Built, Not Borrowed (Part One)
In the early days of social media, platforms like MySpace, Facebook, and Tumblr provided new ways to connect, create, and express oneself. Instagram followed soon after, giving us a space to document our lives in real-time; photo by photo, caption by caption. Back then, it felt like play. There was room to experiment, to share freely, and to build communities around the things we loved. As a young artist, I was excited by the many possibilities around me. It felt open and full of creativity. Today, that environment feels different. Social media has become more curated and commercial. What was once about expressing ourselves is now a marketplace.
Influencer culture has altered how we perceive ourselves and one another. Many people focus more on gaining views, going viral, and tracking numbers instead of forming genuine connections. We have swapped the joy of sharing for the pressure to perform.
As someone who has shared online since before “content creator” was a job title, I find this shift fascinating. The platforms that once felt like fun spaces for creativity now seem more like businesses. I often wonder why people no longer share their work as they used to. Why do we prioritize trends and appearances over what truly matters to us?
Recently, I’ve been reflecting on the difference between being an influencer and being an influence. Influencers tend to focus on appearance, engagement metrics, and timing, while being influential involves having a strong presence, sharing meaningful experiences, and making a genuine cultural impact. Actual influence doesn’t depend on a platform because it leaves a lasting impression.
This became especially clear to me when I attended an event and someone asked if I was an influencer. I don’t know if it was the way I dressed or how I carried myself, but I smiled and replied, ‘No.’ Because the truth is, I’d rather be the influence than the influencer. Especially as a native New Yorker, this distinction carries weight. I was raised in a city that shaped me through rhythm, culture, and resistance. New York is more than a backdrop; it is a living, breathing character in my story. This city pulls something out of you, and I understand why people come here to find themselves. But lately, I’ve noticed how its identity is being repackaged and sold, often by those who haven’t lived its truths.
There’s a version of the “New York influencer” that doesn’t reflect the communities that built this city. Instead, it borrows from their culture without acknowledging their roots. It aestheticizes grit, hustle, and flavor without understanding the histories behind them. The places and people that gave New York its magic become props in someone else’s highlight reel. This is where the conversation turns toward cultural erasure. When influence becomes a trend, authenticity is flattened. Whole neighborhoods are reduced to backgrounds. Local artists and voices are often overlooked in favor of more “marketable” ones. We see it happen all the time. But influence is about reach and impact. And the most impactful people are often the ones who aren’t trying to be seen. They’re just doing the work.
In my own practice, I come back to that. Whether I’m writing, hosting, collaborating, or curating, I want to know that I’m offering something real. That what I make is rooted in care, not clout. That it carries my voice, even if it doesn’t carry far. Because there’s value in resonance and not just visibility.
This isn’t a critique of those who find success online. However, it’s a reminder to check in with ourselves. Who are we allowing to influence us? What do we consider valuable? And are we building from a place of honesty or from a desire to be seen?
New York doesn’t need more influencers. She already is one. And if you want to understand her, you have to listen to the ones who’ve been here all along.