It’s 11:45 p.m., and I am eyeballs deep into yet another doomscroll when I come across a profile for another influencer who has made $1 million before turning 25 and has amassed a following of folks who would love to do the same. Intrigued, I click further. One post, two posts… but one in particular gets me. The caption says (paraphrased): “How I manifested a higher metabolism to get my dream body.” I put my phone down.
Of course, there are comments of people wanting to know more, sending heart eyes at her slim and trim figure, likely hoping that one day their ribcages will also be visible when they take a deep breath. I cannot blame them. Companies operate to solve problems for the consumers they want to target, and one of the biggest cash cows is making the consumer believe THEY are the problem.
None of this is new, but since the creator economy exploded in 2020, content creation has shifted from a creative outlet to a status symbol, a perceived shortcut to a charmed life.
I started writing because I admired creators who connected through curiosity, humor, or vulnerability, people like sex educator Shan Boody, beauty guru Jackie Aina, and comedian/filmmaker Anna Akana, who felt grounded and real. There was once a sense that content required thought or substance. Now, it seems we have become too easy to sell to? Or maybe we always were.
I am realizing that there are so many ways to be, so many ways to make money (and lose money), so many ways to brand and rebrand yourself. But what is it all worth if you are living or selling a lie?
Typically, I keep my social media feeds purged of this problem by having a general rule to either follow 1) friends and loved ones I enjoy keeping up with and peeking in to their lives, 2) creators who have expertise in the subject matter they are sharing, or 3) fun storytellers. Of course, my feed is filled with the latest meme and soundbite (maybe less so since giving up TikTok), but I try not to let that predominate everything.
People are playing pretend. And they are getting paid to get us to play pretend, too. To believe we can manifest a higher metabolism, to believe a supplement will take away all of our pains, that a purse will make people think you are part of the “old money” class, and so much more.
So, what is authentic in 2025? If it used to mean being real, now I think it means being selective. Being choosy about how and where you spend your time. Being choosy about who you allow to be a part of your media diet. Being choosy in what you share about yourself and how you share it. We must be selective in what we choose to believe AND why.
For me, authenticity has always been creating things, not out of the hope it will convert into likes or views, but simply because it feels true. And if anything I say connects to even one person, that is enough. It also means reminding myself: a purse won’t cheer me up when I’m sad, starting a random Etsy shop won’t make me a millionaire, and being myself is not a problem to be solved.
Most of the time, I do not know what’s real anymore. So, in those moments when someone is trying to sell me a dream of manifested higher metabolism, I drink more water and log off. Because if authenticity is hard to find online, maybe that’s a sign to look somewhere else.
▶ Song on Repeat: “Cry for Me” By The Weeknd
▶ Podcast on repeat: Lovers by Shan
▶ In this week: Bullet journaling, herbal tea, shower sprays
▶ Out this week: Impulse buys, saying “yes” out of obligation, doomscrolling
▶ Current Read: “Matriarch” by Tina Knowles
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