Are Influencers the True Icons of Capitalism?
Lucy Miles / March 24 / Capitalism
The figure of the influencer seems like the quintessential icon of the 21st Century; spending a disproportionate amount of time taking pictures for Instagram, asking for free products and meals in exchange for brand exposure, and endorsing things that people don’t need to those who (sometimes) can’t afford them. The promotion of diet pills, protein shakes and body-hugging loungewear, in return for commission, seems to be the intersection where sexism meets capitalism, through imposing unrealistic beauty standards. Influencers, however, are nothing new; Forbes even traces the origins of the influencer back to the Roman times, when gladiators, the local celebrities, would endorse contemporary products.
Depending on perception, the influencer can seem a necessary evil. With the aftermath of the pandemic still lingering for many years to come, after the British economy shrank by 9.9%, the highest rate since 1709, there are worse things to do than encourage spending, essentially stimulating the economy (does this make influencers essential workers?). That is not wherein the problem lies, as it is the insidious side of such adverts that raises ethical questions; it is the promotion of diet pills or appetite suppressants, or partnerships with fast fashion brands, that truly aligns the figure of the influencer with the capitalist system.
It’s hard to imagine a world without Instagram, and even harder to comprehend that it was created in 2009, only 11 years ago. Now such an integral part of many people’s lives, the platform is slowly catching up with the necessary restrictions on advertising, due to the huge numbers of young people on the app. Influencers now have to caption their paid posts with #ad to make it clear that they are receiving monetary gain for their endorsements, rather than genuinely recommending a product. Furthermore, Kim K received global backlash for promoting appetite-suppressing lollipops, due to her young following. That being said, it is still commonplace for influencers to promote ‘detox teas’ with alleged health benefits such as reducing bloating, but essentially just work as laxatives. In 2019, Instagram enforced that no one under the age of 18 may see such adverts for ‘detox teas’ or certain cosmetic procedures, but the admission of such ads at all is questionable; they promote unhealthy body images and negative relationships with food that can be dangerous to users on social media.
The Kardashian Clan effectively built an empire through social media advertising
Between the corporations pushing these unhealthy products and the consumer is the influencer. The influencer is the middle-man here; overwhelmingly a young, white woman with a perfectly toned, spray-tanned body, sparkling white teeth and lip injections, representing the unrealistic and photoshopped standards that are forced upon so many women (- but she’s not a celebrity, she’s just a normal person, so we should all look like her if we use the products she does, right?). Such a supply chain speaks to the very essence of capitalism: global corporations with little social conscience paying unattainable personas on social media to sell normal people things they don’t need.
The figure of the influencer has evolved since the app’s conception in 2009. Lauren O’Neill for Vice defines the original influencer as ‘a slim white woman of means, with a page full of images of herself – on sunny beaches, in exclusive hotels, outside pretty buildings’. Whilst this demographic has expanded to include influencers of beauty, sport, cooking, and even niche interests such as cleaning, a quick look at the Love Island cast every summer will instantly reassert the traditional influencer aesthetic. The classic career trajectory of such a figure begins with an appearance on Love Island or its equivalents, and the successful few go on to attain club appearances and eventually a collaboration with one of the fast-fashion giants: Boohoo, Pretty Little Thing, I Saw It First, Fashion Nova, etc.
The PR for such companies aims to move away from the ‘fast-fashion’ label, and now capitalise off of the social vogue towards environmental consciousness. This means that many are ‘greenwashing’ their brand in order to appear socially conscious. Greenwashing is when a company misleads a consumer by branding themselves as ‘eco-friendly’ without actually reducing any of their social or environmental impact. Essentially a reframing of the current situation, greenwashing aims to downplay the exploitation of workers and the detriment to the global environment. For example, Boohoo’s fast-fashion practices mean that they use cheap materials, hazardous chemicals and do not measure their greenhouse gas emissions, and the company’s supplier has been exposed for enacting modern slavery in a factory in Leicester, paying workers as little as £3 an hour. The Boohoo Group website, however, talks of recyclable parcel bags and making a ‘positive social impact throughout our supply chain’.
The unfortunate fact is that, for much of the Instagram generation, this is enough. When Pretty Little Thing slashed their prices for Black Friday and sold £70 coats for 7p, customers were enraged not by the insidious impact this suggests for workers on the supply chain, but that the garments were snatched up and they missed out. Whilst there doesn’t seem much harm in buying a cosy co-ord lounge suit or grabbing a new dress for a couple of pennies, it is unlikely that the giant can turn a profit for essentially giving products away without exploiting and underpaying workers in the North of England and beyond.
Where does the influencer fit into this ethical mess? The typical fashion influencer can be seen as almost a capitalist cocktail, the product of capitalism, fast-fashion and exploitation. As is typical of the capitalist competitive market, the fashion giants minimise their advertising expenditure by generally avoiding television adverts, and instead ‘use the wonder that is social media’, meaning they can produce products as cheaply as possible; the essential competition of the capitalist system entails as long as there are consumers, corporations will continue to manufacture their products at the lowest possible cost, therefore maximising profit. Lower down the supply chain, the influencer then promotes these products and receives either direct payment for their collaboration or commission based on the use of their personal discount code, released onto their social media.
This specific breed of influencer, the thin, trendy woman, that endorses unhealthy products or fast-fashion fads on a perfectly home-workout-honed body, can be perceived as the pinnacle of capitalism, raising ethical questions about their chosen career. However, everyone has a job; some are more ethical than others, and everyone has the freedom to choose to earn their income, or capital, however they wish. Influencer culture on Instagram is nowadays so saturated, and so ruthless, that it is almost becoming its own closed capitalist system; individuals must compete to attain partnerships with brands, and create the most appealing content for followers in order to maximise engagement and gain commission from their discount codes. In essence, they are as helpless in the face of corporations as the consumer.
Influencers might be the customer-facing icons of capitalism, but they’re not the root cause of the problem. Holding corporations accountable for their environmental and social impact, and spending money through responsible companies, is a tangible way to enact social change and have a positive impact on the global society.