I'm Influencing You To Log Off

Musing on Social Media Use & Content Creation

Recently, one of my favorite content creators, Aiden Walker, made an important point. He essentially explained that being an influencer takes a negative toll on your mental health. He’s right. Studies show that regular social media use can lead to depression (especially in young folks), but what happens when staying up to date on breaking news, following the latest trends or writing carefully crafted scripts is connected to your livelihood? What then? I mean, most of us are already aware that posting consistent content leads to insomnia, anxiety, paranoia and—as each platform caves to Enshittification— we’re also bombarded with more advertisements and less quality, nuanced and awe-inspiring posts. It all feels so overwhelming. So what can we do?

How Many Hot Takes Does it Take?

My journey into content creation started during the pandemic. Like a lot of folks, I was bored—bored in the house, and in the house bored—but also, I was working as a teaching artist. I was trying to reach my students, and I knew a lot of young people were using TikTok. I didn’t buy into the whole “TikTok is just dancing” narrative (and even if it was at the time—why are we devaluing dancing?!). So I started an account, started having fun making silly skits, and pretty quickly realized: there’s actually some really complex content being shared.

Like, imagine you’re studying gender theory at Berkeley and you decide to open up your syllabus in the library, share an important theory, ultimately breaking down information that’s not readily accessible in a two-minute video, which now has one hundred thousand views. Or imagine someone sharing obscure facts about Black American history like maroon societies in the United States. There was radical, leftist political discourse happening on the clock app, in bite-sized, digestible chunks. It blew my mind. You see, there’s something magical about repetition (people in marketing would argue it’s the closest thing we have to a spell). Don’t understand what’s being said in the first take? Watch it twenty more times. Let it sink in. And artists were thriving on TikTok too—musicians were using the platform not just to showcase their songs but to show who they are. It’s not just “make the art and let it speak for itself.” Now, people want to connect with you, the artist. Some people find that annoying: “Ugh, I have to be on camera?” But honestly? You kind of need to have a personality. And luckily, I do.

Now, I never made a ton of money from content creation. But creating content for two years opened the door to a whole new career path for me—in communications and narrative strategy. I cracked the code of virality as well. I learned how to take complex ideas and distill them into something relatable and easy to understand. That’s made me part educator, part artist, part strategist. And it worked. I now have a salaried position, something I haven’t had for about a decade.

But here’s the thing: the content creation world remains precarious, especially for Black creators, queer folks, disabled people, femmes—basically anyone already marginalized within Racial Capitalism. You see brilliant content every day, and a lot of those folks aren’t making a living wage. Some are basically working full-time hours online, for free or close to it.

And why? Because people don’t trust traditional media like they used to. That’s not always a bad thing—it’s just a shift. But it means more and more people are turning to creators, like me, for commentary and education. I never call myself a journalist—I’m not trying to be impartial. I’m a narrative strategist, with a particular opinion and purpose when I post. People come to me for my take, because they trust it. And I take that trust seriously. Still, it can be a really lonely endeavor. Not many of my IRL friends are content creators, so a lot of what happens online just doesn’t translate to my day-to-day social life. Which, on one hand, I’m grateful for—I’m glad my friends aren’t chronically online like I am lol. But it can still feel isolating.

And like many jobs I’ve had, making content feels like care work. And care work is always undervalued. People think it’s easy to turn on a camera and say something impactful. But it’s not. I’ve made thousands of videos at this point. That’s how I got good. People don’t always recognize the skill it takes to do media work well—to be a one-person media outlet. I don’t have a team. No editor, no fact-checker, no teleprompter, even. It’s just me, myself and I. And the pressure to stay informed, to keep creating each day, to stay relevant—it’s exhausting.

I’ve made a commitment: my mental health comes first. Always.

A couple of years ago, I went super viral. Like, billions of clicks and shares level engagement viral. My video ended up in a documentary, on a game show, and my likeness was used by major companies. But guess what? I didn’t make a single cent. Because it was a “stitch,” and apparently you can’t monetize those. And I had no idea. I didn’t have a manager, and I didn’t know the rules of the game. And that’s the reality for so many of us—we’re figuring it out as we go, with no roadmap and no support.

But you know what I did when that video went viral? I logged off. I was planning on going to South America and I decided to visit Machu Picchu. I was like, “Y’all can go crazy in the comments—I’m touching sacred grass at one of the wonders of the world.”

So here’s my takeaway: If you’re a content creator or even just someone who goes online a lot, prioritize your mental health. This kind of new media work is valuable. It’s also draining. And the system doesn’t always reward the people doing the most meaningful labor. But we still do it—because we care, because we have something to say, and because people are listening. But who knows what the future holds. We have to be ready to shift. Like, maybe Gen Alpha will abandon their phones and social media entirely, opting to go back to the pre-internet age. The era of old. What will you do then? Just be sure you’re ready to log off without going tf off.