Why Influencers Are Losing Their Grip (And the Reason Might Surprise You)
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There’s an air of cynicism creeping in. As the cost of living continues to spiral, global markets teeter on the edge of yet another crisis, and financial uncertainty becomes the norm, people are beginning to see through the glossy veneer of influencer culture. We're entering a new era—one where curated lifestyles and #ads are losing their shine, and authenticity is no longer just a buzzword but a non-negotiable. The influencer economy isn’t collapsing entirely, but its power is undeniably shifting—and not in the way you might expect.
It’s not just fashion fatigue—it’s emotional exhaustion. After years of political turmoil, a global pandemic, environmental anxiety, and now a brutal financial squeeze, people are craving something real—something less filtered. The once-alluring promise of the aspirational lifestyle now feels… off. Maybe even a little crass. In a world where many are struggling to get by, endless hauls and luxury ‘essentials’ are starting to feel tone-deaf.
We see it for what it is. We roll our eyes when our favourite influencers rave about “the best jacket ever”, which, of course, was gifted. But we’re not immune. We still buy the jacket. And then something else to go with it. And another thing after that. The cycle continues—and it’s toxic.
Ever found yourself craving red Adidas Sambas lately? You’re two years behind, but don’t worry—they’re still everywhere. A quick walk through Manchester confirms it: the latest uniform is alive and well. Oversized chore jackets. Baggy jeans. Sambas in bright hues or neutral tones. It’s style by algorithm.
Because deep down, we all want to be accepted. We want to look like we belong. And we also want to play it safe. You don’t want to be the only one turning up in New Balance, do you? These platforms are engineered to make us feel like we’re falling behind—like we need to consume more and more just to feel enough.
But it wasn’t always like this. Back in the day, we had Elle, Cosmo, Glamour, and of course, the holy grail—Vogue. And if you were really committed, you’d tune in to The Clothes Show on a Sunday night to catch the latest trends. That was it. That was all we had—and somehow, it was enough.
I fell for it all. The red trainers and Naff Naff jackets of the early ’90s. Day-glo tees. Rugby shirts. I even got my hair permed like Kylie, which, let’s just say, was a choice. Then came grunge: DMs, flowery tea dresses, oversized flannel shirts, Adidas Gazelles. Later, it was silver dresses, hoodies, and black maxi skirts. We followed the trends, yes—but we looked different. There was interpretation. Personality. You could spot a tribe by its vibe.
Now? Everyone looks the same. Scroll-styled. Carefully curated to appear effortless. It’s fashion by feed. Individuality, flattened under the weight of what’s trending. I saw a post on Reddit the other day titled ‘What Bags Do You See in Your City?’ and it depressed me, reading through the responses: ‘Lots of YSL and Polene’ in Milan, apparently. Ugh.
And with that dull sameness, we’re losing something much bigger—not just in how we dress, but in how we think, connect, and express ourselves. We’re so busy trying to blend in that we’ve forgotten how to stand out. Or worse, we’re afraid to.
But here’s the shift I’m seeing: people are quietly turning away from the noise. From the endless ads. From the carbon-copy content. They’re logging off, unsubscribing, and seeking something that feels more real. More intentional. There’s a quiet, growing resistance. And it warms my heart.
One of my favourite fashion vloggers recently launched a 12-month challenge to “not buy more stuff”. Another YouTuber I follow explained why she’s now buying only second-hand. Maybe we’re thinking about the planet, not just our wallets or our sanity. It’s why terms like slow fashion and capsule wardrobe are more popular than ever. Sure, the movement’s been around for a while—but it feels like it’s having another moment.
And the brands have noticed. They sense the shift. Marketing budgets are quietly drifting away from the influencer-heavy approach. Instead, they’re exploring more “authentic” ways to connect—ones that feel less like noise and more like trust.
Maybe that’s also why journalism is enjoying a quiet renaissance. Not the clickbait kind, but thoughtful storytelling. Long reads. Honest perspectives. Credible sources. Substacks. Podcasts. Independent platforms that don’t shout, “Buy this,” but gently ask, “Have you thought about this?” and “Could you be more considered in your choices?”
Even our friends in PR are noticing the change—fewer TikTok darlings at design weeks and press launches, and a renewed interest in traditional media. Journalism is back, baby. Beautiful, credible stories and features written by professional journalists who endorse only what they truly believe in. (Well… mostly. I know how it works. I run a magazine. I get it.)
In a world oversaturated with influence, credibility is becoming the real currency. We’re not just craving truth—we’re demanding it. And maybe, just maybe, we’re finally ready to loosen the algorithm’s grip and rediscover the joy of thinking for ourselves.
It was fun while it lasted. For a long time, influencers genuinely inspired us. They helped us pull outfits together, refine our style, and discover new ways to express ourselves. But now? It feels like we’re stuck on the Waltzers—spinning endlessly, getting dizzy from the pressure to keep up. And honestly? I’m ready to get off. I want to feel solid ground beneath my feet again.
That’s why, for the next 12 months, I’m challenging myself to a proper no-buy. I’ll be unsubscribing from all those brilliant, stylish women who’ve helped me part with my money for years, with gratitude. I’ll go back to the classics—the timeless pieces that never go out of fashion. Maybe I’ll rekindle my love for charity shops and thrifting. And who knows? I might finally dig out my old sewing kit and get creative again.
Because in the end, it’s not about rejecting style. It’s about reclaiming it on our own terms. And who knows? Maybe fast fashion will have its day, too. Or perhaps that’s just wishful thinking.