"How r u so rich": Do influencers owe us relatability?

Authenticity is demanded of online creators, which is awkward when their reality doesn't often reflect our own

Oct 02, 2024

Let me begin this one with my own disclaimer! This is by no means intended to be an exhaustive documentation of opinions, a critique of individual creators or a definitive examination of the larger machinations at play when it comes to influencer culture, privilege and wealth.

I’m also not going to delve into the oppressive power structures that promote racism, ageism, sexism, classism, ableism and heterosexism within this space, because such pervasive cultural underpinnings are obviously a given here.

Instead, consider the below to be some explorative thoughts on a very complex topic.

Over the last few months, I’ve seen a number of nano or micro-creators on TikTok lamenting influencers for portraying an unattainable lifestyle in their content. The comments sections of these videos are filled with calls for seemingly wealthy influencers to be honest about their lives, particularly their financial status – they demand to know how much money they have and how they got it, but they also want them to stop showing that they have it.

Influencers who share their expensive purchases and overseas trips are accused of promoting consumerism and perpetuating an unrealistic lifestyle that’s out of touch with the current struggles of everyday people. The point of contention is perhaps best summed up by a continual question that many TikTok creators receive:

‘how r u so rich’

The corner of the internet that I’m discussing here typically pertains, but is obviously not limited to, the TikTok FYP of many women I know in their 20s and 30s. The shared view is that a significant chunk of the FYP of many women in their 20s and 30s is occupied by seemingly cashed-up Australian lifestyle influencers buying a new designer item every other day.

TikTok’s discoverability features can elevate new voices and give greater scope to the experiences we consume online – but it also provides no context or back-story, which is why a niggling curiosity emerges about where the person on the screen came from and how exactly they’re able to fund such an extravagant existence.

It can also display some uncomfortable truths that are emblematic of greater societal tension – one of which is the idea that simply being rich can grant easy and immediate access to the upper echelons of any industry. There’s no doubt that it’s easier for someone with a very healthy income to create aspirational content that enjoys algorithmic preference, fast-tracking an influencer career.

Is this type of aspirational content relatable? To most, no. The codes of wealth are immediately (and often deliberately) made visible by certain creators. Money acts like the secondary character within each post, hinting in the details of every frame that this particular POV will probably never get close to that of your own. But considering the source… should we really expect it to?

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Creators in the luxury space are inundated with queries about their financial situation on the daily, and I suppose if you’re putting this type of content out there to gain a following or work with luxury brands, that’s gonna be par for the course. But as I watched a fashion influencer attempt to justify a recent Euro holiday to her audience by going through personal bank statements, something just didn’t sit right.

I put it out to the echo chamber of my own Instagram audience: should seemingly moneyed influencers that use their expensive lifestyle as fodder for social media content acknowledge that it’s largely unattainable? Opinions were swift, intense and varied, but the responses made one facet very evident: “My girlfriends and I talk about this all the time”.

The comparison trap

Here’s something you already knew: Australians are spending far more than they can afford in pursuit of a lifestyle perpetuated by others. Recent data from Finder reports that “30 per cent of respondents – equivalent to 6.3 million people – have recently been pressured into making a purchase” to achieve or maintain social status.

Sarah Meggison, Finder’s personal finance expert, names social media as a common trigger for personal spending. "Never before have we had such an intimate and behind-the-scenes view into other people’s lives – but it’s important to remember it’s a highlight reel," she told Yahoo Finance.

We’re living through particularly tough economic conditions, which means of course it feels jarring to watch a wealthy creator debate which premium leather seat trim looks best in the interior of their new Mercedes-AMG. If you’ve had a particularly shit week of bills or an unexpected rent increase, content showcasing a gross level of wealth or privilege can prompt a prickly response.

“It is a conversation that keeps coming up more and more with my friends about the unrealistic, high aesthetic and unobtainable lifestyle these influencers portray and how we just don’t find it relatable anymore. We all seem to feel the same way,” creator Jen Rothwell told me.

Jen posted a video last week in response to her feelings about the way wealthy influencers were portraying their lives online. “Viewers of a similar age or older feel they are less successful, especially if they are really struggling with this cost of living crisis,” she explains. “It makes me question aspects of my own life. How come they can afford all those things and I can’t?”

As such, many creators feel a level of responsibility when it comes to what they share. Victoria Devine is a finance expert, a former financial adviser and the founder of She’s On The Money. Through her very successful businesses, she has obtained both money and a sizeable social media following which she remains very conscious of.

“We’re in the middle of a cost-of-living crisis, money for people has never been tighter. I try to be really nuanced about what I share because I don’t want to be contributing to people feeling bad about themselves.” Victoria adds that a story she wrote for the Sydney Morning Herald this week about the national grocery price-gouging has seen some of the highest engagement of anything she’s written.

“Money is impacting people so much. It’s this weird juxtaposition of being so worried about their income, that the groceries are costing so much more, how expensive energy is, and then logging on to TikTok and Instagram and seeing that influencers are still purchasing things that are way beyond our means.”

That isn’t to say that Victoria pretends to be someone she’s not, either. She has been refreshingly forthcoming about the cost of her wedding, which was upwards of 100k, and welcomes these kinds of ongoing discussions about money, values and privilege.

“Certain luxury influencers are setting unrealistic expectations for what fashion and beauty looks like,” she says. “I don’t need to know how much you earn, but I don’t think that there’s any shame in being transparent about how we’ve made money or how we’ve acquired things.”

The consumption of it all

One thing I found interesting to note was that a lot of the smaller creators sharing videos were saying that they felt fatigued by the lifestyle that wealthy influencers were said to be perpetuating. And yet, a number of them still posted their own shopping hauls, albeit from the likes of Henne, Senso or Stylerunner rather than Hermes, Loewe or Acne Studios.

It could be argued that despite the lower price point, this type of shopping content still promotes consumerism and a lifestyle that will always seem unattainable to someone. I asked Jen whether she felt that this was something of a contradiction.

“I agree that over-consumption is over-consumption regardless of the price tag, and social media does promote the idea people need to constantly be purchasing the newest trend or item,” she says. “However the micro influencers could be viewed as providing those middle or low income earners a way to feel as if they are living a comparably modified lifestyle.”

It’s a tough one, as a lot of creators have built their followings off the back of sharing their outfits each day, recommending and reviewing beauty products, and detailing their latest purchases. This presents a challenge when it comes to conversations about consumption, as the audience wants their advice and appreciates their taste, but that means making more content that could unintentionally apply additional spending pressure.

Who gets to be relatable?

Much of Victoria’s following have watched on as She’s On The Money has grown and roundly celebrate its success – and as such, her own. Perhaps due to her regular candour on the topic of money, Victoria has been able to remain relatable in the eyes of her audience despite the significant elevation in her income.

A lot of influencers know that it can be difficult for someone who started out sharing relatable comedy skits to remain genuine to their audience once they achieve a certain level of financial success. Depending on the creator, their followers can sometimes struggle to reconcile the down-to-earth person they thought they knew with someone that can now trade in their Mazda3 for a Range Rover Sport.

As a result, many hide their newfound disposal income from their audience in a bid to stay on the same wavelength as their following – or to appear as such, at least. Which does make you wonder: if we’re demanding disclosure for authenticity purposes and what they’re selling us (relatability) isn’t a reflection of the reality of their lifestyle, shouldn’t that also be something that people are concerned about?

If you do share elements of your wealth or privilege online, you can be accused of being out-of-touch or tone-deaf. If you don’t share, however, you can be accused of disguising your privilege. What we don’t seem to like is anything that hints at an unearned advantage, so where wealth is disclosed, any efforts up until now will need to be deemed worthy of ‘earning it’.

A lot of people in my DMs said that they found rich influencers more relatable when they had ‘real jobs’ and did content creation on the side. They didn’t mind the almost-daily lunchtime trips to Chanel or Cartier when they could see that the creator was working to earn their money.

Coincidentally or not, those mentioned were in prestigious industries such as fashion media, law, marketing and publicity, which also happen to be breeding grounds for nepotism. Do we need to know the details about how they landed those roles, also? Hmmm.

“I feel like most have come from wealthy backgrounds or have had support financially that others haven’t,” notes Jen. However I would argue that when these questions are asked of creators, the answers are still unlikely to hit the way that you’d want them to. Even if someone does admit they’re the recipient of generational wealth, or that they’re financially funded by a partner, their lavish content won’t suddenly start to translate as ‘relatable’ if it’s not your own reality.

Personally, I do really appreciate it when a creator shares their situation or acknowledges their privileged upbringing – and not just because I’m nosy. Chalking immense wealth up to nothing but ‘hard work’ can often feel patronising when ultimately, it feels like everyone works hard and the same level of effort doesn’t always yield the same rewards. But do I think it’s fair that we demand it of anyone? I’m not sure I do.

“I still think everyone has the right to privacy,” one respondent mused in my DMs, citing envy as a common reason for interrogating influencers about their bank accounts. “They shouldn’t have to share how they make their money unless they want to discuss it.”

Do luxury brands also have something to answer for?

Naturally, if someone with influence looks to live a life of considerable aspiration, luxury brands will presume that this extends to their audience and they’ll want to tap in through partnerships, whether it’s with gifting or paid ads. It might not feel fair to see a rich creator score a free Prada bag when they could obviously afford it on their own, but the reason is the same – it’s branding relative to a perceived audience.

A brand partnerships manager once told me that it’s often a creator’s friends in adjacent rich social circles that they’re really targeting for their taste. A common complaint I’ve seen on TikTok is that luxury brands should work with those that don’t already appear to have money – but wealthy people are the target demographic. In a way, that’s kinda like telling Dior to stop placing ads in Vogue and start putting fragrance inserts in the community newspaper (ummm, sorry but that’s an excellent idea).

But no, in essence it’s not fair, because brands don’t mean it to be. Luxury brands trade off exclusivity, which is why they’re not accessible to the majority of the population – and hence why they partner with those that also exude wealth. These brands don’t purport to be anything other than they are, so we don’t really expect them to. We do, however, ask it of the influencers they work with – arguably because it’s easier to leave a comment on their account than it is to confront a faceless company.

Luxury brands are the ones who have the cash to be platforming creators of different backgrounds, but they choose to align with those that already display the traditional markers of wealth. Maybe they’re the ones we should be talking to, rather than taking aim at individuals for the unattainable nature of an entire industry.

It should be said that there are also a lot of men taking luxury car partnerships, getting gifted heavy wrist-candy and enjoying the various spoils of their partner’s proximity, income or access to a high-end lifestyle. Genuine question: are we asking the same of them?

Where does that leave us?

I do think all influencers, wealthy or not, have a responsibility to be conscious of their audience and their current circumstances and to tailor their content in a way that feels respectful. But it also feels unrealistic to expect that they stop sharing their lives altogether, or pretending their privilege just doesn’t exist.

It’s really in our best interest to regulate our emotions and take care of our own mental wellbeing right now. TikTok’s algorithm is a mirror for our viewing habits, so if you’re not feeling good about what you’re seeing, train it to serve you something else by muting, unfollowing or swiping on. It takes a bit of time, but it can be done – and I’ve personally taken these avenues when I’ve needed to.

We can also choose to uplift the creators that make content that we genuinely enjoy consuming. If there’s a creator that resonates better with your life or offers a perspective that you value, you can engage with their sponsored content to encourage other brands to work with them, or just support them when you see them in the feed.

It’s really easy to lay a lot of blame on influencers, particularly those that seem to live perfect lives that don’t outwardly reflect the current struggles many of us are facing. It’s also easier to be resentful of someone that you don’t really know by making baseless assumptions that fill in the blanks about their circumstances.

Even when answers about someone’s unattainable lifestyle are freely shared, I’m not sure they’ve ever made me feel much better about my own. And does what’s disclosed actually get to the honest truth about how privilege plays out on social media? Yeah, nah.