination is, I have learnt, a niche character trait. It is also a job which opens you up to the best and worst of humanity and gives both negativity and positivity a channel directly into your mind. If Instagram didn’t exist, words I didn’t ever need to read would never have reached my eyes. As influencing has become a much less unusual job (I’m one of three mums in Grey’s reception class earning at least part of their salary on Instagram), my inkling is that creators who treat it professionally will be recognised as professionals. Though there will always be vocal detractors, even if I did try to make myself smaller or more palatable. I know some influencers who are legitimately the kindest, most empathetic people you could ever meet (I do not class myself among them, far too arch). But they have bilge written about them too. We all might just as well be ourselves and just acknowledge that the minute you even start working towards success, there will be someone ready to revel in your failure.

My hope if I am still going on the cusp of my 50^th is that I will have doubled down on where I am today: respectful of what the space has offered me, enjoying the best parts of the creativity and connection, making my followers feel valued and staying vigilant about the ways it can spoil, corrupt and undermine any individual. No complaints, just plenty of comments.