Confessions of a Former ‘Influencer’

Yesterday afternoon, I spent an awkward 20 minutes sitting in a parked car in my own driveway, taking photos of myself in the slogan sweatshirt I’d had printed with the name of the fictional Highland town from my books.

And with that sentence, I think I’ve finally done it: I’ve reached peak cringe. My entire body is just one giant cringe right now. I am inside out from The Cringe.

Just to make things even worse, although it’s been a very long time since I tried to stage a photoshoot like that, it wasn’t the first time, either. Or even the worst time, for that matter. No, the worst time would probably be the time I was taking photos in an industrial estate, and someone called the police — the police, people — and reported Terry (my husband/photographer, for those of you just joining us…), for stalking me.

And the police turned up.

And questioned us.

And then we both died of shame, The End.

(Oh! Oh! I’ve also just remembered the time we were taking photos in what we thought was a nice country lane, but which turned out to be the extremely long driveway leading to someone’s house, and the person’s neighbour appeared and did a whole, “Gerrof ma land!” thing, even though we apologised profusely. And it wasn’t even his land, anyway. That man also threatened to call the police on us, so that was another fun thing that happened.)

That was in 2012, at the very height of my fashion blogging phase. It was the days of Pinterest, and Stylebook, and girls in brightly coloured tights taking photos of their outfits as if their lives depended on it. And then those outfit photos gradually migrated to Instagram, and, all of a sudden, there were a lot of people who’s lives may not have depended on their ability to colourblock and clash patterns, but whose livelihoods most definitely did.

Although I count myself as one of those people, in that, for many years, my entire income came from my blog (and, to a much lesser-extent, Instagram), I should probably say at this point that I was never really an “influencer” in the way that most people have come to understand that term. I never had a huge following on Instagram, for instance: my following has always come predominantly from my blog, so I was never Insta-famous, and I’d be surprised if I’d ever managed to actually influence anyone, either.

But I did try. Oh, how I tried. Here are some of the other things I did in the name of blogging/”influencing”:

 

• Bought things I didn’t need and/or couldn’t really afford, purely because they’d look good on Instagram.
• Planned entire days out around the possibility of a “candid” photoshoot.
• Felt irrationally annoyed because I either ‘wasted’ a good outfit on an unphotogenic location, or found a beautiful location when I was wearing something I didn’t consider blog-worthy.
• Got dressed up in heels and a massive skirt to stand in a field next to the motorway taking photos.
• Got my husband to carry trainers and a coat in his backpack for me so I could put them on as soon as said photos were done.
• Got changed in the back of the car, because I knew we’d only get one dry day that week, but I had multiple outfits to photograph.
• Insisted on wearing completely impractical outfits to everything imaginable, because what the Internet thought was more important than what the people who’d see me in real life might think. (And way more important than my comfort, obviously. I mean, what’s comfort, anyway?)
• Spent hours of my life taking photos in exchange for a “free” product that wasn’t actually “free” at all, was it?
• Insisted on carrying a heavy, DSLR camera, plus multiple lenses, absolutely everywhere I went, just in case an unexpected photo-opportunity popped up.
• Made my entire family wait until I’d photographed their food before they were allowed to start eating it. But I think we’ve all done that, haven’t we?
• Swore blind that, actually, I really LIKED looking absolutely ridiculous all the time, and that I was doing it FOR ME, not for the likes, when, actually, I spent most of my time wanting to die, and wishing I could just wear leggings and a hoodie or something instead.

 

I don’t do any of those things any more, needless to say. Now I actually DO just wear leggings and a hoodie most of the time, and yesterday’s in-car photoshoot served mostly as an uncomfortable reminder of what my life was like when absolutely everything had to revolve around creating content. (Oh, and the photos I took succeeded only in totally destroying what little confidence I had in my own appearance, so there was that, too…)

Influencer culture is weird, in other words. And I think it’s only now that I’ve taken a step back from it (Yesterday being the obvious exception), that the scales have fallen from my eyes, and I can see how weird it really is. This knowledge has completely ruined social media for me, too. In the same way I’ve always wondered if actors are ever able to just enjoy a movie, without thinking about all of the mechanics that probably went into making it, as an ex-influencer, it’s like some kind of veil has been lifted, and now it’s impossible to look at Instagram without wanting to die a little inside.

Last week, for instance, I came across a story someone had posted, which was a video of her and her boyfriend eating chips. Once upon a time I guess I might have looked at something like that and thought, “Aww, cute!” — or even just, “Wow, I could fancy a bag of chips around about now.” Now, though, all I can think about is the two of them carefully setting up the camera to record themselves, then sitting back down and pretending to eat the chips, so they could have a video of themselves pretending to eat chips for Instagram. And, you have to admit, that’s weird, right?

I want to be really clear here that I’m in no position to judge anyone on this, obviously. I mean, I’ve been there. I’ve done it. I’ve had those chips. I can’t even promise you I’ll never have them again, because, honestly, I’m not in a position to be able to turn down work at the moment, just so I can say I’m no longer contributing to influencer culture.

More and more these days, though, I find myself looking forward to the inevitable point in the future when influencers — or, more likely, their children, or other family members — start releasing their tell-all books about what it’s really like to make a living by monetising your life. Because, let me tell you, I’ll be first in line to pre-order all of them…