‘De-Influencers’ Want You to Think Twice Before Buying That Mascara

After years of influencers pushing cosmetics, clothes, personal tech and supplements to the masses, a rising cohort is taking a different tack: telling people what not to buy. They’re calling it “de-influencing.”

The term is being popularised in videos by people whose experience runs the gamut: disappointed consumers, savvy beauty bloggers, doctors dispelling skin-care myths and former retail employees dishing on which products they saw returned most often. Their shared guidance is a rejoinder to a seemingly endless stream of recommendations and promotional content on the platform—and a sign of growing backlash to over consumption. TikTok videos under the hashtag #deinfluencing have surpassed 68 million views.

TikTok has become one of the most powerful forces in online retail, helping to boost butt-lifting leggings, luxe lip oils and green-juice powders, among other trendy products. Brands have poured money into influencer marketing on the platform, knowing a viral video can make almost anything sell out, and videos featuring the hashtag #TikTokMadeMeBuyIt have together earned more than 40 billion views.

“The best way to think about TikTok is that it’s a vehicle that takes a consumer to the checkout line,” said Krishna Subramanian, the co-founder of Captiv8, a marketing platform that connects influencers and brands.

But a deluge of sponsored videos and hyper-enthusiastic reviews has made it harder for consumers to figure out which items are actually worth their money.

“We’re constantly being fed, ‘You need to try this product,’ ‘You will love this product,’” said Karen Wu, 25, a makeup and skin-care influencer who lives outside Los Angeles. De-influencing is an attempt to change that.

What exactly is de-influencing?

The term refers to people speaking critically about products on a platform where endorsements run rampant.

De-influencing videos may steer consumers toward cheaper alternatives, also known as dupes, or discourage them from spending money in certain categories altogether.

Maddie Wells, a beauty influencer in Lexington, Ky., was early to the trend. She began making videos in 2020 about the products she frequently saw customers return to Sephora and Ulta, where she held sales associate jobs between 2018 and 2021.

In a September video with 2.5 million views, she name-drops the Ordinary’s Peeling Solution and Too Faced’s Better Than Sex mascara as cosmetics that—despite being frequently touted by beauty influencers—often found their way back to the shelves at those stores. “I’m calling this ‘de-influencing,’” she says in the video. The Ordinary and Too Faced didn’t respond to requests for comment.

“I can’t say without a shadow of a doubt I was the first person to ever say it,” Ms. Wells said of her coinage, but it has significantly caught on since.

How did the trend start?

Though de-influencing is a relatively new term, TikTok users have been speaking candidly about products for some time now. Last year, entrepreneur and former Real Housewife Bethenny Frankel earned headlines for her unapologetic and critical reviews of popular beauty products.

“I wanted the glow. I wanted to glow like they glowed,” Ms. Frankel said of influencers promoting cosmetics. In trying out popular products herself, she’s found that some of them don’t live up to the hype. She said she’s been approached by beauty companies that want to send her products and have her post paid reviews, but she has turned them down in favour of partnering with brands she already knows and likes.

“The hill that I’m not dying on is lying about a lip gloss,” Ms. Frankel said.

In December 2021, style influencer Elise Harmon went viral after posting a video about the low-cost contents of Chanel’s $825 holiday advent calendar, including stickers, temporary tattoos and a dust bag.

“I was more upset with the fact that I wasn’t being a conscientious buyer. I bought something blindly without really looking at the quality of what was inside,” Ms. Harmon said. “I think people were excited to hear someone say they didn’t think it was worth it.”

A representative for Chanel declined to comment. In an interview with Women’s Wear Daily after Ms. Harmon’s video went viral, Chanel’s president of fashion said the company would be “much more cautious” about introducing similar products.

Why is it taking off now?

The pervasiveness of influencer marketing has put the onus on consumers to decipher which reviews can be trusted and what products are worth their money.

Those concerns came to a head last week when Mikayla Nogueira, a makeup artist with 14.4 million TikTok followers, was accused of wearing fake eyelashes in a sponsored post for L’Oréal mascara. (Neither a representative for Ms. Nogueira nor L’Oréal responded to multiple requests for comment.)

A TikTok spokesperson said that the company “has strict policies to protect users from fake, fraudulent, or misleading content, including ads, and we remove any content that violates our Community Guidelines, Advertising Guidelines, and Terms of Service.”

As viewers become more skeptical of promotions on the platform, influencers who appear raw, honest and critical in their approaches may stand to benefit, experts say.

“Originally, influencers were very beholden to their audience, then brands came along and said ‘let’s see how we can leverage this.’ Then, influencers became super beholden to brands,” said Jenna Drenten, associate professor of marketing at Loyola University Chicago’s Quinlan School of Business. Now, she said, “influencers are swinging back to the accountability between themselves and their audiences.”

What are some other products de-influencers are calling out?

Many of the products being critiqued today are ones that owe their success in large part to TikTok influencers.

Alexandra Williams, a 25-year-old tech sales employee in San Diego, Calif., recently posted about a knockoff of the Stanley tumbler, after seeing the 40-ounce water bottle all over social media. Terence Reilly, Stanley’s global president, said that sales of Stanley’s marquee Quencher bottle increased by 275% in 2022 compared with the previous year.

“Whenever I use my water bottle it’s because I’m going on a hike, or I’m throwing it down below in my car because I’m going to a workout class,” Ms. Williams said. Like Stanley’s Quencher, the bottle has a non-collapsible straw, which she said made it prone to spills and impractical for her active lifestyle. Mr. Reilly suggested that customers looking for a leakproof Stanley alternative could buy the IceFlow Tumbler.

Lola Olson, a 23-year-old fashion and lifestyle influencer in Germany, recently posted a video naming several brands and products she didn’t like, including shampoo from hair-care line Olaplex.

“There’s always going to be those people that are like, ‘It worked great for me.’ It just didn’t for me,” she said. “So I was just being honest, and I feel like that’s what people want from influencers.” She recommended her followers try K18 Hair, an Olaplex competitor her mom advised her to try, instead.

In response to a request for comment, an Olaplex spokesperson shared reports about the brand’s popularity and data on its social-media reach. A representative for K18 said that while the company uses influencers to promote its products, Ms. Olson has not worked with the brand.

Wait, but isn’t that still influencing?

Yes and no.

While emerging influencers may not be paid to name-drop alternatives, it’s easy to see how the space can quickly get murky as those with brand deals may seek to discredit the product of a competitor.

“There’s a big difference between saying, ‘I use a product and I enjoy it and I’m not getting paid to say this,’ versus ‘I have a previous relationship with a brand, and I’m telling you this alternative doesn’t work,’” said Prem Tripathi, a facial plastic surgeon in the San Francisco Bay Area who posts videos countering popular skin-care myths.

In a recent TikTok video, Dr. Tripathi poked fun at the de-influencing trend, offering up alternatives that had no connection to the hyped-up serums and creams in question: a “Golden Girls” mug, a luxury towel warmer and a lint remover.

Sydney’s nightlife has long flirted with reinvention, but its latest arrival suggests something more deliberate is taking shape beneath the surface.

Razz Room, the new underground bar and disco from Odd Culture Group, has opened in the CBD, marking the group’s first step into the city centre.

Tucked below street level on York Street, the venue blends cocktail culture with a shifting, late-night rhythm that moves from after-work drinks to full dancefloor immersion.

The space itself is designed to evolve over the course of an evening. An upper bar offers a more intimate setting, suited to early drinks and conversation, while a sunken dancefloor anchors the venue’s later hours, with a rotating program of DJs and live performances.

“Razz Room will really change shape throughout a single evening,” says Odd Culture Group CEO Rebecca Lines.

“Earlier, it’s geared towards post-work drinks with a happy hour, substantial food offering, and music at a level where you can still talk.”

As the night progresses, that tone shifts.

“As the evening progresses at Razz Room, you can expect the music to get a little louder and the focus will shift to live performance with recurring residencies and DJs that flow from disco to house, funk, and jazz,” Rebecca says.

The concept draws heavily on New York’s underground club scene before disco became mainstream, referencing venues such as The Mudd Club and Paradise Garage. But the intention is not nostalgia.

“The space told us what it wanted to be,” Lines explains. “Disco started as a counter culture… Razz Room is no nostalgia project, it’s a reimagining of the next era of the discotheque.”

Design, too, plays its part in shaping the experience. The upper level is warm and textural, with timber finishes and burnt-orange tones, while the sunken floor shifts into a more theatrical mood, combining Art Deco references with a raw, industrial edge.