Get Over Yourself and Become an Influencer in 2025: An Anti-Shame Manifesto
What’s for you won’t scroll past you—unless you let it.
Let's start with this: Cringing is a social construct created by people who don't want you to succeed or reach your full potential by being yourself. They want you to believe the whole world is waiting for you to fail so they can laugh. The truth is, no one cares about this as much as you do. Everyone else is too busy worrying about their own missteps to notice yours.
The internet is dying… is it already dead? This article explores how our online spaces have devolved into algorithmic sludge, why shame holds us back from creating, and how embracing authenticity can help reclaim our corner of the internet in 2025.
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There were signs when Bebo introduced the Top 16 feature. Best friends were ripped apart overnight, forced to compete against one another - an experiment to get us set up for the real world.
It has definitely been dying since Instagram decided that time itself was no longer linear. There used to be a time when Instagram used to let you know you had completely caught up, that there was nothing new to see. I saw someone scroll on on TikTok for so long once it has them if they were sure they wanted to keep going. It doesn’t ask that anymore.
It has been dying a death since every single inch has been monetised with autoplay ads that even the most proficient of ad-blockers can no longer hold back. Every time we open an app, we’re bombarded with algorithm-driven content that is bland at best and brain-rotting at worst.
The vapid and immoral influencer culture dominating our feeds is wearing away at our souls. Why do they get so many free things? I am sick of paying for everything. I want in.
I’m going to become an influencer.
What if there’s a way to push back against the “enshitification” of online spaces? What if, instead of passively consuming, we actively created? What if 2025 became the year that anyone with a spark of creativity or a genuine hobby reclaimed the internet by striving to become a micro-influencer? Third spaces? Dead. The internet is dying, but at least we have some kind of say in it. Don’t like something? Hold your finger on the screen and select not interested. Don’t wanna something at all?
Let’s clear something up: being a micro-influencer doesn’t have to be about ego, glory, and fame (or followers and likes). It definitely doesn’t have to mean doing an ad for Athletic Greens, the vitamin that has been marketed as a one-size-fits-all solution for your nutrition, when you know it’s not.
What if we can bring it back to sharing what you love—your art, your hobbies, your thoughts, your processes, your mistakes, your dreams—with a small but engaged community?
In 2008, Kevin Kelly wrote a blog exploring the idea of having 1,000 true fans and how that would be enough to sustain your creative career forever. 1,000 isn’t even that unimaginable of a number anymore. Where do you think Patreon got its idea?
Micro-influencers typically have anywhere from 1,000 to 50,000 followers, but numbers aren’t the point (unless you’re absolutely focused on hocking Hello Fresh to people). What matters is authenticity.
You cannot tell me that it doesn’t shine through when someone is being themselves online.
It is about connecting with people who actually care about what you are putting out into the world. TikTok has taught me that there is hardly a unique experience in the world. Somehow, instead of making me feel like the insignificant mass of atoms that I am, I no longer feel alone. In fact, I’m almost completely sure I’m not 100% outright mentally ill anymore either.
I’m based in Ireland, and for weeks have been getting slammed by so many Specsavers ads featuring some of the most basic-ass, bland, lacklustre talent (who don’t even wear glasses). Not an ounce of creativity is going into these videos. I can see you reading the script you didn’t even write (with my glasses, glasses that you don’t wear). When people put on my glasses they almost pass out from the prescription. I’ve been told it’s like being in a h-hole. Why aren’t Specsavers paying me?
Is the algorithm is technically working - I am getting ads for Specsavers? The content I’m getting from this algorithm has made me sure of one thing — I’ll never spend another euro in Specsavers. They want me, but they don’t care about me.
If you have been exposed to enough of this content, you are probably not too far from being completely radicalised into posting your first vlog. Maybe you’re not there yet. Try a plog first.
Think of it as being the antidote to the algorithmic drain: a voice that is genuine, human, and has a spark of creativity big enough to get the fire started. If I have to sit through one more video of someone eating a free chipper while reenacting that scene from When Debbie Met Harry, I’m going to scream. If I find out they are making money from it? I’ll die.
While this landscape might be enough to put you off being online, I’m refusing to back out this time. I grew up online. I could definitely meet the DSM-V criteria to get diagnosed with being chronically online if it was in there. I’m okay with that. I have accepted that, I am learning to balance it.
For the most part these days, I interact with exactly what I want, and that’s a lot. Blacksmiths, bladesmiths and woodworkers. Ultrarunners, skaters, unbelievably talented and cool creative people, birders, whale watchers, an American that moved from the states and lives on a farm in Donegal now, anything related to dogs. People who can sew. I don’t even sew, but I want to be someone who can sew. I’m surrounding myself with them.
But then I am interrupted by someone getting paid to read an awful script, pretending that they are not. Or even worse, trying to deceive me via coy product placements they are being paid for. “It’s not an ad” they tell me. I’m sat here going “I’m sick of paying for oat milk. I use oat milk every day. Why am I not getting free oat milk too?”. If big-tech and and soulless influencers are profiting of my attention without giving me anything in return, I may as well be giving that view or like or interaction to someone good. Let me watch and engage with their ads instead.
I feel like a massive part that is holding us (me) back if the fact that you don’t have to go viral. You don’t have to make a career out of it. You just have to show up as yourself—your curious, passionate, imperfect class self—and offer something meaningful to your corner of the internet. Maybe you will get the opportunity to travel somewhere. Maybe you will get a free pair of shoes. Maybe you will meet someone online, who you can connect to. Maybe you could be friends.
I met my first girlfriend on the internet and we were in relationship for 4 years. In real life.
Shame is holding us back.
As Irish people, we are inherently familiar with shame. For some reason, we love nothing more that to witness the real time demise of one of our own.
Notions. Who's your one? Have you seen your man?
We’re awful really, like crabs in a bucket. But deep down, are those people just projecting their own insecurities about trying something new onto someone brave enough to be seen trying something new? Well, yes.
For too long shame has been used as a tool to keep us down. From expressing ourselves and living the truest version of ourselves, both online and off. Why are we so happy to spend our lives worrying how we are perceived by others? No one actually cares. Your soul is rotting.
I just know you’ve thought about it, haven’t you? Starting that Instagram account for your aesthetic photos that are just sitting on your phone, never to be seen again, into the data centre they go. You want to start sharing your running journey on TikTok for everyone to see someone real who looks just like them, right? Or maybe you want to start posting videos about the hobby you love, that you’re actually really good at? The idea excites you, but when you imagine hitting “publish,” something stops you. A small, nagging voice whispers: What if people judge me? What if they think I’m trying too hard? Who am I to put myself out there? Who’s your man? The notions on your one.
That voice? That is shame. And it might just be the biggest obstacle standing between you and the creative, fulfilling online presence you’ve dreamed of. Was it the years of colonial rule that did this to us? Was it the brothers, the sisters, the priests, or the bishops? Was it the 100 years of FF/FG rule? Is it Joe Duffy?
Shame is a deeply human emotion. At its core, it’s the fear of being seen as not enough—not talented enough, not cool enough, not worthy enough. Unlike guilt (which is about what we’ve done), shame is about who we are. It’s that sinking feeling that our flaws and vulnerabilities will be exposed if we dare to put ourselves out there. But what if, instead of letting shame silence us, we saw it as an invitation to be loud, to take up space? Creating content, sharing our passions, and showing up authentically online can be an act of defiance against shame. It’s about proving to ourselves that our voice is one worth being heard. When it comes to simply sharing your creative work online—shame often shows up as:
Fear of Judgment: What if people think I’m cringey or desperate for attention?
Imposter Syndrome: Who am I to share my art, advice, or experiences?
Comparison Paralysis: There are already so many people doing this better than I ever could.
Fear of Failure: What if I try and nobody cares?
Shame thrives on these doubts, keeping us stuck in a cycle of inaction.
None of these things stopped your favourite online personality though, did they?
I can call some of them soulless all I want, but they have something I don’t have, something that I want:
They actually might not give a fuck.
They aren’t sitting around thinking of doing it. They are doing it.
There is no doubt if you look at the news for even just a few minutes, it will be confirmed that the world is a completely awful place. Going online used to simply be an escape. The horrific images we might be exposed to via the news are things that are actually happening. We have a responsibility to witness these moments in time. We have a responsibility to know what is going on. This is our civic responsibility. If we want to use the internet, we have to respect and acknowledge the world outside of it too.
During the in-between moments, why is someone, who doesn’t even wear glasses stood there telling me to get my eyes tested though? This speaks to a broader issue with authenticity in advertising. When brands rely on disingenuous representatives, it erodes trust in their message. Authenticity is key to fostering genuine connections—and audiences can sense when it’s missing. This lack of sincerity contributes to the very fatigue and skepticism that is driving people away from traditional advertising and, in some cases, even online platforms altogether.
I hold my finger on the screen. Not interested. Maybe I’ll hit them with a block and move on. I am free.
Why am I afraid of being perceived now? Apparently, I had no issue blogging every single one of my deepest fears and insecurities, fantasies, and fixes across the internet for years when I was a teenager, and further into my 20s than I would like to acknowledge. I once had connections around the world. I had so many channels of support to lean on. I met friends and partners. I was the victim of a catfish before. I probably spoke to at least one person in chatroom in my life who ended up going to jail for speaking to someone in a chatroom. We all did. Right? “ASL?”.
Question: Why am I afraid of posting now?
Answer: I am the problem. I am the critic. I am the bully. I’m afraid that someone who thinks like me will come across something I have made and won’t like me. When you think about it for long enough, isn’t that daft? It’s actually crazy. I’m floating on this rock with the rest of you and having to work my 40 hours a week to get through it. So? I’m going for it.
I want my free products and opportunities from brands that I actually like and care enough to invest in. I want unbridled access to actual online connection again because it does exist. I want Liquid Death delivered to my door. No one actually really cares about anything we do as much as we all think they do. So why are we not doing the things we want? Why are we settled on continuing to talk to ourselves worse than any bully would?
There is only one thing that happens when I do hit the publish button.
Encouragement. Kindness, and the realisation that something I made has connected with someone.
We cannot underestimate the value of the real estate we hold online. The skill, hobby, talent, and words you have could be the very thing that someone needs right now. The voice you currently have, is the voice that someone does not. You can use that voice for whatever you want. You can use that voice for them. The internet was originally built to connect us. That connection can still exist online if we want to use it. It can only exist when we use it.
The antidote to online overconsumption is creation.
Creation can look like many things: sharing your favourite recipes, posting your artwork, documenting your running journey, or even teaching people the small hacks that make your day easier. There is more than enough space for all of us online. If you show up consistently as yourself, you will find the people that connect to your message.
This is about contributing something authentic to your corner of the internet, no matter how small or imperfect it might seem. Creation invites connection and engagement, fostering a sense of purpose and community that passive consumption simply cannot. Purpose and community will keep us moving.
Dan Jones, one of my most favourite online content creators, and has been posting for every couple of days for two years. Despite what kind of content you are interested in, he’s a fascinating case study. He started like anyone else would. His content is based around running and cycling and some things in between. When he started posted he could barely run at all and was working full-time in a marketing agency. His delivery is dry, and while his videos are television-budget quality now, they were not like that when he started. He left his marketing job, and has made a career of saying he’s doing to do something he can’t do at the time of posting, and learning how do it on his way there.
In this past week he ran the Honolulu marathon for free with Runna. He got a golden ticket to the New York Marathon last year, as a part of a brand partnership. He is a proud, professional amateur.
Similarly, Savannah Sachdev started documenting her running streak online two years ago and left her full-time job this year. Now she’s being paid to be herself. She posts all sorts of content. Some about her running, some about her personal life. She is travelling. She is living. She has inspired a generation of people to run to bakeries, and home again. She is getting paid for being herself. She is a beam of light on the internet.
Maybe it’s just me, but I cannot imagine something better than being paid for spending all of your time just being yourself.
Marg.mp3 is essentially getting paid to listen to music now as a result of just sharing music she liked online. She is going to festivals all over the world and interviewing her favourite musicians. There are countless creators like her, shaping their own corners of the music industry.
Derrick Gee used to be a DJ. He still is, but being a DJ didn’t provide the kind of connection or value he wanted. So he started talking about the music he was listening to. A year on and he’s sitting in his living room with Jamie XX, sharing music. He did a residency in Hamburg last month. He gets so much audio-gear sent to him to test out, which he gets to keep. His reviews on that gear are brutally honest. He gives away the items he decides not to keep. He monazites his passion, and it’s paying off.
Eoin Reardon is doing what he loves, working with wood. He is making enough money from his videos, that he gets to pick and choose the projects than mean something to him. He is doing more for the public image of Ireland than Discover Ireland could ever dream of. Why are they not paying him for that?
Bekah Day and culturework have created two massive followings from their love of pop-culture, alongside the likes of Binchtopia. They have made careers of dissecting our online landscape. They probably have comparable amounts of viewers and listeners combined than most news platforms on this side of the Atlantic. Their reach is technically infinite.
Kelley Heyer has catapulted her career into the spotlight, because she posted a dance. A symbiotic-chance-godsend of a dance that very much contributed to the summer of BRAT and the success of the album that continues to plough on.
Then there are the megastars, like Keith Lee was already arguably successful doing something else. He didn’t need to start posting in the way that he does, but he did. Because he wanted to see something else.
There are people that have followed Alex Consani for years, not knowing she is actually a highly accomplished full-time supermodel. They have followed her because she is absolutely, undeniably off-the-wall-insane. Her absurdist sense of humour completely transcends the status quo of what should be funny. It works, because it’s hers.
Whatever you think about Victoria Paris, I would happily take the risk to post 0.5% of my life online like the content she has, just to stay in any one of the hotels she gets to go to. For free.
All of these people began by posting in the exact same way you or I would. The only difference is that they kept going no matter what response they got.
Because they were being themselves, and that was enough.
Maybe one day I’ll have haters, but haters are actually just engagement and more leverage for my future brand deals. That’s currency.
It’s like Andy Glaze always says; “You’ll never meet a hater doing more than you”.
What is stopping you at the moment? Let me know.