Influencer Migration
The Cultural Shift From LA to NYC
In the summer of 2012, my family made plans to visit Los Angeles proper for the first time in my consciousness. Before we made the trip though, there was one item that I needed to procure: a pair of white, high-top Converse.
I already had a red and blue checked flannel to tie around my waist and black Topshop skinny jeans with slits in the knees. I had a hair straightener and a pot of black liquid eyeliner from the drugstore. I had a miniature black leather backpack with silver buckles to carry my phone charger, pocket change, and a lip gloss that I would forget to apply. With the Converse in hand, my transformation would be complete - glass slippers to compliment my ballgown and pumpkin carriage. I wouldn’t carry a camera or wear a baseball cap, even though the sun would surely singe my skin without it. I would appear alert but disaffected on Hollywood Boulevard and in the lines at Disneyland, walking a few paces behind my mom and little sisters. I’ve seen this all before, I would somehow communicate. This is nothing new to me. I would go from teenage Washington suburbanite to in-trend Angeleno - other tourists would surely mistake me for a local. When the real locals weren’t looking though, I would ask my mom to take a picture of me to post on my Instagram grid - perhaps in front of the double-crossed palm trees outside In-N-Out. In the rental car, I would plug in my corded earbuds, drowning out the sound of the radio static with Lana Del Rey. This would all feel very natural to me because I had long been preparing for it.
To say that Los Angeles was en vogue in the 2010s would be like saying ice cream was trendy last summer - it’s always kind of been the case. Home to numerous movie studios, recording artists, and all things related to commercial American art-making, LA has long operated with a kind of magnetic halo, pulling those eager to commodify and disseminate their likeness and creative output into its field for nearly a century. However, in the 2010s, a new kind of celebrity was born in the city, gripping the young public’s consciousness in a fresh way and holding it ever since: the internet celebrity.
In the 2010s, internet celebrity primarily took the form of a YouTuber: an individual who makes their living off posting videos on the Google-owned video-sharing platform YouTube. The videos themselves could contain a variety of content, but many were centered around sketch comedy, beauty, fashion, or daily video logs known as “vlogs.” YouTubers primarily made money off ad revenue from Google and individual partnerships with brands. And the living appeared to be quite fruitful. Many YouTubers were able to buy houses, luxury clothes, and makeup, and take expensive trips around the world, not unlike A-list actors and musicians. They also had the perceived ability to be their own bosses, work on their own schedules, and spend much of their days making money off recording what they would otherwise do for free - mess around with friends, apply makeup, style an outfit, or simply go about their daily tasks. The barrier to entry felt low - most YouTubers didn’t have any particular talents, outside - perhaps - their personalities and appearances, which could be easily molded with enough thoughtful time, energy, and luck. A new pathway to fame and fortune was unlocked. The keys were at our fingertips: personal devices and well-directed charisma.
Los Angeles naturally became the destination that YouTubers flocked to. For one, many YouTubers were eager to cross over from being digital media creators to traditional media celebrities, making the proximity to LA’s robust acting, singing, and modeling industries appealing. Los Angeles is also home to numerous talent management agencies, making it easier for YouTubers to find representation to help facilitate auditions and brand deals, as well as source additional talent and equipment needed to help produce their videos.
In addition to the more conventional rationale for moving to Los Angeles to excel in entertainment, as more YouTubers began congregating, the city quickly became a hotbed for collaboration. Many YouTubers would make videos together to cross-promote their channels, linking up to film anything from chatty “Get Ready With Me”s (GRWMs) to “challenge” videos. This naturally led to the development of content houses, or YouTubers living together as a means to collaborate more efficiently and frequently. Early 2010s content houses - of which my favorites included the O2L House and the informal “Fab Five” group (Jenn McAllister, Andrew Lowe, Anthony Quintal (or Lohanthony), Jack Baran, and Rebecca Black) - laid the foundation for the mega-content houses that were to come in the late 2010s and early 2020s, including The Team 10 House and The Hype House. Content houses operated like a kind of sitcom set for YouTubers - a recognizable, spacious backdrop upon which creators could stage all kinds of play scenarios and hijinks. David Dobrik, for instance, would become known for arranging increasingly elaborate (and dangerous) stunts in his house with a rotating cast of “friends” (or more accurately, “characters”), encouraging them to jump off high platforms, interact with rented exotic animals, and often literally play with fire.
YouTubers brought not only themselves and their cameras to the City of Angels, but also a new kind of attention. Los Angeles obtained a renewed clout in the minds of young internet users - especially as brands and personalities like American Apparel, Brandy Melville, and Lana Del Rey adopted the Southern California aesthetic of palm trees, beaches, and the bittersweetness of eternal summer. The pulls of Los Angeles remained the same - the allure of fame, the sunshine - they simply found a new way to be communicated. The primary source of entertainment shifted to tiny screens, but the message persisted - Los Angeles maintained its identity as a place for dreamers, for those eager to be seen and known.
The city and its image had a grip on my imagination. The checked flannel, the white Converse, the disaffected attitude - it was all in pursuit of something beyond conformity. It was aspirational. I wanted to be like my new role models - I wanted to be like the people I saw online.
It seemed like Los Angeles’ reign would never end - in many ways, it never will. However, recently, there’s been a slight change of the guard. Towards the end of the 2010s and the beginning of the 2020s, people turned their smartphones from a horizontal to a vertical orientation, migrating from long-form video content on YouTube to short-form videos on TikTok. The shorter video format, infinite scroll layout, and laser-sharp algorithm on TikTok quickly drew users in, enabling them to consume a greater breadth of entertainment in a smaller amount of time. The app didn’t just draw people in - it sucked them in - an almighty vortex. And when COVID-19 began ravaging the United States in March 2020, it only accelerated the app’s growth. Fearful and uncertain about the present and future, TikTok afforded an all-consuming escape.
Coming on the other side of the pandemic now, it only makes sense that TikTok celebrities would flee to New York. Los Angeles and New York City are mirror cities in a sense - two of the largest cultural hubs in the United States, but promoting quite disparate lifestyles. Los Angeles is a car-dependent desert sprawl, offering beach access, endless sunshine and citrus, and more spacious dwellings - well-suited for parking with camera equipment and mulling over inspiration for longer-form material while staring out at the rolling hills and the Pacific Ocean. The stereotypical breeziness of California living sharply contrasts New York’s rapid-fire nature. Manhattan is known for its hustle and bustle - when you step outside you’re practically tripping over other people and things to do (and film). The city’s tightly packed, fast-paced quality is better suited, on paper, for a short-form video creator - who can simply walk outside with their iPhone and find romance and excitement at every turn, whether it’s subway dancers, eccentric fashion students, lovers sharing a kiss on a street corner, or a simple shot of the orange sun washing over the intricate urban landscape.
It’s not just influencers migrating - many young people generally seem to be flocking to the Big Apple in droves. Between 2021 and 2022, more than 42% of people moving to New York City were Gen Zers. In addition to the influence of influencer migration, it helps that New York City is somehow experiencing a resurgence in attention via Sex and the City and Girls reruns. With blogging (or “girl blogging”) experiencing an upgrade with platforms like Substack making self-publishing much more streamlined, internet users - many of whom are more grown up than they were in the 2010s - have shifted their aspirational focus from Bethany Mota and Zoella to Carrie Bradshaw and Hannah Hovarth - or a more contemporary version of the two, if not a blogger, than perhaps a video essayist or guerilla journalist on TikTok. New York City is the natural next step for those producing and consuming such aspirational content, given its predecessors.
Having lived in New York City for the past two years, I’m certainly biased in a sense - perhaps more in tune with the people coming and going than someone outside the city would be. The cross-pollination between LA and NYC is obviously a siloed phenomenon - most directly affecting the select dwellers in either city. It can also, frankly, be an annoying conversation, particularly for those who don’t live in either city. Yet, the aspirational, American needle moving from Los Angeles to New York City is illustrative of the larger cultural shifts occurring in a post-COVID, short-form-favoring young adult world. Video essayist Tiffany Ferg also argues that the pandemic spurred many population shifts, and this is certainly one of them. Following a prolonged period of isolation, young people may not only be hungry for a location change but a move to an environment where they’ll come into greater contact with other people. Where they can feel like an active thread in a social fabric. Where they won’t feel so alone.
The migration trend also showcases just how unexempt many of us are from influence. During the COVID-19 lockdowns, holed away in our respective caves, many fantasized online about running away to wide-open spaces, living in the countryside or woods, baking bread in a cottage, and reading books, far away from others. Today, the dream for many has shifted to living in a walkable, bustling community - being free of cars and absent from feelings of loneliness.
Today, many have also, subsequently, subbed their white high-top Converse for Adidas Sambas - a pair of shoes undoubtedly popularized by It Girls like Bella Hadid dancing around Manhattan in them. I’ve been more on the fence about purchasing Sambas than I was about purchasing Converse in 2012. I know the shoe of focus - the city of focus, the trend of focus - will change before I know it. Residents of New York City and cultural fads alike aren’t known to stick - after a certain amount of time passes, churn is inevitable. It’ll be interesting to see where exactly matters - in the United States, at least - shift and how it will accompany a shift in entertainment. In the meantime, my Gen Z cohorts and I will continue our cultural consumption, allowing our taste to be shifted quietly and noisily. When we eventually come up for air, who knows where we’ll be next?
I loved reading this! That converse and flannel look is so accurate and so vivid. I think what’s making me have the most intense whiplash is just how quickly the pendulum swings these days, from one end to the next - in a matter of seasons (if that). I also wonder how the exorbitant rates on rent these days will affect these types of migrations.
Elena and some other creators I have seen are also flocking to Europe, particularly Paris. Curious if that will the next U.S. creator spot.