#048: Whomst

Thoughts on my identity, being an "influencer" and becoming me again

Alexandra Duprez

A brutally honest but important piece of advice I got recently came from someone I deeply respect and admire, and it punched me a little harder than it should have:

“You’re so much more interesting in real life. You’re so much smarter than your online presence makes you out to be. You need to go deeper and show your edge.”

And it kind of hurt. It hurt because there’s some veracity to it.

I’ve never doubted my intelligence, my wit, my passion or my curiosity. Call it narcissism, call it confidence, call it being raised by a “they’re just jealous of you” mom. And yet, when it comes to my career as a writer and a content creator in the fashion and lifestyle space, I constantly find myself wincing every time someone outside of my periphery asks me what I do for a living. It’s not doubt. It’s something else entirely. It’s a uniquely harrowing feeling—one that I keep hoping I will never feel but am constantly confronted with due to the inherent realities of what people think about influencers. I resent the influencers that have given the rest of us a bad name. More importantly, I resent and reject those who cast judgement on who I am, who we (“influencers”) are just because we fall under the many working definitions of an “influencer”.

On face value to the people who fall in that latter category, we are nothing more than mere self-obsessed, entitled internet persons vying for attention, praise and recognition. But when you peel back the layers, there is something beautiful about individuals who are able to amass a following on the internet, no matter how big or small, for content that serves a specific niche, lifestyle, interest or look. The underdogs of traditional media who were able to carve out their own path in the Wild West that is the digital landscape. I think about my early days on the internet when I used to spend hours on end on lookbook.nu and would emulate the style of my favorite Asian bloggers, their faces a familiar sight that reminded me that I, too, could be an authority in how to dress. I got my first taste of social media on Tumblr, like many creators of my generation. Seeing people follow me and take liking to my images, my curated feed, my writing and my personality was gratifying and exciting. My Tumblr was my little creative world I took refuge in from the cookie cutter confines of the environment I grew up in. It opened up a world of possibility for me who always felt like an outcast in my high school for loving fashion the way that I did, studying the runway shows during my free time in study hall and wondering how, one day, I could be a part of it in a tiny way. My peers went off to become doctors and lawyers, and I went off to become an influencer.

The ones who are the most critical of us are often the ones that are the most confused and the most obtuse and maybe even a little insecure. They are usually the ones that inadvertently or, more shockingly, directly benefit from people like us. The older men and women who don’t realize that their own industries and constituents are propped up by people like us. These critics cannot fathom that we’ve somehow been able to circumvent “the grind” boomers and Gen X so love to go on about. That circumvention was to market yourself, to spend less time being self-effacing and instead buy into your discerning tastes, your personality, your penchants, your life… I feel very lucky that this is my career.

I don’t ever doubt the legitimacy of my industry and the work that I put out. The influencer industry is a substantive and lucrative one that is expected to reach $480 billion by 2027. This is an industry that has completely turned the traditional advertising and media landscape on its head and democratized who gets an audience, who gets one’s attention, who gets to dictate purchasing power. We hear countless stories of editors leaving their tenured positions at magazines to pursue freelancing full time and end up making more money than they ever thought possible. Or watch with envy the TikTok videos of creators having enough cash to buy homes in the Hamptons all while maintaining a $7K a month apartment in the city. PR and marketing girlies facilitating the brand deals are meanwhile wincing about the numbers:

It’s true: the budgets are growing at a hefty and alarming rate, and this is perhaps why this industry is so insulting to those on the outside. My friend who is popular on TikTok once declared that “content creators are the new lawyers and doctors.” In terms of compensation, maybe I wasn’t so far off from my high school peers after all.

Over the past year, there’s been a crazy uptick in content creators jumping on the Substack train, to many OG Substackers’ dismay. I don’t consider myself an OG Substacker though I did start my publication on here three years ago, before this new influx. Had I been a little more consistent on here, maybe I would have a lot more subscribers, who knows. I’m not gatekeepy about this platform, maybe only a little bitter that I should have worked harder before it got so saturated. The sentiment among these early adopters of Substack writers is that they are feeling very “you can’t sit with us” about this new wave of writers because this platform is now filled with ~influencers~ who couldn’t get their writing published elsewhere. We’re the ones who were probably voted best dressed in high school and needed to challenge that merit somewhere, anywhere. I think it’s cute. I champion those people because they are me and I am them. Why listen to what a giant corporation of a media site is recommending you when you can get that same (better, more tailored, etc) information from your favorite it girls you already love and follow? That’s really all it is.

While my writing is some of the most personal stuff out there, my role as a content creator on other social media platforms and the content I create for brands, both behind and in front of the lens, is not entirely personal. I mean, sure, it’s obviously personal because I’m sharing aspects of my life across a multitude of verticals but there is a distance to it because I’m still an incredibly private person. I’ll never be one of those girls dishing out juicy, intimate details of my personal life for clickbait. I am cautious of giving the public access to this part of me because I know what happens to the girls who do. In sum: it is terrifying being personal online.

For the past six months or so, I’ve been deeply contemplating what the trajectory of my life and my career could look like and I don’t think I’ve been fair to my role as an influencer. I don’t want to feel ashamed for identifying as one because I’m not ashamed. But I have felt stifled as a result of hearing unnecessary feedback of those on the outside who try to put us down. And for what reason? Unclear. As a result, I don’t want to record the Get Ready With Me videos because I’m shy. I don’t want to do voiceovers in my reels because I cringe at the sound of my own recorded voice. But this is the kind of content that the algorithm feeds off of and I am a content creator after all!

In a way, writing this issue has been cathartic because it has reenforced what I always knew to be true about myself and this industry: there is a need for it and there is room for everybody. I want to reiterate my gratitude to everyone and anyone who has continued to follow me, engage with me, subscribe to me, message me and work with me. I am filled with a lot of inspiration going forward on how to channel everything I’ve harnessed the past five years of creating content as a full-time job. You could say I’m re-engaged, focused and determined to see it out. I will find my cadence on here and I will continue to share my life intimately in the best way I know how because that’s why you’re all here in the first place.

I’ll be heading to Paris next week for fashion week. It will be my first season in Paris after almost five years of creating full-time. In a way, it feels momentous because it’s what I have always dreamed of in my adolescence. But there is an undeniable sense of imposter syndrome creeping in and I find myself asking questions like “Why am I going?” or “Do I have a place there?” to which self-actualized me has to come in and say “Yes, you do have a place. And even if you don’t, document the shit out of it.” It seems like the right time but it has also been humbling. Paris is a whole other beast and I have had to align my expectations with reality that while there is space for everyone, this is still an industry that thrives off exclusivity and optics. I’m going in with a positive attitude and knowing that just being there, in the midst of the action through observation and dance, I can still be a part of the magic. Fourteen-year old me in study hall livestreaming those runway shows would be beaming and I’m bringing you guys along.

With love and gratitude,

Laura