The days of viral instagram memes and Tiktok dances are behind us. In 2025, lifestyle videos are the way to jump start your social media influencer career, which is attractive to much of Gen Z, who is struggling through one of the hardest job markets in U.S. history. But is virality all glitz and glamor, or are there real repercussions?
IE University student Alina Volik was just 10 years old when she started making videos on her dad’s old iPod when he wasn’t looking. Today, at 21, she has more than 70,000 TikTok followers and earns money from the very thing she used to treat as a game.
“I’ve always wanted to be online since I was a child, she said.”
For Volik, content creation is freedom.
“You don’t have to go to an office. You just live your best life and film it.”
Making content creation a full-time job may sound unserious, but for many young adults, it has become a genuine occupation. Like many jobs, it demands long hours, creative energy and emotional resilience. Their personalities, daily lives and online presence become the product, and they become the brand.
For Olivia Hurst, who now has more than 100,000 TikTok followers, content creation began unexpectedly during her time as a student at Parsons School of Design in New York City. Hurst partners with high-end brands like Alo and Chanel, deals that validate her but also bring in significant income.
“I think I always enjoyed making content, but then it hit me that this could be a full-time job, which is something I always wanted,” Hurst said.
As for Erin Harper, who has 163,000 TikTok followers, content creation shifted from a hobby to a career during her senior year of college at New York University.
“It fell at the perfect point before graduation, when I was starting to think about a post-grad job,” she said. “What once felt like an unreachable dream, seeing others make it, suddenly became possible when brands started reaching out with deals.”
Unlike traditional jobs, there is no application, no boss and no clear path to entry.
“It’s a job you have to be really independent for and very disciplined for,” Harper said. “You are essentially creating your own schedule for yourself. No one tells you what to do day-to-day, besides brands sending you a brief for a brand deal.”
Beyond successful brand deals, it’s the human connection that keeps Hurst motivated.
“I really do love the connection with my audience. As a kid, I loved watching YouTubers and I really looked up to them,” she said.
Hurst’s videos on wellness, lifestyle and fashion now attract an audience of women who want to look and feel their best.
“The fact that I can be that person now for people makes me really happy,” she said.
But behind each perfectly polished post, the job has a less glamorous side. Volik admits the hours online feel endless and can wear her down.
“You spend a lot of time on your phone, which is not healthy,” she said .
With more and more followers every day, the pressure and responsibility to keep up, to post constantly and to never disappear can become an emotional weight.
“I could never delete Instagram,” she said, “not even during my final exams or for mental health. You cannot be off the grid.”
IE University student Rebecca Nolan, who has 22,700 followers, feels the same pull.
“The most stressful part of the job is the lack of presence,” she said. “Sometimes I feel like I always need to be filming. Am I doing something just to film it for my followers, or am I doing it because I want to?”
Unlike corporate or service jobs, creating content on social media is unstable.
“It’s not always consistent,” Hurst said. “You are not always getting work every single day or a monthly paycheck.”
That sense of unpredictability makes the job exciting, but also daunting.
“You can make more money you have ever made in one month, but close to none the next month,” Harper said.
Harper recalled when TikTok was temporarily banned for less than 24 hours in January 2025, a moment that reminded her how fragile this industry really is.
“You never know what is going to happen in the career of social media. I try to be present and keep creating,” she said.
Platform popularity is always changing. Hurst admits it’s nerve-wracking to think about what will happen if TikTok or Instagram lose relevance. She recalled how when she was little, YouTube was the only platform where creators could build careers. Instagram, once just a place to share photos with friends, has now become a major business hub for influencers.
“You are always in a bit of a limbo,” said Hurst. “What is the next thing?”
Nolan knows that fragility all too well. A few years ago, she was nearly at the 100,000-follower mark before her TikTok account was hacked and every video on her page was deleted.
“I had to restart from zero,” she said, proving how years of hard work can disappear in an instant.
Explaining this form of work is not always easy. Harper admits that older generations struggle to understand what she does for a living.
“No matter how much I try to teach my parents about it, they’re never going to fully understand because it isn’t the world they grew up in,” she said .
This, mixed with occasional judgment, is something many content creators have learned to brush aside.
Platforms may change and algorithms may shift, so the future of social media is truly uncertain. Still, these women continue to film, edit and post, driven by a shared desire to inspire their followers. Like any job, it brings exhaustion and stress. But unlike most jobs, the product is themselves — and their own lives. That, perhaps, is the real price of going viral.
words_mia wells. photo_julia campbell. design_flora pinner.
This article was published in Distraction’s Winter 2025 print issue.
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