Wimbledon is banning them, so is being an influencer embarrassing now?

It’s not a good time to be a social media influencer. Not only are shopkeepers now poking fun at them by installing “no influencer” signs on their doors, but they’re also about to start getting banned from tennis tournaments.

After a spate of interruptions at the US Open – a group of influencers whipped out a bright ring light from a hospitality suite during Naomi Osaka’s first-round match to lip-sync a TikTok routine, causing the umpire to stop play – the All England Club has confirmed it has no plans to introduce an “influencer” category of accreditation at Wimbledon.

Though it’s now becoming clear, they were never really permitted in the first place, given the All England Club’s strict guidelines that prohibit guests from going on the court with “any items which, in the reasonable opinion of the All England Club, may be used to disrupt any matches played at The Championships”.

The statement is a significant one, particularly in an era when anything and everything is content waiting to be uploaded, shared, and accompanied by a “get ready with me” video featuring clothes that have been gifted.

We’ve come a long way from the early days of influencers who were dismissed and sneered at by traditionalists when they first arrived on the scene. Who can forget Sally Singer’s viral comments in 2016 in which she chastised “bloggers” for “heralding the death of style” at Fashion Week?

However, many soon realised the lucrative potential of this new sector. Businesses understood the need to get eyeballs in a dwindling attention economy where most people were more likely to watch a TikTok reel or YouTube video than a TV show.

Suddenly, with millions of dedicated followers watching their every move, influencers were the ones in a position to sneer. They were bagging six-figure brand deals and getting on the property ladder well before anyone in more traditional lines of work. With unbridled marketing power, they could show that one viral video was enough to drive hundreds of people to a particular restaurant, mountain, or vintage shop. As a consequence, many industries were forced to adapt and mould to this new hashtaggable normal.

Becoming an influencer became aspirational. Not least because of the accompanying perks: red carpet premieres, trips to luxury hotels, endless brand parties, and more free makeup to deck out several SpaceNKs. It was also seen as a savvy career move, due to sky-high salaries; one survey carried out by HypeAuditor in 2021 found that influencers with more than 1m followers were averaging earnings of £11,050 per month.

But the tide has been slowly turning for a while. Not so much financially – the global influencer marketing industry is valued at somewhere around $24bn – but in terms of public perception. Advertising watchdogs cracked down on the way freebies were shared on social media platforms; the Advertising Standards Authority (ASA) published a guide in 2023 stating that any form of freebie being shared on social media should be disclosed, regardless of whether it was requested or unsolicited. “It doesn’t matter if there was no obligation to post about free items/services received; it still counts as ‘payment’ and needs to be disclosed,” the guide states.

There have been some notable PR crises, too, namely in March, when Dubai-based influencers faced backlash for a series of tone deaf videos published during Iran’s missile strikes. One Australian influencer who filmed herself as missiles flew across the sky above her, telling the camera: “It’s not meant to be happening here. Can’t everyone just chill out?”

Companies are also rethinking how they work with influencers, with many employing more scepticism than they might have in the past. “Gone are the days when influencers feel afforded to have free rein in venues and events to take content without considering other guests,” says Eileen Donaghey, the owner of marketing consultancy Donaghey & Chance.

“Spontaneous photoshoots are now seen as poor etiquette at venues; I’ve witnessed influencers standing on chairs in restaurants to get the perfect shot without thought for neighbouring diners.”

The way people use the term “influencer” has changed, too. “Five years ago, the job title could open doors on its own,” says Katy Blake, Content and Fan Engagement Strategist at content creation agency Blake Social.

“Now it might get you an invitation, but it doesn’t automatically qualify you for accreditation.” Essentially, as the number of influencers has increased amid a surge of negative attention, if you want access to the most exclusive events and the most premium freebies, you have to prove your worth.

“The creators who continue receiving meaningful access will be those who can explain what they will make, who it is for, and why it specifically needs to be them,” explains Blake. “A big audience isn’t necessarily enough of a pull anymore.”

Indeed, Sophie Atwood, Founder and CEO of SA Group, which regularly works with influencers, says what matters most is how many people are actually engaging with your content rather than how many are simply seeing it.

“The days of blanket gifting and follower-count-first partnerships are absolutely, and thankfully, over,” she says. “Working with a myriad of brands, particularly within the beauty and wellness space, they are getting far more selective about it.”

Content creators is now a term used interchangeably with “influencer” and preferred among those in the industry given the negative connotations of the latter. “I was at Cannes Lions this year, and the entire energy was still big brands trying to win over content creators, not the other way around,” says Helena Okunzuwa, co-founder of The Shade Borough platform, which boasts more than 915,000 followers on Instagram.

However, there are clear signs that AI is coming for influencers, as it is coming for so many other jobs. Bots are on the rise, “posting” content from popular influencer spots, like Coachella, and can be so uncannily realistic they are indistinguishable from content shared by human influencers. And people follow these AI influencers, even when they know they aren’t real.

“AI influencers can gain thousands of followers within a week, and half the engagement is people in the comments debating whether they are real or not, which ends up being the content itself,” says Okunzuwa.

Understandably, there has been pushback within the sector, with Okunzuwa saying: “When anyone can generate polished content at scale in minutes, the thing that becomes rare and sought after is the human who made something from scratch with genuine craft and personality behind it. Hands-on, real, imperfect, that is going to carry more weight, not less.”

But equally, this desire for authenticity is what is fuelling the growing backlash against influencer culture more broadly. And there’s another key driver that is often under-discussed: research shows that social media influencers are overwhelmingly female. One study from 2023 claims that the figure stands at 68 per cent. Could part of the scepticism towards social media influencers be coming from something as simple as misogyny?

The point was made in a recent Vogue piece, which described the archetypal influencer as female: “probably young, attractive, interested in fashion or beauty, taking selfies or talking to the camera, selling you something,” it reads. “And the characteristics we find so intolerable about her are also remarkably familiar. She is vain. She is materialistic. But above all she is embarrassingly convinced that she deserves to be looked at.”

It’s worth interrogating how much of this plays a part in the ongoing discourse around influencer culture. It might not necessarily be misogynistic to harbour a healthy degree of scepticism towards influencers, particularly if they’re interrupting major tennis matches for the sake of a TikTok routine, but it would be wrong not to acknowledge that it may play a part in some cases, given this is a female-dominated industry.

And so, moving forward, outright bans and limitations might not be the answer here, particularly if the demand for authentic content continues to rise. “The Wimbledon potential ban is a shame because it closes off the reach that tennis genuinely benefits from, especially with younger audiences,” says Okunzuwa. “There should be clear, structured rules, and dedicated moments where content can be filmed without disrupting the experience for everyone else.”

The same could be said for how influencers create content in other consumer-led spaces. “Shops putting up signs banning influencers are missing a trick,” Okunzuwa adds, noting how some shops in China have created dedicated spaces specifically for creators to film without disrupting customers. “Content creators are not going anywhere; the smarter move is integration, not elimination.”

We’ll see. On TikTok, probably.

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