Deinfluencing’s hidden vanity
A better option to reclaim time, energy, and money in the era of tariffs and inflation
When you think about brainwashing, what images does it conjure?
I’ll go first: that one scene in Zoolander where a hypnotic Mugatu urges Derek to fight for the rights of children to work; the Simpsons episode where Bart’s boy band sends subliminal messaging to join the Navy; the Manson family and which Beach Boys may or may not have been followers; LSD studies conducted in the ‘50s and ‘60s.
If you’re like me, you probably don’t think of Kayla in Eighth Grade, her scenes lit by the blue glow of her computer screen. I’m betting you’re not thinking of your friend who buys something just because their favorite content creator did, the person scrolling on their phone waiting for their friend to get to the bar, a slack-jawed teenager watching hours of TikTok.
You probably don’t think of yourself.
But lately—as I watch yet another sponsored video on YouTube, when I don’t even blink before closing out endless ads on a recipe website, when I convince myself I need an expensive steam cleaner just because an influencer mentioned it once—I’ve been wondering if we aren’t all just a little bit brainwashed ourselves.
As much as I appreciate any sort of encouragement of mindful shopping, I have to wonder what the long-term benefits or effects of deinfluencing are when they come from people who will still encourage shopping and use affiliate links in their very next post.
A few weeks ago, I found myself charmed for about 24 hours when a content creator I like made a video of what they and their followers weren’t buying in 2025. If you even dare dip a toe into TikTok or YouTube Shorts, you’re inundated with videos all about how you need this thing or how this tool saved this person’s life, so it was refreshing to hear that actually, no, you don’t need this product. You’ll be fine without it.
But the more I thought about it, the more holes I found in not only the video itself but the very concept of telling followers what not to buy, cleverly termed deinfluencing.
The items this particular influencer and their subscribers are opting out of include things like $500 red light face masks, new reusable water bottles when you already own several, and single-use paper towels for drying your face—hardly things that are necessary for survival, things that prove how good these businesses’ marketing teams must be to have created such desire in their customer base.
Moreover, deinfluencing has already been co-opted and mangled by a certain influencer set in order to sell more goods and products to their followers. One video I saw told viewers to not bother with buying this crazy-expensive hair dryer because it was overrated. In the next frame, she recommended a $200 one instead, as if it was a better bargain, as if it weren’t lipstick on a pig.
But maybe I’m expecting too much from people who frame self-care as luxury skincare and shower products, wildly distorting its origins from the medical and activist communities.
As much as I appreciate any sort of encouragement of mindful shopping, I have to wonder what the long-term benefits or effects of deinfluencing are when they come from people who will still encourage shopping and use affiliate links in their very next post. One deinfluencing video is nice and all, but ultimately it’s a drop in the bucket when the rest of your livelihood relies on recommending new products to your followers so you can earn a commission.
While I don’t begrudge influencers for making a living online, in the age of tariffs and a cost of living crisis and misunderstood data about inflation, it feels more important than ever for us as consumers of their content to be really thinking critically about what actions define our daily lives, how social media and influencing impact us, and what’s in our power to make a difference.
In doing so, we can reclaim our own time, energy, and money.
Despite deleting Instagram in 2016 when the algorithm changed from chronological and never actually downloading TikTok, I feel marketed to all the time.
It’s in my email inbox, which I’ll absentmindedly refresh in a passing moment of boredom. It’s in the sponsored vlogs that I’ll watch while I eat lunch. It’s in the website popups, the billboards on the highway, the commercials between baseball innings—and sometimes during an extended mound visit, the flyers on signposts as I cross the street, the stickers on strangers’ laptops in coffee shops.
It can feel impossible to escape, but I hadn’t thought of it as nefarious until recently when I learned that in some new research, social media and advertising are being framed as a form of brainwashing.
After all, the definition of brainwashing is systematically pressuring someone into adopting radically different beliefs. Not necessarily sitting someone down in front of a video and telling them to kill the prime minister of a foreign country, not sending backwards messages via pop song, but pressuring someone consistently and persistently to act differently from how they want to.
When you take a look at any tactic in the marketing playbook meant to get more sales, it’s undeniable there’s some degree of persuasion happening on a psychological level. I mean, how many times have you felt like you absolutely had to buy this one thing before it sold out? How often has a countdown clock on a website make you feel like a deal was going away? How many times has a salesperson on the phone automatically asked for your credit card info when you’ve been saying actually, I already have insurance I’m happy with? How many times have you felt really in control when buying something, instead of feeling clammy, heart-racing, urgent, excited?
Digging into the definition deeper, I kept thinking, what is a social media platform, if not a system? Not only because it’s a series of processes working together but because there’s an organized framework meant to keep users on site and keep them addicted. Really clever content creators even use the same marketing playbook I’ve been taught in my time as a copywriter in order to link to more and more items, methodically persuading followers that they need the latest and greatest.
Not to mention, feeling triggered to buy endless things you don’t need, particularly when you’re struggling to afford basic necessities, could be considered a belief that’s radically different to what you ultimately value. When I watch video after video of ordinary people organizing excess product, decluttering carloads full of clothes, and showing off their latest haul, it certainly feels that way.
The influencing-to-brainwashing pipeline is an extreme comparison, and to be clear, I write this not to be alarmist nor to stoke further unease about the state of the world. I’m certainly not suggesting that all influencers or content creators or marketers do is brainwash people, and it’s clear that this is not at all on the same level as the torture inflicted on prisoners of war or cult members.
I mostly feel it’s helpful to make the comparison so that we can learn about deprogramming and how people regain their lives and control over their minds when exposed to brainwashing. Along the way, we can hopefully start to see that it wasn’t our fault for failing as individuals but that we acted out of character thanks to intense external influences.
In an ideal world, the onus wouldn’t be solely on the individual to change, but in the absence of large-scale progress, what we’re left with is what choices we can make to help out ourselves.
Although there are some controversial deprogramming techniques, what I saw most often is that to combat brainwashing it’s essential to develop mental fortitude and reconnect to what your values are. In the face of someone trying to sway you to feel differently, it’s important to stay centered in a calm state of mind and to remind yourself or who you are and what you want to be. It feels like what we need to keep in mind when spending time online, as well.
When it comes to social media consumption and influencing, I find it helpful to redirect my thoughts when I’m feeling antsy to make a purchase. I’ll remind myself that, although cute, buying that new sweater might make me momentarily happy at best, but if I put the money into a high-yield savings account instead I’ll be building up an emergency fund that gives me financial independence. For you, you might consider if you don’t spend on that impulse purchase, you could put that money towards that weekend trip your friends are all dying to take, or maybe you could finally get a subscription to that magazine you like whose paywalls prevent you from reading articles you’re curious about.
In an ideal world, the onus wouldn’t be solely on the individual to change, but in the absence of large-scale progress, what we’re left with is what choices we can make to help ourselves. Just imagine how much brain space you’ll free up when you’re not tracking purchases, returning packages, organizing stuff you accumulate in every corner of your home, feeling like you’re lacking something. How much freer you’ll feel with some extra cash in your bank account and how empowered you’ll feel knowing your purchases are well-reasoned and adding value to your life.
Imagine how good it’ll feel to know that your life is all your own and that no one’s manipulating you into liking or buying any facet of it.
That’s something worth deprogramming for.
“Checking your likes is the new smoking. Phillip Morris just wanted your lungs but the App Store wants your soul”
This situation is reminiscent of peak minimalism, when there was that lingering nudge for living the simplest life possible.
There’s no doubt that distancing yourself from what is mainstream posits benefits, but there’s equally no doubt in my mind that such a pursuit can quickly turn into a vain, voracious attempt at - as you pointed out - marketing some seemingly unique product, or some means of making oneself feel more frugal and industrious.
It’s important to be in coherence with your thoughts and how they correspond with social media. Otherwise, the hidden trend streams will devour, dare I say, brainwash you.