INFLUENCE AND THE MARKET OF AUTHENTICITY

Hi ZoNERz

Wave two is in full swing now, and it seems that governments all over the world will be less keen on letting us gather anywhere. Mentally preparing for a period that’d likely be mirroring the unconscious mental breakdown I went through between March and May - those times, you tell yourself you are fine, but your body sends you obvious signals that it is not taking the mourning of your past lifestyle well - I, as always, spent a lot of time living from the neck up (read, I did the usual deep introspection and tried to get a critical look at what I am doing with my life).

If you know me, you know that I’m (not) lightly addicted to Instagram. I really got into it in 2016 when Facebook started becoming irrelevant (sorry Mark), and surrendered to the small shots of dopamine the platform gives me. Social media in general became even more potent at a time when we can only reach out to our loved ones via digital channels, which got me re-acquainted with my feed and very conscious of what content I was allowing my brain to process. And boy did it lead to a clean up: having to witness my addiction first hand, I couldn’t help but be flabbergasted by the sheer number of people I was following AND by what the identity of popular influencers were made of on the internet. That is what I wish to share now, to give you a bit of perspective on influence. DiScLAiMEr: It is not another body positivity post or “protect your mental health” posts (not that these aren’t worthy causes to support). It’s a personal critique on how my (and maybe your) decision-making process is skewed by apps and pictures that weren’t even a thing 15 years ago.

If god is dead, spirituality is buried, are influencers all we have left because we don’t have a compass?

I know, coming in strong with the big words. When I thought about it, it was pretty obvious to me how “growing up” is a lonely individualistic process now. If you follow an “enviable” evolution path, tied to extreme individualistic endeavours, success brings you more loneliness. The fact is, in 2020 we busted a lot of the structuring institutions that were supposed to take us through our initiatic journey to adulthood. Now, our individualistic search for self (travelling the world, moving a bunch, figuring yourself out), and erratic careers couldn’t be further to the tight net of a local community, the soothing constance and familiarity of 20 years spent in the same company, or the reassuring sense of belonging that marriage provided to previous generations. The millennials’ and Gen Z mission to deconstruct traditional (and oftentimes dysfunctional) structures whose job it was to carve out the spot where we were suppose to fit in, took us in this weird transitional period where each of us feels understood, seen, multifaceted, but lonely and in constant need for validation. In our efforts at expressing our full range of idiosyncrasies, at allowing change and fluidity in each individual, we discovered absolute freedom of choice and a new responsibility: figure out by ourselves what our purpose is. Let me synthesise: God is dead since Nietzsche killed him, mega cities where we now live anonymise the individuals, partnership and marriage are redefining traditional contracts, and you can’t even tie your identity to the company you work with anymore because chances are that in 6 months you might go work for the competition. Who the hell are you, and where do you belong in this mess? Don’t ask me, I have no clue.

"We discovered absolute freedom of choice and a new responsibility: figure out by ourselves what our purpose is"

But if there is one constant, it’s the perpetual movement forward of life that each of us has to adapt to. Whether you want it or not, the sun will rise tomorrow. In those times of distress, it seems more obvious than ever how important it is to belong to a group. And that is the dual beauty of being human: being an individual (and all the obnoxious ways we try our hardest not to be basic), but also to be an active part of a community. The need to live together is deep rooted in our reptile brain (don’t quote me on this), from those times that if you were out of the tribe, left on your own in complicated living conditions, you were dead. Even more in today’s circumstances when our forced lonely individual realities are thrown at our faces, having the impression to be part of something, to fit into a group, is incredibly reassuring. “We are all in this together”.

In the quest to find our spot, when traditional structures don’t quite offer the communities where we feel at home, when institutions don’t show the path to growing up, we turn to the internet, the neuronal fabric constituted with so many niche communities that you will find a spot where you feel you belong. The possibilities are endless, and as long as it speaks to you, as soon as you relate, you can like and subscribe: athletics, looks, fitness, wellness, aesthetic, body positivity, self development, you name it.

Some individuals, by just sharing self curated pieces of their lives create a whole wave, captivating the attention of millions of people. They create a structure that they curate, with codes, language, graphic identity, values, and become the north star of their army of followers, adopting their way lives that receive so many likes, to be, in turn, validated by the community. All of this on the ground of being authentically inspired. It seems far-fetched and feels very much “teenage rockstar groupie”, but it’s not so far from the truth.

"To this day I still ask myself if I bought into a community, or a brand."

As always, I’ll hold myself accountable and will illustrate my point with an example from my own life. I love indoor spinning. Let me rephrase, I love LOVE LOVE indoor spinning. The workout in itself is brilliant and the “soul cycle”-like experience of my favourite Parisian studio completely aligns with my hippie new wave tendencies (candles, talking to your soul, putting purpose behind pedals … I can picture you rolling your eyes already). But what I love even more, are spin class instructors, enough at least, to wish to become one myself, some day.

The latters are recruited on their physical abilities obviously, but their charisma, their magnetic personalities, give them this weird power to make a room sweat on blasting music, keep pedalling nowhere on spinning bikes for 45 mins, pay a ridiculous price tag while doing so, and be ecstatic to do it over and over again. They create an experience, and, if I like the workout, I love to be able to take obnoxious selfies in the changing rooms, tag my favorite instructors on instagram, exchange with them via DM and follow the studio and fellow riders. Over the years, and over the various sessions I attended, I found myself increasingly actively engaging in the community. I bought merch, listened to the same type of music as my favorite instructors... I haven’t become another person since I started, and yet I really fell into the trap hardcore, because I have the impression of sharing with riders a way of approaching life, and getting validation from reposts, likes, conversation with people from the studio give me great satisfaction. It feels as if I am authentically on a similar wavelength to those cycling gurus, and, to me, the proximity with the person that literally is on a pedestal during class and guides you in the dark, (I wish this were a metaphor) is highly satisfactory. The problem is that if this link feels authentic, and I have absolutely no doubt that instructors genuinely enjoy connecting with their riders to make the experience more enjoyable, a transaction is still happening behind the scenes. To this day I still ask myself if I bought into a community, or a brand.

That is precisely, if we zoom out, what I think is happening with the blistering new business of influence. What exactly makes us buy into instagramable experiences? If influencers Inspire you by sharing a view of their lives and considering you part of their “gang”, “lovely followers”, “fans”, “community”, this certainly doesn’t come for free. Either you are paying for a service, watching ads on their feed (for the worst you might even be forced fed product). It feels like influencers have made us, followers, a commodity on the market of authenticity. In those new communities, when does the transaction begin, and how much is your membership?

Digital idiots

Further than the form of the transaction, there is a major problem in the content we are consuming and scrolling on several hours of each day. Influencers, now dictating the tempo of what’s trending are given platforms, a new version of a microphone that amplifies whatever they are saying. We listen, and we buy because we can relate. But what are we buying exactly? I’ll pass on the unattainable body standards and “highlight reel” kind of life they all post. What concerns me a bit more is how I am consciously willing to listen to opinions, stance on heavy social/ political/ environmental issues that influencers might have. It’s not the fact that I listen that frightens me, it’s my lack of background research, my willingness to adhere to causes after seeing an IGTV of a minute and a half, how the constant noise of influencers using their platform to voice opinions the size of a tweet tend to lower my critical sense and make me a digital idiot. I’ll finish by questioning curation and self judgement. Why are we so keen on listening to people whose job it is to precisely curate, i.e to willingly disclose a subjective point of view on a certain matter? If they are our new moral compasses, why does this life of latte art, restaurants reviews, aesthetic outfits and “bring your camera everywhere” look so empty. How to satisfy curiosity and yet favour information at the expense of true knowledge?

I’ll let you reflect on that

Mad love