Actually, Latine Influencers Are Expanding Representation — & That’s A Good Thing

There’s a problem with Latine representation. There’s always been. Not only is the community less likely to see ourselves represented in film, TV, and news media, but often the portrayals that do exist paint us as criminals threatening “good” Americans and fail to reflect the diversity of our races, languages, and cultures. In many ways, the rise of social media has allowed us to, finally, expand representation and connection, on our own terms. From Instagram to TikTok, there are accounts dedicated to Latinas in higher education or athletics; there are also content creators making videos and infographics that explore the realities of their identities, whether as Black, Indigenous, queer, disabled, or Muslim Latinas, to name a few. Yet, for the past few months, the Internet has been ablaze with criticism around these Latine influencers. 

Ironically taking to social media, many Latines are distancing themselves from influencers who make content about their ethnicity and culture. To them, Latine creators, particularly those who are low-income and don’t have college degrees, are disseminating stereotypical representations and, as such, giving us all a "bad name." While the critics don’t name influencers specifically, the general conclusion is that Latine influencers are not to be trusted, watched, or supported. 

In one video, a social media user said Latine influencers who have kids "too young" are a bad example that shouldn’t be glamorized. In another, a user bemoaned that so many Latine influencers are “uneducated” and don’t have any higher education degrees to speak of and model a respectable example to younger audiences. Yet another user said that Latine influencers act in stereotypically “Latine ways” that confirm the white American caricatures of Latines, thus fueling anti-Latine racism. 

Listening to these critiques — entrenched in sexism, classism, racism, and tired respectability politics — it’s clear to me that this rhetoric is what actually causes harm. In a country where reproductive rights are heavily under attack (particularly in states where there are large Latine populations) and in a culture that is extremely religious and often frowns on abortion, Latinas tend to have children earlier than the median white American. Similarly, the accusation that these influencers are “uneducated” and don’t have higher education degrees is out of touch with the reality of Latines more generally. According to a Pew Research Center project that surveyed Latines about education, around 74% of 16- to 25-year-old Latines who responded to the survey stopped studying in high school or shortly after because they had to start working to support their families. The project concluded that leaving education to support a family — a necessity that is driven by poverty and a lack of resources — is the most common reason for the education gap among Latines and white Americans. 

In the midst of all the discourse, influencer Chloe Forero gave her two cents, arguing that sometimes Latine influencers choose to “fit the stereotype on purpose” to make money from the large swathes of people who find those stereotypes entertaining. Particularly for Latines who do not have any generational wealth and few financial opportunities, making money as an influencer is an easy and quick way to get resources they might not otherwise have. In this sense, it’s fair to say, don’t hate the player, hate the game. Even so, it’s very tricky to police who is “fulfilling a stereotype” for money because those stereotypes were created by the white American public — and “not being a stereotype” is still measuring someone’s actions (and, in this case, content) by standards created by white hegemonic culture. Often, what people mean by saying that someone “acts like a stereotype” is that they haven’t properly assimilated into white American culture, that they are still too obviously Latine to be considered a “good” example. 

Additionally, there is an obvious discomfort when so-called stereotypically Latine people become successful on social media, and that stems from how they earn money outside of traditional meritocracy systems. The thing about being an influencer is that anybody can be one. You don’t need a degree from Harvard to start a TikTok account, nor do you need an absurd amount of money to upload your first video. This means influencing is an extremely accessible career for anybody who has a smartphone and ideas for content, and that we could get an insight on all kinds of people and all kinds of different lifestyles. And as a community whose representation has predominantly been written, directed, and sold to us by non-Latines, this is actually a great development. 

Instead of relying on the limited representation of Latines we have on TV and film, social media gives underrepresented populations a chance to create their own representation. Consequently, someone like Afro-Dominican comedian Sasha Merci can create her own Latine world of comedy for people who look like her or have struggles similar to hers. Or Venezuelan American Samantha Jade Durán can create fashion content for disabled folks who use wheelchairs. Or someone like Janet Gomez can create a community of Latina influencers and small business owners who support each other, as well as content about motherhood on Instagram. Or a Latina like Massy Arias can build a community around health and fitness so other Latinas can learn more about wellness. Using ethnicity as a stepping stone for influencing isn’t inherently a bad thing — sometimes (and oftentimes), we need influencers to step up so we can find ourselves, too.

I don’t know if any of these influencers have master’s degrees, and I don’t actually care, either. They are creating their own communities and making people feel less alone in an increasingly lonely society that encourages rugged individualism. 

Latina women can subvert stereotypes on TikTok, giving a whole new perspective to racist stereotypes that were previously used to oppress us and make us feel small. Latine creators can make our own culturally specific versions of ASMR for Latine audiences, thus creating space for other Latinas to relax and take a load off. And in a world where Afro-Latine representation is still shockingly sparse, influencers like Monica Veloz can discuss her experiences as an Afro-Latina for the thousands of women who watch her. 

The critiques of Latine influencers who “fit a stereotype” or who are not inspiring enough to young girls feels like a mixture of respectability politics and gatekeeping, like Latine people who don’t fit in the “good” Latine box don’t have a right to improving their lives and making themselves seen. Not every Latine influencer will be a role model for how to fit into white American culture. Not every Latine influencer will have a polished, luxurious life — actually, most won’t be wealthy, but this doesn’t mean they don’t have anything to offer. Not every Latine influencer will revolutionize Latinidad with their content creation. And thank God for all of this because we have enough traditional media telling us how to act and how to be. I actually prefer when the influencers I follow aren’t that put together or aspirational; it shows what life is really like. I don’t need Latines to be on a pedestal of Goodness to be interested in what they have to say.