By Javier Leng

I recently came across a Tiktok video of a street interview on Oxford Street, London’s premier shopping district. After a rather gaudy opening tune from the popular pop song Espresso, the male interviewer asked a group of young girls who could not have been older than 10 (trusting my visual intuition) to tell the audience what they had bought on their shopping day. The girls reached into their purses, and instead of pulling out Barbie dolls or a pair of colorful sneakers as one would expect of their age, they pulled out a whole stash of Sephora products. Drunk Elephant anti-aging serums, Fenty Beauty concealers, Jo Malone fragrances…you name it. When asked why they had bought so many cosmetics, the girls said they saw their favorite influencer using them in her latest haul video, claiming they needed the products to “Look just like her.”

This wasn’t the first video of the kind that I have seen on Tiktok, I’m sure you all feel the same. This isn’t something we can afford to overlook. While appearing harmless on the surface, such videos are indicative of a broader, more disturbing trend plaguing contemporary culture: young audiences being conditioned by influencers, often subconsciously, to replicate their curated lifestyles.  

To understand why such a trend exists, we must look at the fundamental aspects of human nature. Since the beginning of civilization, humans have always had an intrinsic tendency to compare themselves to others. From evolution’s perspective, comparing oneself to others is a survival mechanism—it helped cavemen determine who was most skilled at finding food or defending the tribe from predators. As social creatures, humans want to have a sense of belonging, and the easiest way to realize it is by measuring ourselves against those around us. In fact, Festinger’s Social Comparison Theory suggests that humans are unable to define themselves in isolation. We are only able to understand their identity in relation to others. Thus, it is especially challenging to refrain from comparing ourselves against something perceived to be perfect, as perfection is the benchmark for gaining the approval and acceptance of our peers that many desperately crave.

By definition, influencers embody this ideal of perfection. They are not just seen as sellers for brand sponsorships, but as cultural icons or “it girls” or “it guys”—the colloquial term for individuals who personify values and aesthetics that society deems desirable. And in a capitalistic society that often rewards materialistic traits such as wealth and beauty, it is no surprise that most influencers tend to be conventionally attractive and affluent. Such traits are unattainable for the vast majority of the population, making the title of an influencer even more exclusive and desirable.    

In Kelsey Nield’s article for Deseret News, the journalist claims that influencers aren’t anything new, and that such a marketing trend has been around for centuries, dating as far back as Ancient Rome when gladiators endorsed products after games. Many also argue that celebrities like Naomi Campbell and Paris Hilton, being the face of luxury brand campaigns through the late 20th century, were the predecessors of influencers—trendsetters who made every consumer envious of their lifestyle. In recent years, under the reign of a consolidated class of influencers, we saw a significant surge to the comparison paradigm that prominent individuals perpetuate. The culprit? Social media—the primary hotspot for influencer activity in the wake of the pandemic. But why is social media causing people to compare themselves to others more than ever before? 

The intuitive answer is that social media is three dimensional, transcending the physical limitations of geographical borders and allowing users to swipe past thousands of influencers at the scroll of a mouse. Instead of only having local celebrities that one may have seen on highway billboards or TV advertisements, users now have a never-ending stream of seemingly perfect lives from around the world to compare themselves to.  But the problem doesn’t just lie in the wide connectivity of social media, it also lies in the algorithmic model that most social media apps employ.  

First, it is important to note that it is not just social media users, but influencers too who bear the burden of “appearing perfect” to their digital followers. After all, it is through flaunting materialistic traits that most influencers maintain their popularity and marketability, which determines whether they can attain sponsorship deals and earn a living. Under this immense pressure, influencers often have to resort to alternative measures to fit beauty standards or appear wealthy that may not reflect reality. A 2020 study found that 78% of influencers use photo editing tools provided by Instagram and Tiktok to alter their facial features, with the most popular tools involving the highlighting of nose bridges and enlargment of eyes.​​ This proves that such a practice is not just tolerated but actively supported by social media platforms.  

Today, influencers dominate social media platforms. The app algorithms are designed to maximize user engagement by recommending content by influencers who have accumulated many likes and shares, which potentially indicates a higher likelihood to appeal to the average consumer. To our great dismay, these algorithms work too well. The average Tiktok user lacks critical thinking to see past the fraudulent materialistic standards that eventually become a reference point for them.

The repercussions of wide-spread social media use are far-reaching. As individuals internalize these unrealistic standards of beauty and strive to conform to them at any cost, more people become susceptible to body dysmorphia and eating disorders. Our youth are the most at risk as they often do not have the cognitive maturity to recognize that the idealistic traits promoted on social media are unattainable, and that the relentless pursuit of such traits is dangerous. In Britain alone, it is reported that 1 in 4 teenagers have stated that social media has negatively skewed their self image. 

As songwriter Olivia Rodrigo proclaimed in her hit song jealousy jealousy, “Co-comparison, is killing me slowly.” The pressure to replicate the carefully curated lifestyles of influencers is not only unrealistic, but also detrimental to our self esteem and mental health. As we continue to navigate this digital epoch, it is essential to be mindful of the impact such platforms have on our perceptions of ourselves and others, and to seek a healthier, more balanced way of engaging with them.