Content Creators Are Our New Gods
YouTube launched 17 years ago, which means it has been around for most of us 2000s babies' lives. In this short time, we have seen so many content creators we once loved turn out to be horrible people – Shane Dawson, Jeffree Star, David Dobrik, the list goes on and on. These creators garner millions of fans who spend hours of their lives engaging in what they have to say. Women watch hundreds of videos to learn how to do Tara Yummy’s makeup, and men desire her. When a live stream notification pops up on their phone, they are the first to click it. They live every day aspiring to be involved with this person's life, and it starts to become desensitizing. We give them this massive platform to listen to their speech, to praise them, to give them our money. We feel like we know them, we trust them, and we find our purpose in them. We worship them like a god.
Image Courtesy: Instagram
We are always told people only show you the parts of themselves they want you to see. Or to not trust random people online because they could be creeps, or pretending to be somebody they are not. Yet, we ignore it. We think we are far too smart for that to ever happen to us. We watch these total strangers online, and we feel connected to them. We develop parasocial relationships with these creators and truly believe we are their friends. The hard truth is that your favorite content creators are not your friends, and neither are mine. As much as they want to tell you that you are more than a number, you logistically are not. In the sea of millions of viewers, you as an individual are a number. Content creators can not physically know every single person, especially behind a screen.
Image Courtesy: Instagram
From my perspective, parasocial relationships with content creators reached new heights during peak Covid, particularly with live streamers. Growing up, I was into Minecraft YouTubers (it is nerdy, but it brought me joy!). When lockdown happened and the resurgence of Minecraft YouTube hit, I took a liking to a YouTuber named William Gold and spent most of my time watching his content and listening to his music. I was seventeen, and now I am twenty-one. I spent a good part of my life following him. I own countless merch items and even drove to Atlanta, Georgia to see him live. I used his music to help guide me during some of my most depressive times. I leaned on him like he was able to hold me up through the screen.
Turns out, he is a repeat offender of domestic abuse, diminishing the use of safe words, and physically harming multiple ex-girlfriends, most recently a creator named Shelby Grace. I recommend watching these (one | two) videos to really grasp an understanding of the situation.
Image Courtesy: Jessica Giraldo
What do you do when you realize you felt seen by an abuser's lyrics? All the self-wallowing and self-pity was not self-depreciation, it was his truth. He is a shitty person, and he was not just saying it to say it, he was confessing. What did that say about me? Was I the same because I saw myself in each line? The guilt of making an abuser feel better about himself by listening to his music and giving him money eats at me. Yet, who am I to feel this way? I was not an actual victim of this man, yet I feel distraught due to my parasocial relationship with him. The worst part is people like this herd together, and he is not the only one to be exposed as a terrible person.
YouTube is essentially our new Hollywood, with industry secrets being kept behind closed doors. Content Creators will put on their biggest smile and act, but once the video ends, revert to their real selves, whether that be a normal person, or in some cases, a terrible human. We have to be aware that the characters we watch on screen are not real people, but personas created to make money. They are not our saviors, and they do not have the magic cure to help us feel less alone.
Strike Out,
Jessica Giraldo
Saint Augustine
Editor: Maya Kayyal
Jessica Giraldo is the Assistant to the Editor-in-Chief, Blog Director, Beauty Director, and Writer for Strike Magazine, Saint Augustine. Jess is addicted to her Revlon blowout brush and sweet little treats (especially mint Oreos). Check her out on Instagram: @jessica.giraldo and reach her via email: jessicagiraldobusiness@gmail.com
