The girls behind the ’gram

BEING A SUPER- INFLUENCER MIGHT SEEM LIKE A DREAM JOB, BUT WHAT’S LIFE REALLY LIKE IN FRONT OF THE LENS 24/ 7?

Adecade ago, they were called bloggers. They were young, passionate, techsavvy and desperate to work in fashion. But the tightlysealed fashion system, which operated behind closed doors, locked them out. Bloggers were disruptors, they weren’t concerned with what was ‘cool’ or ‘on trend’. They had their own ideas. And communicated them in a deeply personal way that felt authentic to an everwidening audience.

Today, they are called influencers. They are their own brands, in sole charge of their own mini media businesses. Now even the big fashion houses court their attention. Their presence is required at the shows, at fancy dinners and fashion events around the world. They employ agents to wrangle their fees for fronting campaigns and serving as brand ambassadors and consultants. They hire photographers to shoot their editorialworthy posts. And they are constantly sent free clothes – or rather, ‘gifted incentives’. They have created a new, fully-monetised influencer industry, some charging £10,000 and beyond for a single Instagram post. So, has the influencer economy changed the luxury landscape? You bet. But what does it take to be one? A decade on, how does it feel to have lived a life in front of the lens (often perfectly lit, beautifully filtered and fabulously stylish) at all times?

‘ It might look like the perfect job, the ultimate freelance life, not answering to anyone, sunning yourself on the rooftop at Soho House with your computer on your lap (#officefortheday), but the truth is, the more you succeed, the more intense the stress,’ says Camille Charrière, whose witty blog, Camille Over The Rainbow, Instagram feed ( 694K) and podcasts chronicle her adventures in London through the eyes of insouciant French cool. ‘ There is no “off ” button. You’re running your own gig, you’re posting about you, you’re building your audience and the 

IT CAN CREATE SELF- DOUBT IF THE IMAGES DON’T PERFORM TAMU MCPHERSON

the more you give, the more people expect of you camille charrière

more you engage, the more people respond, and the more you give, the more people expect of you. Like pop stars with their fans, we’d be nothing without our followers, but one thing I’ve learned is that they don’t like you to change. If, say, you try a new hairstyle, or work with a new photographer – they don’t like it, people like you to stay the same.’

Ten years ago, Camille had just finished her bilingual law degree, having submitted her dissertation ( comparing the legal framework of surrogacy in France and the UK) and was working in finance in London. She started her blog as a creative outlet, which led to a job at Net- A- Porter, translating for the e- tailer’s French consumers, before ‘risking everything’ to focus on it full- time. Her parents were appalled. Her uncle called her an ‘airhead’.

‘Not only had I left the law and then a job in fashion, I was now the lowest-of-the-low, looked down on by the editors in an industry I so desperately wanted to be a part of – a blogger, a silly, narcissistic girl blagging her way into shows,’ she says, curled up on a sofa in her trademark Breton T-shirt and jeans. ‘It went from, “Camille’s absolutely mad, throwing away her tremendous career opportunity to post about herself and she’s not even a model!” to, “Camille’s a genius, she’s managed to create this career where she can pick her own schedule, travel where she wants, wear wonderful clothes.”’

Tamu Mcpherson agrees that being an influencer (she finds the word ‘pretentious’ and prefers the term ‘digital talent’) can be highly anxiety-inducing for herself and her audience. ‘ You have to produce content that will receive high engagement and it can create self-doubt if the images don’t perform the way they should. And you also have to think about what you are communicating. The fact is, we live very privileged existences, what we’re sharing is highly curated with brands flying us all over the world for these experiences, so we really have to be responsible and let our audiences know we don’t really live like this all the time, because if I am feeling anxiety about my content, what is my reader, who doesn’t work in fashion, feeling?’ The answer, she says, is to offset the glamour with doses of reality and to always talk to her followers in the way she would her best friend: ‘Because you’d always want to be honest with your best friend.’

tamu, 42, was born in Kingston, Jamaica and grew up in New York. ‘I was raised by a mother who told me I could do anything I wanted to do, so I knew that if I wanted to work in fashion, I had to make it happen. My mother was like that, she moved from Jamaica to New York on her own, with no help, with a mission to educate me.’ Tamu trained as a lawyer and landed a job in New York but, unable to contain her passion for fashion, or love for her boyfriend (now her husband, an Italian lawyer), she arrived in Milan in 2005, ‘willing to do anything’. An editor friend handed her a camera – the first time she’d used one – and asked her to take 

street- style photographs, of which she herself soon became a hit. By 2008, she’d turned the camera on herself and launched her blog, All The Pretty Birds.

Her Instagram feed ( 209K) is not all exquisitely curated fashion with practical styling advice; she uses her platform to raise awareness around diversity, politics and social issues. ‘If I haven’t used my voice, even in the smallest way, to inform people about an injustice that’s taking place, if all it takes is a post, I haven’t done anything.’ Given her fashion-feed-with- a- conscience, I wonder how she countenances being paid to work with brands. Has the monetisation of the influencer industry ultimately compromised their integrity? ‘I’ve reconciled that I have to make a living and, in order to produce all this content – and pay a photographer to take these pictures – I absolutely have to do paid sponsorships that I then reinvest into my website. So, let’s accept that it’s a business, let’s indicate where it’s a sponsored post, let’s have transparency. But, no, it’s never been about the money.’

‘ the amount of money does seem ludicrous,’ says Susie Lau, 34, the original fashion geek enthusiast and North London native who launched her Stylebubble blog in 2006, after a brief stint in the advertising world. ‘ Twelve years ago, scale of economy just wasn’t there; it was a selfpublishing bedroom pursuit. Now it’s an industry in itself with its own eco-system, there are agents involved, everything is up for monetisation. It’s slightly absurd,’ she concedes, but argues that given influencer (or KOL, key opinion leader, as she’s called in Asia) posts are measured by engagement or likes, ‘So the value is totally justified; they wouldn’t pay it otherwise.’

It surprises me, respected as she is as a fashion authority, that she still has anxieties about her place in the industry. ‘I care deeply about this industry, I thrive on the creativity and the innovation, but there is still a feeling that we are interlopers. Like when you’re posing for a picture – and I’m not even someone that does the whole walking up and down to get street-style gang-banged – an editor will walk past with a wry smile on her face.’ Her sensitivity is understandable, given her spat, two years ago, with American Vogue editors, when she called them out (told them to go back to their Werther’s Originals) for complaining about the presence of ‘pathetic’ and ‘desperate’ fashion bloggers who ‘change head-to-toe paid-towear outfits every hour’. ‘Please stop,’ they went on, ‘Find another business. You are heralding the death of style.’ But today’s evidence suggests that the luxury industry has not only accepted, but embraced them. ‘ It’s definitely accepted. Whether it’s respected, that is a different thing.’

Susie says she’s not remotely ambitious: ‘I’m not about building an empire, I just love what I do and having the freedom to go to, say, Shanghai Fashion Week, for four days to see the talent and have enough money to pay the bills.’ The constant pressure, she says, is thinking that it could all end. ‘I keep 

there’s still a feeling that we’re interlopers susie lau