I want to log out: Why content creators are getting tired of influencing

Taneesha Mirwani, 24

In the beginning, the Internet was an escape from real life - a safe space for the weird kids, away from the judgment of the cliques. Then came the influencer, content creators who shared bits of their lives and audiences fell in love. We made parasocial relationships with them, projected our hopes and desires onto them, and saw our own selves in them. You could count the select few who actually made it big - the Prajakta Kolis and Bhuvan Bams (aka MostlySane and BB ki Vines - whatever happened to pseudonyms!) of the world.

Then, somewhere between the 2014 Internet explosion and COVID-19, we became permanently logged in. Now everyone is creating content and wants to become an influencer. Your friend with 500 followers posts curated dumps and vlogs. Ask a first-grader their dream job and they'd probably say "influencer".

PIC/INSTAGRAM@twinklestanly

Last week, creator Twinkle Stanly posted a Reel saying, "Being a content creator isn't intellectually stimulating." Stanly had garnered over six lakh followers when she said, "A lot of the time you are working alone… In a real company, you have performance evaluations; you have to show up… Being a content creator means I'm no longer in those spaces and I'm not learning from people who are so much better than me, which is so important in your 20s."

Then, earlier this week, Taneesha Mirwani, better known as @taneesho to her 6.2 lakh followers, posted a video on YouTube expressing influencer fatigue. "Being in such an industry where people only want to move forward no matter what it takes, I find it hard sometimes to continue being me, when others are rewarded so greatly for going about it the more convenient way," she says.

"My reality: I hate events. I hate seeing the same people having the same conversations… But I will still go… And then I have to make it seem like I had the best time of my life because Sephora might do a brand deal with me. I was going to say no to a trip with my parents because The Devil Wears Prada 2 had to be on my page. I didn't even like the movie. ‘I have to know about Hailey Bieber. I have to be the first to get a new makeup launch. I have to have international PR.' These are things I actually hear people around me say. It's crazy. I hate it. I don't want to become this person."

Even though creators have the supposed dream job, they're getting tired of the culture around it. Now that we're a decade deep into the influencer economy, what happens when you get tired of the dream job?

We ask Mirwani herself. "I love creating content - the ideating, the editing, all of it is very fun for me," she says, "But when you start gauging your audience, you start realising what they like, and it's very easy to get sucked in. FOMO culture has become too big. These trivial things - that only exist online - become too important to our daily lives."

Mirwani herself has been at it for 10 years, blowing up on Instagram in 2020 for her comedy skits. Over the years, as her life changed, so did her content - college lifestyle, then food and fashion after she graduated and rejected a full-time job to pursue content creation.

Mirwani hypothesises that it's not the content causing the fatigue, but the culture around it. "Everyone makes a big show of going to fancy events but most people don't even enjoy them. You go, take your pictures, get your products, and leave. Everyone's gone in 10 to 15 minutes. It's just so fake." She points to the infamous Fenty Beauty launch, where Rihanna was set to appear. "I had just come back from the US, I was dying, I was so tired. My friend said, ‘No, you have to come. Rihanna will be there.' I hit a point and thought: Is this what we care about now? My health is on the line here."

When every other creator you meet is technically a competitor in the never-ending chase of Internet clout, it becomes harder and harder to make friends. "I have personally seen a lot of friendships and a lot of influencers get competitive with each other." Mirwani has chosen to keep her circle close. "I'm on good terms with everybody, but there are only have two or three people in the influencer industry that I would consider close," she says, "I'm 24 and I've reached a certain age where I have my close friends. Even if I was in another industry, I wouldn't actively be making new friends anyway, because I feel quite happy and secure with the friendships I already have."

As for the future: "The larger-picture plan is to pivot into something else and do this for fun. It's definitely not something I want to rely on for money forever. If I have to do it to pay the bills, it takes the fun out for me."

‘Content creation was never the goal'

Shreemi Verma, 36 Twitter creator

Shreemi Verma was Twitter-famous before being Twitter-famous meant anything. With 47,000 followers built on wit and film commentary, she was exactly the kind of person brands and producers went looking for when they needed funny people on the Internet. "Twitter just opened a gateway of sorts," she says, "At that time, people used to look for funny people on it to give them work."

For Shreemi Verma, working behind the camera was always more interesting. PIC/SAYYED SAMEER ABEDI

But unlike many of her contemporaries, Verma never made the jump to Instagram - partly by choice, partly by temperament. "Being an Instagram influencer requires a lot of effort. You need to know camera angles, the latest trends, transitions. It did not come naturally to me. It still doesn't." While others were pivoting to Reels and building visual brands, she kept her head down and stuck to her day job. "I've always had a job, because I live in Mumbai and I like living a good life," she jokes.

That parallel track - Internet presence alongside steady employment - is what eventually paid off. Her Twitter visibility led to a writing gig at MissMalini, which led to working on Koffee with Karan, which led to her current role as a creative producer at Bhuvan Bam's production house. She also co-hosts Cine5, a film podcast with creator Karan Mirchandani, produced by IVM. "It's my comfort zone: me talking about cinema. I don't have to deal with the editing, the posts, or the subtitles."

Content creation was never the goal. "I was just tweeting my thoughts," she says, "I'm old school. I still watch films, I still watch TV shows. My goal has always been to make a long-form series or a film." Short-form content, camera-first creation - none of it ever appealed to her. "I'm 36 and I can't change my viewing habits anymore." Turns out, she didn't have to.

‘Creators can never switch off'

Ayush Guha Influencer-management expert

Has influencer culture hit a saturation point? Ayush Guha, who was the National Head at Creator18 agency and was part of the founding team at talent management agency HYPP, doesn't think so. "Five years back, we would love and appreciate each piece of content. But now, because we are watching so much and creators are creating so much, the value per piece of content is reduced - which is in turn creating fatigue amongst the creators making them."

Short-form content has added to this. "People want more consistency and connection from their audience. So you'll see a lot of creators do long-form content alongside Instagram, which gives them the creative space to connect at a deeper level." Influencers find it hard to escape the algorithm "If you switch off, you become irrelevant in a couple of weeks."

Over the years, OG creators have been pivoting to business ventures, translating audience loyalty into something more permanent. "I think this is inevitable. Creators have such big distribution channels and loyal communities," Guha says, "Viraj Ghelani [@viraj_ghelani] got married, did movies, opened a café, and is still creating." Other examples include Kusha Kapila (@kushakapila) who started shapewear brand Underneath and Meghna Kaur (@shetroublemaker) and Radhika Seth (@radhikasethh) started a coffee company together.

Too often, creators get stuck in their boxes. "A creator's journey is not just to become an actor. Most creators' journeys are to have their own businesses, production houses, YouTube content programming, consulting jobs. These are far closer to a creator's job than acting."

‘The scrutiny is a lot'

Ipsita Chatterjee, Psychotherapist

Working alone, being chronically online has its own effects on the psyche. Clinical psychologist Ipsita Chatterjee tells us, "Every job requires you to show up even if you're having a bad day, but then you only have to face your colleagues. But influencers show up to lakhs of people, and they are under constant scrutiny."

When influencers talk about their struggles, they fear sounding air-headed and complaining about champagne problems. "They don't have anyone to share their problems with, and the people who might actually understand those problems are also their direct competitors."

What does constant scrutiny do to one's mental health? "Even celebrities are under scrutiny. But their job ends once they go home. For influencers, every single moment of their life - from morning showers to getting ready for the day - is part of their job," she says, "A lot of us go to watch Reels to relax after a long day. But for influencers, even social media is market research. They are always ‘on'."

Chatterjee cites a case from April 2025, when a 24-year-old influencer with over three lakh followers died by suicide. Her family said the influencer was anxious with reaching one million followers, and was depressed by her slow follower growth. "It's very easy for us to brush off this anxiety faced by influencers or dismiss it. But when you're inside it, it is very, very real. It's the same as someone thinking life is not worth it when they don't get promoted or they don't get certain marks in the Class 12."

‘Online advocacy can get mentally draining'

Naksi Timbadia, 22 Feminist content creator

A new crop of creators the Internet has dubbed "thought daughters" is on the rise - creators who focus on academic, intellectual content and breaking down larger issues. One of them is 22-year-old Naksi Timbadia (@borderline_lesbian), who has garnered over 24,000 followers.

Naksi Timbadia finds that most influencers don't align with her politically. PIC/SATEJ SHINDE

Naksi finds it difficult to make friends in the influencer community. Political alignment matters deeply to her, and "it's appalling to me when I see someone using the word autistic so casually," she says, referring to a city-based influencer group gets its name from playing on the word ‘autism'. "Or Orry going around saying slurs like chh''kka, [transphobic slur]" she adds. Naksi also sees casteism running rampant among peers. "I saw a post calling someone's dyed hair chh'pri [casteist slur]. Then I saw another hair influencer comment, ‘Should we launch laal chh'pri colour hair?'"

Her page is entirely built around feminist advocacy. "You have to read really brutal news every day, you have to be factually correct, and you have to deal with a lot of criticism - not just hate. There will be times where you make a comment that other feminists won't agree with. There have been times I've been wrong, and I've gone online and said, ‘Hey, I was wrong, I've taken my video down, here's how I'm going to learn better.'"

Her escape from this fatigue is taking things offline. She runs Her Autonomy - a feminist community and safe third space with offline events and reading circles across the country. "At the same time, I'm also going to do more lifestyle and fashion content - but the feminist lens is always going to be there, while redirecting the narrative."