Words by Vivian Nguyen
The digital world offers women unprecedented tools for empowerment. But in the pursuit of online fame, social media presents a troubling paradox.
Across time, the fight for equity has laid the groundwork for female liberation. Today, more than ever, women have greater access to opportunities, autonomy, and self-determination.
We’ve been told we can be anything: CEOs, creatives, breadwinners. The idea of the “f**k you fund” has become a cultural touchpoint—a pot of financial independence that allows women to walk away from oppressive jobs, toxic relationships, and societal expectations.
The feminist battle for equal pay now raises eyebrows (or sparks outrage) when salaries fall short of parity with men. Women have more freedom to rewrite their roles beyond the “trad-wife” archetype, opening new ways of imagining their lives. With this cultural shift has come the rise of movements like #MeToo and #BlackLivesMatter, movements that have challenged deep-seated power structures and expanded the conversation around justice and rights.
However, the online space, the so-called “arena of reinvention”, creates a paradox of liberation. It is a place where the freedom to redefine ourself is constantly hijacked by consumerism; where identity is influenced by trends, polished videos and filtered images seducing the user. Brands fuel this cycle by hiring influencers to sell not just products, but lifestyles. The unspoken message is: if they can, why can’t you?
When I wrote werkaholics, I was interrogating the complex relationship between women, money, and value in the digital age. Filmmaker Faye Tsakas asks it best in her New York Times feature: “What does it mean to be participants in a larger social media system that encourages—and even demands—certain behaviours from its users, especially women and girls?”
Writing the show became an unravelling process when, time and time again, it reaffirmed to me that the digital landscape is not neutral. It’s shaped by tech giants whose ultimate goal is profit, not empowerment.
Whistle-blower Frances Haugen and the documentary The Social Dilemma both reveal the same unsettling truth: the algorithms that govern our feeds are designed by men, for engagement, not for equity. And so, patriarchal ideals (beauty, desirability, consumption) are baked into the very code we scroll through every day.
If the architects of our digital playgrounds are overwhelmingly male, is it any surprise that the rules of the game still reflect male-centric values of worth, visibility, and success?
Is it a no-brainer that Forbes’ top influencers of 2024 are overwhelmingly white, male, or embody a narrow vision of womanhood, one rooted in Eurocentric beauty ideals? The lack of diversity is pervasive, reduced to tokenism. When power is concentrated in the hands of the few, the content we consume reflects only a sliver of human experience. And as a tired consumer, we’re forced to engage with the same tired narratives over and over.
And yet, it’s hard to question what brings us pleasure. The system is designed to be frictionless. Signing up for an account takes seconds. Becoming an influencer can begin with a single post. From there, all it takes is relentless consistency and viral luck.
But what is this system teaching us? Nearly one-third of preteens today say their dream job is to become an influencer. Eleven percent of Gen Z already identify as influencers. These numbers aren’t just statistics, they’re values we’re embedding in the next generation.
The influencer economy is booming. Trends multiply. New “aesthetic cores” rise and fall daily. Influencers, exhausted by the chase for relevance, keep participating because the machine demands it. Goldman Sachs estimates the global influencer market exceeds $250 billion, with U.S. brands alone spending over $5 billion annually on influencers (The New York Times, A Marketplace of Girl Influencers Managed by Moms and Stalked by Men).
And yet, the problems remain the same only the packaging has changed.
Issues that deeply affect women—like childcare, reproductive health, gender pay gaps—rarely trend. The algorithm doesn’t reward them. Instead, it amplifies objectification, aesthetic perfection, and curated consumption. Even feminist conversations are often reduced to Botox debates or “just a girl thing” throwaways, flattening complex issues into shallow trends.
In a world where online selfhood is currency, is this truly freedom or just another gilded cage? Money is power. Influence is power. But when that influence is shaped by forces that keep the old hierarchies intact, how free are we, really?
