Lately, I’ve been feeling deeply uninspired by fashion, trends, and even shopping (hence the delay in publishing—apologies). I made it my mission to find at least one item that sparked some excitement. I scrolled endlessly through product recs, browsed every “must-have” list, hopped from trendy site to trendy site… and still, nothing.
At first, I chalked it up to getting older—maybe my tastes had changed. But the more I sat with it, the more it felt like a symptom of something bigger: the homogenization of online culture. Every video, every brand, every trend blends into a repetitive loop of beige aesthetics, samey silhouettes, and influencer-approved “game-changers” that feel more obligatory than exciting. Even fast fashion, once defined by speed and novelty, is cannibalizing its past—like PrettyLittleThing’s sudden pivot to “quiet luxury.”
Ironically, the more these products are pushed, the less I want them. It’s as if influence has looped in on itself. A culture built on inspiration has become… “uninspiring.”
Not too long ago, influencer marketing felt like a golden ticket. A trusted voice recommends a product, followers buy in, and brands win. But now? The landscape is shifting—and fast.
Engagement is plummeting. Overall influencer engagement is down by 45%, with TikTok falling 35% and Instagram stagnating at a meager 0.7%. Audiences are growing numb to affiliate codes, curated hauls, and yet another GRWM.
In response, brands are shifting strategies. The micro-influencer gold rush is slowing, replaced by a renewed focus on established celebrities and mega-influencers.
Business Insider notes that consumers are gravitating toward familiar names who offer a sense of authority that smaller influencers now lack. It’s not just about reach—it’s about credibility, and audiences are craving it.
This shift ties into a broader cultural burnout—something Kyle Chaykaarticulates perfectly in his New Yorkeressay, The Banality of the Online Recommendation.
And that’s exactly it.
Shopping no longer feels exciting—it feels like déjà vu. The same viral beauty products. The same beige-toned, capsule-wardrobe fashion staples. The same restaurants every TikToker insists you musttry. Even in our quest for individuality, we’re being shepherded toward the same things. It’s a feedback loop of taste—algorithmically curated, endlessly regurgitated.
When every platform becomes a storefront and every person becomes a tastemaker, recommendations stop being helpful. They become noise. And we’re not just desensitized—we’re skeptical. What once felt like discovery now feels like obligation.
A perfect storm of factors is draining the life out of traditional influencer marketing:
With over 1.1 billion posts flooding major platforms daily, standing out is nearly impossible. AI content is only intensifying the noise.
Algorithms now stifle reach, forcing creators to spread themselves thin. Engagement drops as a result.
A shocking 59% of posts generate zero engagement (NP Digital). In the rush for virality, substance has taken a back seat.
Brands have smarter tools, and they’re realizing that many influencer campaigns don’t deliver meaningful ROI.
With 80% of influencers failing to consistently disclose sponsorships (EU Commission), brands are wary of compliance risks.
The result? A growing disillusionment with digital influence and a craving for something real.
In a world dominated by algorithmic sameness, physical spaces offer something rare: authenticity. According to IBM, only 9% of consumers are satisfied with in-store shopping—and just 14% with online. That unmet need? It’s not just a gap—it’s an invitation.
Take Jacquemus, for example. The brand’s vending machine pop-ups in Paris and London, which sold mini Le Chiquito bags, caused a frenzy. No influencers were necessary—just novelty, exclusivity, and real-world buzz. And it paid off: Jacquemus now has the highest revenue-per-store among the top 60 luxury labels.
Jacquemus’ Le Chiquito Vending Machine Pop-Up in London
And then there’s Gentle Monster, the South Korean eyewear brand that’s turned retail into theater.
Yes, they dominate online. Their sunglasses are worn by global celebrities and K-pop idols, endlessly featured in influencer roundups. But it’s in person where they break through the noise and reawaken your senses.
Walk into their Seoul flagship, and the transformation begins. A sleek, robotic arm gracefully picks up sunglasses and places them onto porcelain mannequins. It moves like a dancer—mechanical, precise, entrancing. Around the corner, LED walls drip with digital rain. Motion-sensor lights follow your every step like you’re part of the exhibit. The entire space blurs the line between fashion, sci-fi cinema, and immersive art.
The Gentle Monster Starfield Hanam store, themed ‘Self Similarity,’ reinterprets the mathematical concept through visual and spatial elements — what you’re seeing here is just the tipof the iceberg. Gentle Monster has created some of the most mind-bending, cinematic in-store displays around the world—and this robotic arm is honestly one of the tamer ones. From kinetic sculptures to full-blown sci-fi dreamscapes, every flagship is a world of its own. They don’t just sell eyewear—they build experiences you haveto see to believe.
But Gentle Monster doesn’t stop with eyewear. They extend this surreal universe through Nudake, their conceptual dessert brand. Step inside, and you’re no longer in a cafe—you’re in a gallery of edible absurdity. A giant croissant sculpture, flaky and golden, hovers midair like an alien artifact. Matte-black tiramisu cubes line the shelves like minimalist sculptures. The pastries are pristine, architectural—daring you to ruin their perfection with a bite.
Nudake Shanghai Store feature’s a whimsical croissant gym
Because nothing is selling you here—not a voiceover, not a haul, not an affiliate code. The only thing influencing you is the space itself: the scale, the craft, the emotion. It doesn’t scream “Buy now.”It whispers, “Stay awhile.”
These stores don’t just offer products—they offer presence. And in today’s hyper-curated, digitized world, presencefeels like the ultimate luxury.
If recommendation culture is collapsing under its own weight, and online influence is losing its grip, what’s next?
Maybe it’s time to stop chasing the next viral product.
Maybe the future of influence isn’t about mass appeal—but about personal resonance. Curated experiences. Thoughtful storytelling. Encounters that can’t be captured in a 15-second clip or flattened into a product link.
Influence, moving forward, won’t be about who can shout the loudest. It’ll be about who can make you feel something.
So maybe the answer isn’t another recommendation.
Maybe it’s the freedom to explore—without one.
© perediza 2025