...but is being the UK’s most powerful influencer all it’s cracked up to be?

Cosmopolitan’s Daniella Scott and fitness star ALICE LIVEING are the same age. One has built a business empire worth millions. The other is on a mission to find out at what cost

On an unseasonably warm June afternoon, Alice Liveing sat on a wall in central London and cried. The tears took her by surprise at first: she’d only meant to sit down and take a breather after an increasingly stressful day, but once she did, the tears came fast and unbidden. It was no surprise really. Three years of working as a wellness influencer seven days a week, with 5am starts and finishing late into the night, had taken their toll. There was always filming to do, photos to take, meetings to get to, not to mention the hundreds of comments and emails to respond to. She was 25 years old. And she was exhausted. If you’re not familiar with the name Alice Liveing, let me fill you in. She is probably the most famous wellness influencer in the UK. She used to work under the moniker Clean Eating Alice, which she set up from her student bedroom in 2014 as a way to chart her weight-loss journey. She has been bigger (size 12-14 on her petite 5ft 1in frame) and smaller (48kg and a size eight at her smallest) and now doesn’t talk about weight loss at all, but instead focuses on building strong, healthy, empowered bodies and minds under her real name, Alice Liveing. She has more than 639,000 followers on Instagram. She has graced the covers of numerous glossy women’s magazines (she was the best-selling cover girl of 2018 for

Cosmopolitan’s sister title Women’s Health). She’s written three cookbooks (outselling Deliciously Ella and Jamie Oliver), and has her own line of fitness wear in Primark. Her Instagram feed is one of holidays in the south of France, perfectly poached eggs and abs as pronounced as a bag of onions. It is, on the surface at least, a #blessed life.

We meet for breakfast in a fancy restaurant, surrounded by a sea of navy-suited executives simultaneously cramming in deals and artisanal pastries. By contrast, Alice slips through the door – a teeny figure in black and white sportswear, with an almost avatar-ish face, her skin so perfectly sunkissed (not to mention the strikingly symmetrical features) it looks as though she’s passed through a Valencia filter. She settles into a seat and, without even scanning the menu, orders poached eggs on toast (carbs, yes, but no butter).

She’s been on holiday, she says. She needed some time without social media. As if on cue, her eyes dart impulsively to her wrist, as her smartwatch flashes to life. She looks around the restaurant. Flash: another email. She needed to spend some time away from the gym, too. Flash: another notification. Flash: a DM. Flash. Flash. Flash. It is constant. And yet Alice registers it all, never once pausing the conversation.

That Alice Liveing and I are the same age has unsettled me since I agreed to do this interview. I’ve only just nailed down my first full-time job. She, meanwhile, has an entire empire. I’ve not even started paying off my huge student loan – she, on the other hand, tells me she once turned down a fivefigure sum for one Instagram post. I spend my spare time scouting out the country’s best Wetherspoons (I hear The Counting House in Glasgow is a real looker). She uses her spare time to train to be a professional PT and nutritionist to give her brand further credence. At 6am on any given weekday I’ve just about managed to empty my bladder, wipe the dribble from my cheek and check Twitter. Alice (who gets up at 5am most days) has already trained a client, rustled up breakfast and got stuck into the dozens of messages and DMs that will have appeared in her inbox overnight.

She tries to reply to all the comments and messages she gets on Instagram, she tells me. Judging by the strobe light her phone has become, there is a lot. She works by the highly sensible premise that if you’re nice to everyone, it will all come back to you in one way or another. (Perhaps I need to up my charm game with John in the post room.) That’s one reason why she uploads hours and hours of free fitness videos – many done in the flat she chose primarily because it was Instagram-friendly – and tries to answer as many of her audience’s questions as she can. Her fans, in turn, reward her with book sales and general support across any venture

“Social media isn’t a nice place to be when you’re not feeling 100%”

she turns her hand to – clothing, her app, the endorsement deals with brands such as Soft & Gentle.

I have to say, it seems like a very nice life. Which would explain why a recent study I spied said that more primaryschool children now want to become influencers than actors.* I suppose it’s down to the glamour of the PR hauls, the free holidays, the allure of being your own boss as well as the adoration from complete strangers… It’s celebrity life without the hassle of paps, press intrusion and having to deal with Piers Morgan.

When I ask Alice if it’s really this good (while trying to figure out what my own niche could be. Skint journalist? IKEA obsessive? Bleach blogger – both hair and household?), she gives a tight smile.“You’re constantly trying to be liked, trying to keep your head above water and stay at the top, and sometimes social media isn’t a nice place to be when you’re not feeling 100%,” she says.

“I posted on my Insta Stories recently about how I’d gone out with friends and ended up getting quite drunk. This prompted quite a few people to send messages saying things like ‘I think it’s quite concerning that you’re promoting drinking heavily’ and ‘I think, as you’re a health blogger, you shouldn’t really be promoting alcohol – it’s a poison,’ and I just thought,‘What on earth do you think I am – some kind of angel that has never touched a drop of alcohol, who never does anything that isn’t 100% PC?’ There’s a fine line: it’s lovely that people are so interested in my life, but also they do start to feel as though they own you and if you do things they don’t approve of, or aren’t used to you doing, they’ll pick up on it straight away. It’s a difficult part of what I do, you’re at the hands of people’s opinions constantly and they’re very willing to voice them if something’s not to their liking.”

There is definitely something about the digital shield that emboldens

“People take their bad days out on you”

perfectly nice IRL people to have staggeringly strong views about someone else’s life.“Sometimes, it’s as though people are taking their bad days out on you,” says Liveing. “I’ve had people saying things like ‘Stop putting your face so close to the camera’ or ‘Oh my God, you always have a really annoying smile.’ Once, someone sent me a screenshot of a conversation they were having with their friend about how annoying my eyes were in pictures.”

And here’s the thing: Liveing must see and control it all. Because, unlike celebrities and those of us with a corporate job, there is no protection. There is no HR department, no union to support you and no protocol of how you must behave. Worse still, your entire career is based on popularity. Which means you can’t have a “bad day”, or snap back at the person who says you have “annoying eyes”. For Liveing, this awareness once sparked a vicious period of paranoia: “I was out doing my shopping and when I got home there was a comment on one of my pictures saying,‘I just want people to know that I see you out in Fulham all the time and you always look really miserable; it’s a facade you put on for your Instagram that you’re always happy.’ I started to question myself, second-guessing everything I did and looking over my shoulder when I went out: do I look miserable? Are people always watching me? For a while it made me really paranoid.”

Liveing doesn’t feel this way without reason. Earlier this year, a man named Isaac Straus was charged with stalking US fitness influencer Alexia Clark (he turned up on her doorstep with a Mother’s Day present for her mum). He pushed her so far that eventually she took drastic measures, completely changing her daily routine, her place of work and even getting a guard dog. Clark’s experience is extreme, but Liveing admits to feeling unsettled every now and then.“It’s always a concern. I am careful with the decisions I make: I never want anyone to know where I live, so I picked a flat in a block with a very secure entrance. A big factor in choosing the flat was security. Previously I was living in a basement flat on a main road, getting up at stupid o’clock to go to the gym, and I became very paranoid about going in and out, so I decided to move. I never give out my home address, film the front of my building or

“There are people who will sh*t on you in a second”

show the road I live on. You have to be cautious because you never know what could happen.”

But for a generation of would-be influencers desperate for a slice of the pie, it would all be worth it for the money, right? Not exactly. In reality, a career in front of the blogging camera can often be a frugal one. A decadelong study from Offenburg University in Germany found that wage disparity online is much like in the real world, if not worse: 97% of the most-watched channels on YouTube earn less than £12,800 a year in ad revenue, while influencers like Zoella, and her £1.7m Brighton house fall into the tiny 3% margin at the top. The brutality of these figures has given rise to a world where competition, desperation and #sponcon is rife: “You can tell when an influencer has taken a post just for the money,” Liveing tells me knowingly, folding her arms and scanning her eyes over her adamantine biceps.“It’ll be very offbrand, and they’ll have tried to make it work in some way, or sometimes not even tried. You can see it was just good money and they’ve had to take it because in that moment they probably just needed to pay the bills.”

This is a world hinged on competition. There are no teambuilding awaydays and no colleagues. There’s a finite amount of money and an infinite number of online personalities vying for it. You’re not all working together towards the same goal, you’re all competing for it. It’s tough, Liveing tells me – you need resilience: “In the past, others in the industry have used me for my following and once they’ve got to a certain place, they’ve forgotten me,” she says, pausing briefly and looking down at her hands.“There are people who will sh*t on you in a second.”

But what about all those lovely influencers out there who wax lyrical about supporting women and building community? Surely they help when things get tough? Liveing pauses. For the first time I spot a flicker of conflict in her eyes. She takes a long sip of her hot water and lemon. “In many ways, it’s a very supportive place. I’ve made lots of amazing friends through what I do, but at the same time, that can be tricky because no matter how friendly you are, you’re still essentially in competition with them. I don’t care how many in the community say they’re best friends. I’d be lying if I said it isn’t really difficult every time I’m with other influencers, because they’ll talk about their work or a piece of content and I’ll be thinking ‘Damn it, why hadn’t I thought of that?’ Often, I see friends working with a brand and think to myself,‘Why didn’t I get that opportunity? I’d have been perfect for that.’ It’s important to remember it’s not all as rosy as it seems.”

As the waiter clears our plates, Liveing is in full flow, talking openly about how psychologically allconsuming the influencer world can be. Her eyes widen, those mountainous traps tense up and her speech quickens. “It’s tough. Under the surface it can be overwhelming because I’ll be thinking of all the things I have to do and all the things I’m not doing, and it’s this constant conversation in my head that’s relentless, especially as there’s no escape from social media, so I’ll be lying in bed at night consuming it all, comparing and criticising myself.”

Suddenly our time draws to an end. We settle the bill and Liveing throws her colossal bag over her shoulder, smooths out her hair and puts on a pair of oversized reflective aviators. She’s off to a meeting with a huge jewellery brand she tells me. Another day, another hustle.

I check my diary. For the rest of the day I have a meeting with my editor, toilet paper to pick up from Tesco and then dinner with my boyfriend. Liveing, meanwhile, still has fitness videos to upload, comments to reply to and lots and lots of plans to make as she strategises her own career path. Suddenly I realise how good being 25 is when you’re a writer with no better plans than paying for pints in pocket change in Wetherspoons again.