This summer, as I stood in front of my overflowing wardrobe, I couldn’t help but feel sad. All those pretty blues, pinks and sequins had once inspired such hope, so much excitement for my future. At the time of buying the clothes, I’d seen them as a shortcut to success. Now, six years of being an influencer down the line? All they seemed to represent was shame and regret.
At first, I’d viewed my shopping habits as a surefire way of taking the Instagram account I started back in 2018 to the next level, a way of drawing in more followers and helping – not hindering – my finances.
Sure, some of the clothes did star in the plus-size fashion haul videos that I’d post for my 105,000 Instagram followers, receiving mostly a positive response. And okay, perhaps treating yourself to a splurge every once in a while isn’t a bad thing to do – but I was doing it regularly. And given that each time it saw me spend hundreds, the costs quickly started mounting up into the thousands. It wasn’t just clothing either: I shelled out on beauty products I’d likely never be interested in otherwise, accessories I told myself would complement my growing wardrobe, and hotels for unpaid PR events out of town… all of which served as little more than props to try and boost my engagement. And a way to mess up my finances.
Having seen post after post from content creators with bigger numbers than myself, I became convinced that if I too made videos that perfectly showcased similar clothing, the same brands who collaborated with them would be bound to notice me too. I felt certain they’d want to work with me in a paid capacity and viewed all these new items as an investment.
It’s practically impossible for me to calculate the total sum I spent trying to get ahead as a content creator, but I know that it’s easily in the tens of thousands. Sure, I did secure some incredible partnerships with brands I loved along the way, and was able to make a modest living all things considered (enough to own a renovated three-bedroom home in a small city with my husband) and got to experience some cool, once-in-a-lifetime opportunities along the way, like lavish PR dinners and concert invites. But ultimately it destroyed my mental health – and influencing has left me in a lot of debt.
I began influencing by mistake when I decided to share my mental health journey online. At the time, I had just started medication for anxiety and depression and thought that chronicling my experience might help others going through something similar. In the beginning, I posted because it was therapeutic to me. Instagram was like my journal where I’d work out my struggles and engage with others on the same journey. But as my follower count grew and my content shifted to focus on self-love, in 2020 I was approached by a large talent agency wanting to sign me to their roster. That’s when I began working with brands in a paid capacity and organically integrating products into my content on a daily basis, from the brands I wore to the tea I drank in the morning.
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From then on, I slowly began feeling the pressure to buy more, spend more, haul more, in order to keep up with other creators and to stand out amongst a growing sea of new influencers who seemed to constantly be on top of the newest trends. Some would be sharing clothing hauls daily, in an attempt to go viral and grow their audiences. The competition was quietly fierce, or so it felt, seeing others secure brand partnerships that you were also in the running for. This only made me think that maybe if I purchased more of their products and integrated them into my content more often, I’d be included in the next round of paid partnerships. As my debt grew, so did my stress about not booking as many collabs as some of my counterparts.
This mounting debt, constant criticism from strangers and pressure to land paid work to financially keep my head above water resulted in a slow burn of any mental wellness I once had – the exact opposite reason as to why I started my account in the first place.
It all came to a head one August morning this year, I called my mum sobbing – something that had become a regular occurrence over the space of 12 months – telling her how unhappy I was, stuck in this vicious cycle of trying to buy my way ahead, posting in the hopes of appealing to brands and people I’d never met online, and the Hunger Games-esque nature of the influencer scene in general. After hearing me out, she said something that was so poignant and yet so simple, “Why don’t you take a break?” This wasn’t the first time the idea of logging off had been suggested to me, but it was the first time I instantly knew it was the right decision.
So, I finally gave in – and after six years of influencing, I deleted Instagram off my phone for the first time.
It didn’t take long to notice a change in myself. After only a few days, my mental health improved drastically: I was reading and writing again, and spending time with my nephew and family. Things I’d almost forgotten I enjoyed because I was so wrapped up in being online 24/7, trying to think of the next idea that would make me go viral.
Two months later, I am still officially absent from the online world I once knew. Instead, I’m focussed on a new fundraising and communications position I’ve started at a children’s mental health agency and planning events for Sarnia Speaks, my non-profit initiative I started in 2016 that uses storytelling to promote positive mental wellness. And paying off my debt.
Not spending my entire existence thinking about social media has allowed me to save more money, as my spending habits have changed drastically. I’ve begun selling the clothes that got me into trouble in the first place and have reduced my shopping habits significantly.
As I began to pull clothes from my wardrobe, each item telling a story (one that was posted online), ready to be resold, it felt as though I was clearing out my toxic habits too. A fresh start, a clean slate. Like slowly entering a new world – in which mental wellness and authenticity takes priority over clothing hauls, viral moments and opinions from strangers.
