Over the summer, I came across an article in the Harvard Crimson on the trend of “deinfluencing.” 

Deinfluencing, the purported antithesis of “influencing,” urges consumers not to fall prey to the pressures of social media by purchasing products that are viral fads.

The article states that the trend began in January 2023 as “a direct response to the mounting disillusionment with online consumer culture,” and aligns with an apparent growing desire for authenticity and honesty online, as seen in the “make Instagram casual” movement. 

Social media is the greatest proponent of aspirational consumerism, especially when that consumerism is promoted by celebrities and influencers. The term “influencing” is a clear signal that the consumer has lost autonomy, implying that they are being influenced, consciously or not… We may just be getting taken for a ride on the TikTok-ian carousel.

Since its establishment, the internet has been known to elicit all hosts of mental health and self-esteem issues, which are particularly associated with the use of social media platforms. This comes as no real shock, as social media is a space where people curate idealized versions of their lives, posting flattering photos or their monthly reads, and often omitting anything unflattering. Even when users share personal struggles, the performative nature of the medium complicates our ability to assess their authenticity. 

The deluge of information present online prevents individuals from actually having to face themselves. We are experiencing our emotions in highly filtered and diluted mediums (via two-minute TikToks, X posts, Instagram stories, even FaceTime or iMessage), numbing us and never truly challenging us to form a true self-concept, because if we exist on online, we must already be someone, right?

The article claimed that the weakest point of the trend “was the clear irony in it,” as all of TikTok’s trends (or any material consumed on social media, for that matter) inherently influence us at all times. It also claimed that “deinfluencers” were not necessarily against influencing the consumption of material goods, but more interested in redirecting customers to purchase other items that are marketed as a “dupe” or “cheaper alternative” of a viral product. 

This, coupled with the secondary claim that this same redirection offers consumers a semblance of self-respect, is arguably more dangerous than overt influencing, because users are given a false sense of security in their decision-making, suggesting to them, subversively, that they are no longer susceptible to being “influenced.” 

These claims seemed sightless when presupposed on the artifice and performative attitude inherent in social media. It may be the case that real self-respect would take the form of logging off indefinitely from the mechanisms that work to strip us of our uniqueness and simultaneously promote conformist individualism.

Why are we searching for authenticity on platforms that are inherently performative? 

Moreover, why are we still on these platforms when they are widely viewed as unfulfilling and disillusioning?

As Guy Debord’s book “The Society of the Spectacle” argues,“everything that was directly lived has moved away into a representation.

In other words, once life is mediated through the lens of the camera, or through a screen, it becomes part of the spectacle, where appearances are valued over lived experience. 

With this in mind, it was curious to me that the writer seemed to have entirely overlooked the issue that people still need to be told that the way people show up online is not and cannot ever be authentic. It is, by virtue, a performance to generate capital, both monetary and social, in the form of views and likes.

Understandably, logging off indefinitely, for many people, is not a possibility, as some jobs require you to have social media and even set a threshold amount of followers. 

Perhaps, we no longer know any other way to exist, as we have been nursed upon the tenets of the internet, being rewarded for performance of emotion over true emotion, resulting in the latent development, or gradual erasure of the self-concept. Maybe we actually do need to be “influenced” or “deinfluenced” by the latest influencers or TikTok stars. 

It’s troubling to think that people will soon be carrying over these contrived conceptualizations about “authenticity and relatability” into the real world.

Maybe the real irony is in wondering whether online influence can be “good,” or not, when the better question is whether we’ll ever reclaim the ability, or desire, to live without it.