How do digital nobodies turn into influencers?

This aging Baby Boomer understands the role of superstars, but not the pretenders

I am not a newcomer to computers and the Internet.

Yes, I admit that I am not a digital professional. However, I have been working on a computer keyboard since 1978, when I took a copy-desk job in a daily newspaper that, while reporters were still using IBM typewriters, had already put the editing process on screens.

I grabbed the Tmatt.net domain (Tmatt.com was taken, as I recall) in 1995, or thereabouts. That was when the early browsers were yanking us out of dial-up services from the likes of AOL and CompuServe. Does anyone remember those numerical CompuServe email addresses?

Professors were, in the early 1980s, already talking about the online world when I was a graduate student at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign — where computer nerds played a big role in what was ahead for all of us. Then, in 1990. I read the first edition of “Life After Television: The Coming Transformation of Media and American Life” by futurist George Gilder and that was that.

But this 70something scribe needs to ask an online-culture question to the young whippersnappers in our midst: How in the heckfire do supposedly “ordinary” people turn into “influencers”?

Please understand: I grasp the concept of corporations paying online celebrities to pump up their products and services in messages to their “audiences” on social-media platforms. These transactions are merely an update on old-school advertising concepts, with mass-media and sports celebrities shilling for giant corporations.

I mean, I’m old enough to remember the great Orson Welles trying to keep a straight face while promoting Paul Masson wines. I remember the early “Be like Mike” commercials for Gatorade. Today, I have my doubts about whether Jennifer Aniston walks around snacking on giant bags of SkinnyPop. I even understand why struggling political candidates need salutes from Beyonce, Bruce Springsteen and Oprah Winfrey.

Superstars I understand. I want to know how unknown people turn into economic, political, religious or cultural power-players. How did Dylan Mulvaney and his solo off-Broadway-style performances attract a niche audience large enough to tempt the powers that be at Bud Light?

I asked Grok to define “influencers" and received this:

"Influencers" are individuals who have the power to affect others' decisions due to their authority, knowledge, position, or relationship with their audience, often on social media platforms. They typically have a significant following and can shape opinions, trends, or behaviors in areas like fashion, fitness, technology, or lifestyle.

Note that this definition begins AFTER these “influencers” already have audiences and, thus, power.

That isn’t the issue, is it? I want someone to explain the mechanisms that allow them to create their digital kingdoms.

I understand that some people are experts on things like electric cars or acoustic guitars and that allows them to create YouTube channels that, well, hook people like me. Is that it? Is that the doorway to trad-wife lessons, end-time prophecies and who knows what all?

The seed for my current questions? Several Rational Sheep-adjacent folks pointed me to the Dor Brothers video at the top of this post — which contains a parade of influencer stereotypes reacting to the End Of The World As We Know It. Maybe the only thing they forgot was to include some kind of R.E.M. parody.

Did this video miss any major influencer niches? What are your love-to-hate-them favorites?

Meanwhile, back to my main question. Here is “The WIRED Guide to Influencers” addressing the definition question:

Ostensibly, it’s someone who wields influence. (Duh.) But that doesn’t really match up with current usage. Influencer culture, as we know it today, is inextricably tied to consumerism and the rise of technology. The term is shorthand for someone (or something) with the power to affect the buying habits or quantifiable actions of others by uploading some form of original — often sponsored — content to social media platforms like Instagram, YouTube, Snapchat, or, god forbid, LinkedIn. Be it moody photos, cheeky video reviews, meandering blogs, or blurry soon-to-disappear Stories, the value of the content in question is derived from the perceived authority — and, most importantly, authenticity — of its creator.

Wait a minute. If “authenticity” is the standard, is WIRED claiming that wink-wink irony is never part of the equation? Or do the core audiences think that their favoriate influencers are totally sincere, while those in the know get the joke?

This leads to another question: What do online performers have to achieve to prove “authenticity”? Back to the WIRED piece:

Users consider influencers more akin to a close friend than an advertiser or paid endorser, as the stream of content they produce — and the more casual way in which it is shared with the public — imbues influencers with an air of authenticity that is rarely seen in semi-commercial spaces.

It is this perception of expertise and accessibility that separates influencers from celebrities and one-off viral sensations — though those in the latter category frequently make embarrassingly public attempts to strongarm their way into the former (see: Curvy Wife Guy, Backpack Kid, etc.) — not to mention the many other genres of on- and offline star. …

That perceived expertise and authenticity are hallmarks of an influencer is, of course, a bit ironic, as the term is increasingly synonymous with the more skeevy sides of the product marketing industry. What once seemed corrupting is now the norm, and given the dismal state of truth online, it’s unlikely the lines will ever get unblurred.

Check out this essay’s long and detailed take on the history of “influencers,” and note the pivotal role played by weblogs. But, hey, I would argue that there is a big difference between early bloggers offering chatty descriptions of their breakfasts and the details of their daily grind and, let’s say, a circle of professional journalists producing 20 years of critiques of religion-news coverage in the mainstream press.

I mean, am I an influencer? What should I be trying to advertise, other than Substack projects like After Babel?

OK, this is where I hope that some of you good people can offer helpful insights. Clearly, I need help understanding this phenomenon. Pieces such as this one — “What is a Social Media Influencer in 2025?” — at BuzzVoice are not getting the job done.

Please use the Dor Brothers video as a starting point. What’s missing in that digital stampede? I mean, other than someone pretending to be Jordan Peterson?