Looking straight into the camera, Valeria Fride holds up a tube of lip gloss. But instead of saying how amazing it is, the young brunette trashes it as “so sticky” and “really expensive,” with not enough color.
“It just didn’t do it for me,” the 23-year-old concludes.
Welcome to the art of deinfluencing, one of the latest trends on TikTok, in which influencers tell you what not to buy. As of early April, the hashtag had more than 430 million views on the wildly popular video-sharing app.
Photo: AFP
“It’s an honest version of what we see every day on social media,” Fride says.
If you venture onto TikTok, you can find all kinds of videos about which soaps not to buy because they’re too pricey, or which dumbbells not to buy if you’re just a beginner with using weights.
Some have cast deinfluencing as a response to soaring inflation, or even an anti-consumerist movement — basically, don’t buy things that are not worth your money.
“Do you really need 25 different perfumes? Are you really going to use them all?” said a TikTok user in a video with the hashtag.
But others say influencers are doing the same thing as before, with a slightly more palatable name.
Indeed, influencers are everywhere on social media. They make short, catchy videos promoting everything from mascara to tea to sneakers to video games — all for a tidy fee.
In theory, criticizing products would run counter to their business model. Who would pay for that?
Fride admits that at first, she was “really scared” how certain brands would respond to her new tactics.
When one of her videos went viral, she says she told her mother: “I hope they don’t hate me.”
But it ultimately led to offers of new partnerships with companies who appreciated her negative reviews for their rivals.
For Fride, it’s a sign that companies “want a more nuanced review.”
56 PAIRS OF SHOES
Jessica Clifton, a 26-year-old American influencer, explains that the deinfluencing trend rang true for her. A few years ago, she became aware of the impact her conspicuous consumption — new clothes virtually every day in separate packaging, endless varieties of foundation makeup, a plethora of lipsticks — was having on the environment.
“I don’t even know how to use makeup,” Clifton says, adding that she realized she owned 56 pairs of shoes.
“I was like, ‘Oh my God, how did I get here?’”
Clifton opened a new TikTok account dedicated to responsible consumption. So she was thrilled when deinfluencing took off. She’s even posted a few videos with the hashtag.
But she says she’s disappointed that the trend quickly became about “buy this, not that” instead of curbing overall consumption, and about users simply trying to get new followers.
AUTHENTICITY
A glance at the latest videos posted on TikTok with the #deinfluencing hashtag shows that Clifton is not alone in her disappointment.
But Lia Haberman, an expert on influencer marketing who lectures in the continuing education program at University of California Los Angeles (UCLA), says seeing the deinfluencer trend as a rejection of consumer culture is misguided.
“That’s not how the trend originated,” she says.
According to Tubular Labs, a social media analytics firm, the trend — which really took off in January — first emerged in September last year, thanks to one Maddie Wells.
Wells is not exactly a campaigner; the influencer was simply using her experience working in cosmetics stores to explain why customers were unhappy with certain products.
Her videos were not “really a judgment call,” explains Haberman.
For Americus Reed, a professor of marketing at the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School of Business, influencers are “no longer seen as authentic” by the public, which knows they are being paid to promote products.
A deinfluencer, at least for now, is seen as more honest.
“That’s a way to stand out,” Reed says, while admitting that in the end, “a deinfluencer is still an influencer.”
In the March 9 edition of the Taipei Times a piece by Ninon Godefroy ran with the headine “The quiet, gentle rhythm of Taiwan.” It started with the line “Taiwan is a small, humble place. There is no Eiffel Tower, no pyramids — no singular attraction that draws the world’s attention.” I laughed out loud at that. This was out of no disrespect for the author or the piece, which made some interesting analogies and good points about how both Din Tai Fung’s and Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co’s (TSMC, 台積電) meticulous attention to detail and quality are not quite up to
April 21 to April 27 Hsieh Er’s (謝娥) political fortunes were rising fast after she got out of jail and joined the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) in December 1945. Not only did she hold key positions in various committees, she was elected the only woman on the Taipei City Council and headed to Nanjing in 1946 as the sole Taiwanese female representative to the National Constituent Assembly. With the support of first lady Soong May-ling (宋美齡), she started the Taipei Women’s Association and Taiwan Provincial Women’s Association, where she
Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) Chairman Eric Chu (朱立倫) hatched a bold plan to charge forward and seize the initiative when he held a protest in front of the Taipei City Prosecutors’ Office. Though risky, because illegal, its success would help tackle at least six problems facing both himself and the KMT. What he did not see coming was Taipei Mayor Chiang Wan-an (將萬安) tripping him up out of the gate. In spite of Chu being the most consequential and successful KMT chairman since the early 2010s — arguably saving the party from financial ruin and restoring its electoral viability —
It is one of the more remarkable facts of Taiwan history that it was never occupied or claimed by any of the numerous kingdoms of southern China — Han or otherwise — that lay just across the water from it. None of their brilliant ministers ever discovered that Taiwan was a “core interest” of the state whose annexation was “inevitable.” As Paul Kua notes in an excellent monograph laying out how the Portuguese gave Taiwan the name “Formosa,” the first Europeans to express an interest in occupying Taiwan were the Spanish. Tonio Andrade in his seminal work, How Taiwan Became Chinese,
RSS