Scroll through TikTok or Instagram long enough, and you’ll eventually hear it: the overly polished voice, stretched vowels, exaggerated enthusiasm and strangely identical tone that seems to exist across thousands of creators.
People call it the “influencer accent,” and to me, it’s one of the clearest examples of how online culture has turned authenticity into performance. The “influencer accent” is not just a harmless speaking style; it is a front. It represents a fragmented version of the self that influencers believe audiences want.
Recently, a template was copied and pasted over and over again for what influencers are supposed to be and how they should act. Online communities, with this newly indoctrinated set of rules, have reshaped what content creation can and should entail.
What makes this worse is many people aren’t just watching influencers for entertainment. They are watching because they feel connected. When I search for content, I’m not just looking to disconnect or fill time; I’m looking for creators who feel relatable and real.
However, the “influencer accent” creates the opposite effect. It’s hard to connect with someone when they sound like they are reading off a script. It comes to a point where the content influencers are creating is not fueled by passion but by pressure.
Influencers know they are being judged, even more than the typical A-list celebrity, and that pressure contributes to the polished and curated personas they feel forced to present. The difference is that influencers turn this persona into a full-time business model. They aren’t performing occasionally; they are always performing.
This ties directly into Sherry Turkle’s TED Talk “Connected, but Alone?” Turkle argues that even though technology connects us more than ever, it often destroys meaningful connections.
Influencers create a feeling of closeness while maintaining complete control over what audiences see and feel. Though the result may be companionship in a way, the connection looks real but lacks depth.
“Being alone feels like a problem that needs to be solved,” Turkle said. “... People try to solve it by connecting. But here, connection is more like a symptom than a cure.”
Turkle points out people try to fix loneliness by turning to social spaces, but warns online connections can create more problems rather than solve them. That is exactly what happens when audiences form parasocial relationships with influencers who are not showing their true selves. People feel connected, but it is often a manufactured bond built on performance rather than authenticity.
Influencers are always performing, drawing a clear line between what they wish to be known for and the reality that hides behind the masks they wear. Erving Goffman’s theory clearly defines this behavior as front-stage behavior.
Nicki Lisa Cole, author of “Goffman’s Front-Stage and Backstage Behavior,” explains why influencer culture often feels so identical. Influencers are always in frontstage mode, and their entire job depends on following a learned script.
“According to Goffman, people engage in ‘frontstage’ behavior when they know others are watching,” Cole said. “... Frontstage behavior typically follows a routinized and learned social script … it shapes not just what individuals do and say in social settings but how they dress and style themselves, the consumer items they carry around, and the manner of their behavior.”
Of course, it’s normal for people to act differently depending on the setting. As Cole puts it, most people behave differently as their professional selves versus their private and intimate selves. But when audiences build relationships with influencers’ fabricated “professional selves,” they often connect with a persona rather than a person.
This becomes even more concerning when we consider how influencer culture affects communication itself. According to Keri K. Stephens and Dron M. Mandhana’s academic article, “Media Choice/Use in Organizations,” media richness in computer-mediated communication plays a major role in creating connections online.
They discuss how computer-mediated communication is often “lean,” meaning it lacks the depth and true connection people experience in face-to-face interaction. That predefined leanness already makes authentic connections harder online, coupled with influencers who curate every detail of their persona, the possibility of genuine connection becomes even smaller.
It’s crucial to recognize this disconnection, especially with younger audiences. With their brains still developing and being unable to fully understand their surroundings, teens and young adults might not be able to differentiate this fortified act of false presentation from authenticity.
This leads to connections shifting in the younger generation because of technology. Not knowing the difference between what is real and fake online has leaked into people's interactions in real life, which sets the stage for genuine personal connections to dwindle further.
That is why the influencer's accent matters. It’s not just an annoying trend. It’s a symptom of a culture that rewards performance over truth and connection over authenticity. The influencer accent represents the evolution of frontstage behavior into something permanent, a personality built for algorithms and approval.
The internet has been flooded with curated authenticity and personalities, making it nearly impossible for anyone to know what a real connection even feels like anymore. The question now isn’t whether influencer accents are fake; it’s whether we’ve become used to fake connections and stopped expecting anything real.
Michael Dorwaldt is a sophomore studying journalism at Ohio University. Please note the opinions expressed in this column do not represent those of The Post. Want to talk to Michael about their column? Email them at Md557123@ohio.edu.
