Nieman Lab.
Predictions for
Journalism, 2025.
Last year here, I predicted TV reporters would become influencers. I asserted that in being encouraged by stations to use social media to build brands and bring in viewership, reporters would experience something we call influencer creep — how being on social mandates one act like an influencer, even if they don’t necessarily think of themselves that way. However, this year, I predict the convergence in the opposite direction: Influencers become journalists.
In a way, my statement is misleading, because many influencers are already journalists. A November 2024 Pew Research Center study found 21% of U.S. adults rely on news influencers for information, with many saying online creators “helped them better understand current events and civic issues.” This is consistent with existing research that found that earlier in 2024, over half of U.S. adults (54%) said they at least sometimes got news from social media. The signs were there — but very few were listening, clinging to outdated understandings of not just news, but the power of social media influencers.
Before the dust had even settled over the results of the U.S. presidential election, finger pointing began. Influencers had been a hot topic of the 2024 U.S. presidential election, but their impact had been gravely misjudged. Instead of trying to understand why the Democratic National Committee had invited over 200 TikTokkers and YouTubers to its convention, including those who never talked politics on their accounts, there was scoffing and backlash. But then, with scores shocked at the re-election of Donald Trump, many finally realized they had been overlooking influencers’ power.
An influencer can’t make anyone think anything. But those who study internet culture, fandom, parasocial relationships, sociology, and more can tell you why influencers were such successful communication disseminators during the 2024 U.S. Election. For instance, take the Joe Rogan podcast. Rogan’s podcast, The Joe Rogan Experience, consistently ranks as one of the most listened to podcasts in the United States. Rogan, a comedian and UFC color commentator, has become a paragon for young and middle-aged men across America. And he works because the bulk of his three-hour long podcast episodes aren’t explicitly political. Rogan “shoots the shit” with this audience, makes jokes, smokes marijuana, and then maybe starts pontificating on how he has vaccine skepticism, or how he doesn’t have to be mindful of sensitive language on his own podcast. Sure, he hosts politicians and controversial figures, but Rogan largely offers his audience of young men a place where they can feel emboldened. Rogan is an influencer, and he’s primarily influencing a lifestyle — and if political mobilization and information comes along with it, so be it.
The same thing can be said of influencers who are trad wives, homestead, or promote “quiet luxury” — it’s all about selling a feeling or a type of wistfulness, albeit a problematic one. The lure of the trad wives and homesteaders to break free of the pressures of modern life can be enticing, but nostalgia is almost always regressive. Selling lifestyles may appear to just be selling aesthetics, but it also is about the beliefs, practices, and information that come with it.
Whether it’s long-form content, like Joe Rogan’s podcast, or short-form TikTok videos with influencers doing their makeup or making bread from scratch while talking about a political issue, the casual, intimate conversation style of social media makes individuals feel as if they’re seen, even if the content is directed to the masses. This is why a common refrain of the last few weeks to “find a leftist Rogan” is shortsighted. It puts the cart before the horse, and it doesn’t understand Joe Rogan is a symptom of changing media systems, not the root cause. And to their credit, the Democratic National Committee tried this strategy with inviting creators to the DNC — and were ridiculed for it.
But I can hear the critiques now: These are influencers, not journalists. But as media industries have converged across the broad, we must rethink our understanding of how individuals get and receive information. We must think about how the lines between entertainment and information continue to blur at problematic and rapid rates. It’s not simply about watching the nightly news, or labeling something mis-or-disinformation. Journalists are influencers, and influencers are journalists, but if that’s hard to swallow, think of them as op-ed writers or cultural commentators. Content creators and influencers are doorways to information and ideas, and our volatile political and media landscape make its enticing for audiences to walk through them.
Jessica Maddox is associate professor and co-director of the Office of Politics, Communication, and Media at The University of Alabama.
Last year here, I predicted TV reporters would become influencers. I asserted that in being encouraged by stations to use social media to build brands and bring in viewership, reporters would experience something we call influencer creep — how being on social mandates one act like an influencer, even if they don’t necessarily think of themselves that way. However, this year, I predict the convergence in the opposite direction: Influencers become journalists.
In a way, my statement is misleading, because many influencers are already journalists. A November 2024 Pew Research Center study found 21% of U.S. adults rely on news influencers for information, with many saying online creators “helped them better understand current events and civic issues.” This is consistent with existing research that found that earlier in 2024, over half of U.S. adults (54%) said they at least sometimes got news from social media. The signs were there — but very few were listening, clinging to outdated understandings of not just news, but the power of social media influencers.
Before the dust had even settled over the results of the U.S. presidential election, finger pointing began. Influencers had been a hot topic of the 2024 U.S. presidential election, but their impact had been gravely misjudged. Instead of trying to understand why the Democratic National Committee had invited over 200 TikTokkers and YouTubers to its convention, including those who never talked politics on their accounts, there was scoffing and backlash. But then, with scores shocked at the re-election of Donald Trump, many finally realized they had been overlooking influencers’ power.
An influencer can’t make anyone think anything. But those who study internet culture, fandom, parasocial relationships, sociology, and more can tell you why influencers were such successful communication disseminators during the 2024 U.S. Election. For instance, take the Joe Rogan podcast. Rogan’s podcast, The Joe Rogan Experience, consistently ranks as one of the most listened to podcasts in the United States. Rogan, a comedian and UFC color commentator, has become a paragon for young and middle-aged men across America. And he works because the bulk of his three-hour long podcast episodes aren’t explicitly political. Rogan “shoots the shit” with this audience, makes jokes, smokes marijuana, and then maybe starts pontificating on how he has vaccine skepticism, or how he doesn’t have to be mindful of sensitive language on his own podcast. Sure, he hosts politicians and controversial figures, but Rogan largely offers his audience of young men a place where they can feel emboldened. Rogan is an influencer, and he’s primarily influencing a lifestyle — and if political mobilization and information comes along with it, so be it.
The same thing can be said of influencers who are trad wives, homestead, or promote “quiet luxury” — it’s all about selling a feeling or a type of wistfulness, albeit a problematic one. The lure of the trad wives and homesteaders to break free of the pressures of modern life can be enticing, but nostalgia is almost always regressive. Selling lifestyles may appear to just be selling aesthetics, but it also is about the beliefs, practices, and information that come with it.
Whether it’s long-form content, like Joe Rogan’s podcast, or short-form TikTok videos with influencers doing their makeup or making bread from scratch while talking about a political issue, the casual, intimate conversation style of social media makes individuals feel as if they’re seen, even if the content is directed to the masses. This is why a common refrain of the last few weeks to “find a leftist Rogan” is shortsighted. It puts the cart before the horse, and it doesn’t understand Joe Rogan is a symptom of changing media systems, not the root cause. And to their credit, the Democratic National Committee tried this strategy with inviting creators to the DNC — and were ridiculed for it.
But I can hear the critiques now: These are influencers, not journalists. But as media industries have converged across the broad, we must rethink our understanding of how individuals get and receive information. We must think about how the lines between entertainment and information continue to blur at problematic and rapid rates. It’s not simply about watching the nightly news, or labeling something mis-or-disinformation. Journalists are influencers, and influencers are journalists, but if that’s hard to swallow, think of them as op-ed writers or cultural commentators. Content creators and influencers are doorways to information and ideas, and our volatile political and media landscape make its enticing for audiences to walk through them.
Jessica Maddox is associate professor and co-director of the Office of Politics, Communication, and Media at The University of Alabama.
