People in the public eye don't half come out with some rubbish.
The obvious culprits would have to be our own 'much-loved' politicians. But
aside from the bickering schoolchildren down at Westminster (the less said
about them the better), contestants on reality shows aren't renowned for their
grasp of well, reality. Take BBC's The Apprentice for instance. This series in
particular saw a number of the entrepreneurs, battling to score Lord Sugar's
investment and fuelling the slapstick with their hyperbole. First up, there was
winner Carina, humorously dubbed the 'baker who couldn't bake'. Then, there was
marketing man Lewis whose vision of a travel venture in Croatia was somewhat
dampened by his inability to pinpoint the country on a globe. That being said,
nobody could deny that the prize for the most controversial contestant went to
Miss Lottie Lion, otherwise known as 'the new Katie Hopkins'. During her stint
on the show, the 19-year-old librarian riled viewers with her numerous, eyebrow
raising statements, including assertions that she was a 'wine connoisseur' and
that she had 'fifteen years in the music industry' secured under her belt. In
the interviews, Lottie finally proved that empty carts rattle the loudest, when
it was revealed that her business plan did not bear a single figure. Hmm, bit
of a schoolgirl error there Lottie, if you don't mind me saying.
Moving on from reality stars, there isn't a day that goes by when
we aren't preached at by A-Listers turned climate change activists. Now, I
don't dispute that their endeavours to save the planet are laudable, if at
times a tad hypocritical (didn't Benedict Cumberbatch star in an advert for gas
guzzling cars?). I am, truth be told, a committed environmentalist.
Nonetheless, I firmly put down my foot at their suggestion of a Christmas,
filled with PC pantos, tasteless tofu and not a present in sight! The world is
woke enough without jetset celebs, trampling over the festivities like the eco-friendly
Grinch.
Of course, we can sit and
scoff at the braggadocio of reality TV contestants or the double standards of
Hollywood's sustainable warriors. But the point is, influential people are
making claims about topics which they have limited knowledge or experience of.
And while the examples outlined above are quite clearly harmless to us as fans,
there are celebs out there who could be directly putting followers' mental and
physical health at risk with their dodgy endorsements.
Thanks to social media, we are living through the phenomenon of
the 'self-proclaimed expert', a time when anyone and everyone can share their
wisdom with the world. Some might say a more enlightened society can only be a
good thing; after all, as stated by Margaret Atwood, 'knowledge is power'.
However, when the bearers of knowledge have little or no credentials and not an
ounce of evidence to prop them up, it raises the question: are we being
empowered or merely blinded to our own reality?
I don't mean to be cynical about social media influencers. But,
the clue is in the title; their job is to influence us. And although some may
use that platform to promote positivity, for many it is driven by the allure of
a lucrative income.
Sponsorships have proven a valuable tool to bring in the big bucks
for both global and independent brands. The principle makes sense: gather a
bunch of popular people, get them to photograph or review your products, and
then give them a reward in return. During which brands sit back and wait for
the cash to flow in, we as consumers gain a coveted glimpse into our favourite
celebs' wardrobes, make-up bags and kitchen cupboards. So it's a win win
situation, right? Well, not quite. If influencers are being tied into thousand
pound contracts, showered with bougie gifts or whisked away to sun-drenched
locations, then chances are their reviews will be biased and to some extent
scripted by the brand. Consequently, we are being influenced and coerced into
buying things we wouldn't usually buy, just because the celebs we idealise
claim to love them so much.
In a bid to clamp down on misleading sponsored posts, the
Advertising Standards Association (ASA) partnered with The Competition and
Markets Authority (CMA) to launch a guide for influencers. Published over a
year ago, the online resource provides guidelines about what constitutes an
advert and about how influencers should elucidate this to their followers.
Failure to disclose such commercial partnerships can result in at best a
metaphorical slap on the wrist, and at worst a hefty fine or up to two year's
imprisonment. Since these rules came into effect, the ASA have issued multiple
warnings to brand ambassadors such as love Island's Olivia Buckland and Made In
Chelsea's Louise Thompson. Even if influencers may feel pressured to be more
transparent about their sponsorships, I still don't believe it is enough to
deter them from making dubious affirmations.
Just look at the myriads of high profile beauty gurus. Back in
January, Kendal Jenner came under fire after telling fans on Instagram that her
'clear' skin was thanks to Proactiv's line of skincare products. Conversely, in
a resurfaced New York Times interview from 2015, Kylie revealed that her
supermodel sister's acne was 'cured' by a Beverly Hills' dermatologist (no
doubt on a footballer's salary). I have a real problem with celebrities being
disingenuous about what cosmetics they use, or avouching that products will
'cure' and 'solve' our every skincare woe. Acne is something that a lot of
teenagers suffer with and feel insecure about. Therefore, it seems incredibly
irresponsible that brands can play on these insecurities and dupe vulnerable
consumers by dazzling them with celebrity endorsements. On television adverts
and shop shelves, a serum, plastered in miracle claims, would never get
authorised. So why are companies recruiting social media influencers as
mouthpieces, when they have never even used the product, let alone know what it
does.
Mirroring the cosmetics industry, the online 'health' scene is
awash with pseudoscientific osmosis. On one end of the spectrum, there are the
'wellness' gurus like Madeline Shaw who seem pretty harmless with their
virtuous posts about skin-glowing powders, gut health supplements and the power
of plant-based, (as if butter wouldn't melt- or should I say coconut oil). Dig
a little deeper however, and you will find in most cases that there is no
concrete to their claims: just pure, hot air. Drawing on a study by a team at
the University of Glasgow, 90% of these influencers are dishing out false
nutritional advice. And they're not the only myths to consider. Working in
tandem with the wellness squad, you have the militant dieters who will stop at
nothing to peddle you a cacophony of quick fixes and extreme weight loss plans,
all of which are 'guaranteed' to transform your body and transform your life.
Whether it be diet teas, juice cleanses or medieval looking waist trainers,
you've no doubt stumbled across celebrities, raving about these fads on their
social media feeds. The thing is though, the vast majority of quick fixes have
no effect whatsoever on your weight and could instead be detrimental to your
health. Plus, while an influencer might credit a particular diet pill or
potion, there is no way of verifying whether this is the true reason for their
purported weight loss. Only last week, Lauren Goodger was plunged into hot
water after footage emerged of her agreeing to endorse a poisonous diet drink.
As part of an undercover documentary for BBC3, Goodger and several other stars
were secretly filmed being asked to promote a fake weight loss beverage called
Cyanora. They were informed that the fluid contained hydrogen cyanide- a deadly
chemical used by the Nazis in concentration camps and on death row. Not even
batting an eye lid at the ingredient list, the Towie star also let slip that
she had never tried Skinny Coffee, a product which she had previously
accredited for her two stone weight loss in multiple sponsored posts. The
objective of the BBC sting was to find out whether influencers genuinely consume
the products they promote and, judging by the results, it would seem often this
is not the case. Goodger has since taken to Instagram, explaining that her
alarming alacrity was simply because she had never heard of cyanide. Despite
this feeble excuse, it still doesn't justify the fact that she could have put
fans in danger if she had made such a recommendation.
It's also important to point out that not all the self-professed
gurus are doing their rounds on the internet. Some are even trying to inject their
'expertise' into legislation. A few months ago, it was announced that Great
British Bake Off judge Prue Leith had swapped the tent for parliament, becoming
the latest 'star advisor' to a government review of hospital food standards.
Although she may be the two Michelin starred chef with unrivalled, knowledge of
pastry and soufflés, I don't believe the same can be said for her medical
credentials. After news of Leith's appointment broke, many were left baffled by
the government's naive selection. For one thing, feeding sick patients is a
little more complex than cooking a slap-up meal. Their nutritional requirements
are going to be vastly different to the general population, due to illness or
the treatment they are undergoing. Therefore, surely it would make sense if we
enlisted, I don't know, actual experts and actual dieticians with actual
experience of working in hospitals. I mean, that would be the logical thing to
do; but then, if their previous decisions are anything to go by, what do our
government know about logic?
The Bake Off queen hit the headlines again recently, this time
with her nanny-state solutions for the 'child obesity crisis'. During a heated
debate on GMB, she suggested that all schools should 'ban packed lunches' on
account of the fact that 'mums filled them with junk'. And, based on social
media reactions, I don't think I was the only one, shouting at the TV. Firstly
Prue, we shouldn't be demonising food and labelling it as junk because that, my
friend, is sending a pretty pernicious message to young kids. We should be
encouraging children to eat everything and I would have thought a foodie like
yourself would be on the same wavelength. Secondly, it's not fair to make
parents feel inadequate. They know better than anyone what's best for their
children, and I think most would agree that there is enough parent shaming on
the playground without celebrities jumping on the bandwagon. My outrage was
only heightened by her next piece of ridiculous advice that we should be
restricting ourselves to ONE treat such as a measly biscuit, per week! What
planet do you live on Prue? You're telling us that we should only have a
solitary cake a week, and yet you taste test and judge these baked goods for a
living? If that's not an oxymoron, I don't know what is.
All in all, there is a stench of hypocrisy surrounding many
celebrities' actions. It's times like this when the press is more important
than ever, for busting myths and bringing the truth to the light. When I am a
journalist, I hope to do the same, as I know the damage these claims can cause
especially on one's mental health.
To finish, I would like to share my advice for all the self-titled
gurus or the celebrity experts who may be reading this. You are not an expert.
Just because somebody uses beauty products, it doesn't make them a
dermatologist. Just because somebody has read a book about nutrition, it
doesn't make them a nutritionist or a dietician. Take responsibility for what
you promote. Don't make claims when you don't know the first thing about what
you're preaching. And if in doubt, in the words of Simon Cowell, stick to your
day job.
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