Influencers have taken over my city. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em | Dave Schilling

I can’t say I’m enjoying my new gig as a would-be creator. But these days, I don’t have much choice I recently started posting videos on Instagram. Like, actual videos. Reels, as they call them. Where I say things, with one of those obnoxiously tiny microphones with the fuzzy head on top. I remember when microphones were gigantic tubular monstrosities that you couldn’t accidentally swallow without a pretty substantial effort and a handful of God-given talent. Why am I making Reels? Because if I don’t, I’ll die in obscurity, penniless and alone.

The global creative industry revolves around video content on social media, forcing even a mildly attractive middle-aged divorced parent to try to be a star just to pay the bills. If I can turn into a well-compensated influencer by peddling my complaints about the new Burbank airport terminal, I will. I can either try to swim in the fetid pool of the attention economy or get eaten by a shark who posts TikToks about carb-conscious dieting. Of course,