Why restaurant influencers have just ruined your dinner
You can spot them a mile off. They spend more time photographing food than eating it and push to the front of the queue in a hot place in exchange for a #gifted review. Food influencers are the cringiest of them all, says Sam Wilson... and they are ruining it for the rest of us too
There’s something incredibly Shakespearian about social media influencers, who seem to believe that all the world really is a stage. Unpacking their ring lights, adjusting their tripods, swarming around plates of food that have barely touched the table to get “The Shot” because the camera always eats first. All to outrun the black hole of irrelevance.
Such “content creators” as The Foodie Influencer, from my hometown of Bristol, whose grid is a mood board of melted cheese, something deep-fried and neon signage, spoil us by finally un-keeping the gate to restaurants that predate their birth, hidden gems or trendy new spots that are so overhyped by influencers that it’s impossible to get a table as a normal human being with less than 10,000 followers.
A quick doom-scroll of your Instagram feed might have you wondering: are influencers ruining eating out?
Influencers of any kind represent the most contemptuous, cynical expression of main character syndrome, but they are at peak cringe when in restaurants. They’re ruining your dinner not just because we’re all extras in the movie of their life, but because for many of them it’s not about the food at all. They use the hospitality industry as a vehicle for their vanity; a stepping stone to wider self-interest. As one influencer who shall remain anonymous told me: “It’s one step at a time to get my products out there, my music, my acting. I want to present the weather one day, I’ve even done standup… I’m using the food as the main element. It’s universal so it will allow me to pick up on all the other genres of creativity.”
Of course, I’m not immune to influence. As someone who loves food and restaurants in particular, having a pool of people I trust implicitly is vital because I don’t have an expense account. I can rely on these people as credible sources because they have no ulterior motive, which is precisely the reason their opinions carry weight; they’re not out to “be” influencers as an occupation; any clout they possess is more a byproduct than anything else. Then there are those who specifically set out to be an influencer, whose motives are therefore innately suspect, sometimes brazen. “DM for PR/collabs/invites” it says in their bio, or for those trying to be a little slicker, simply an email address.
Before you tell this grandpa to put another onion in his belt, I concede that #ad, #invite and #gifted meals are of use. There are some influencers with enough of a pull who put in the graft to make it a worthy transaction, which can be a lifeline for a business. Then there are those who will not only always pay (unless pressed not to by the owner) but will genuinely use their influence to help the hand that feeds. For example, in the wake of Covid, pizza fanatic Dave Portnoy put his money where his mouth is and began a fund to save pizzerias across America.
“We’ve definitely had ones contact us saying things like ‘want to do a collaboration’, which is code for free food,” says Grace Surman, of the already legendary Gracey’s Pizza in St Albans, adding that “some actually try and get money for a review”. Despite this, Surman remains largely upbeat about influencers’ role. “On the whole, though, the influencers that have been to us have always paid and had a very positive impact on the business.”
I served an incompetent stint in restaurant PR and witnessed how they talk. Pushing the limits of a generous free meal, they wanted to bring friends, “explore the possibility of payment” and see if booze is included. All for a post that sometimes never even materialised; an irreverence shared with dine and dashers. They’re not unlike oxpeckers — those little birds on the backs of rhinos and zebras, eating all the ticks and flies. It appears to be a symbiotic relationship, but they’re actually drinking the blood of the host, too. If the host dies, they simply flutter to another, unburdened by any sense of personal responsibility or duty.
Imagine, then, viewing someone on life support as an opportunity for personal gain. After a tough few years for hospitality, that’s the reality. Influencers are hardly broke, scraping the calories together via invites and ads – it’s all business. They’re a threat to the industry because of how insidious their dishonesty is. Influencers know they’re on the take, shifting the onus onto those of us watching to get out there and spend where they tell us to, so they won’t ever have to. It’s why the disclosure of #ad and #gifted became law. Does this, then, make them parasites? With a vested interest in keeping their host alive solely for their own survival.
They come out with peculiar things like, “I finally made it to [insert struggling business]”, presumably because they’ve been too busy eating free food elsewhere. The comments section reads the same way a toddler might write if raised on emojis reminiscent of those Haribo adverts where adults are overdubbed by children, saying things like “want” or “need to try this”, which is the biggest “pick me” aimed at restaurants or PR agencies.
“Influencer content is lifestyle advertising, selling a quick, aspirational message that has more in common with a fashion ad than with reality,” says Karen Stabiner, author of Generation Chef: Risking It All for a New American Dream. “Status is defined by popularity rather than by expertise or by character, and credible, food-savvy comments can get lost in the increasing din.”
The pandemic revealed how calculating food influencers can really be. As with the impending collapse of any corrupt regime, sensing the bottom falling out and scurrying like rats before an earthquake, they repositioned themselves as guardians of restaurants, imploring us to help them throw water on a fire they’ve knowingly stoked for years. Fleeing now the jig is up, they scramble to melt back into the landscape of popular opinion, virtue signalling to cover their tracks. Like the Vatican suddenly doing charity work for the NSPCC.
Status is defined by popularity rather than by expertise or by character, and credible, food-savvy comments can get lost in the increasing din
The ways in which the service industry contorted itself to satisfy government policy were eye-watering, but so too were the mental gymnastics you had to do in order to reconcile behaving like a charlatan during an actual pandemic. Back in 2020, New Zealand pastry chef Brian Campbell famously took to social media to drag entitled foodie influencers over the coals: “It’s time for you to bring value to your local businesses and go order some food from your favourite places. Pay for it, post it, feel good about it. You just helped a small business!”
To all you influencers feeling seen right now, did a struggling restaurant offer you food in return for a post? Did a small offbeat restaurant with great food get ignored because it wasn’t boastworthy enough? Why don’t you just pay and – get a load of this – advertise for them anyway? They owe you nothing, especially in this climate, and you’re allegedly more aware of that than anybody. And hey, feeling seen is a good thing – it means you’ve developed a conscience and what’s more, you did it all for free. That’s what you like, isn’t it?
Stewart Lee said it best when hearing that James Corden was a fan: “It’s like a dog listening to classical music.” That’s influencers; dogs in a world of classical music with the unfortunate addition of opposable thumbs and access to a phone but still with an uncontrollable need to lick their nethers.
Am I fun at parties? Of course not. But restaurants are one of the finest things we’ve managed to achieve as a species and in my opinion the caustic agendas of these freeloaders will do more harm than good in the long run. They’re feeding off the vital signs of an industry in critical condition, leaving the rest of us to keep the life support on.
Five influencer-favourite restaurants
Sexy Fish
With all the charm of a Wes Anderson migraine, Sexy Fish is exactly what you might imagine. Interior design drummed up by Damien Hirst, locations boasting the widest array of champagne and Japanese whisky, Sexy Fish is only a selection of Dutch wine short of a fully-formed Nathan Barleyism. Of course, this is based on what I could make out with my face pressed up against its windows as discarded vapes peppered my body, the elite patronage confusing me for a bin.
Nusr-Et
A restaurant as predictable and sterile as the list itself, naturally it’s Nusr-Et. Operating on the very apex of where sense ends and money takes the reins, Nusr-Et is the glistening bicep curl of a business plan where food is the dreaded leg day. It speaks volumes that it would attract someone like Andrew Tate who is so openly contemptuous of food both in its preparation and eating. I have never seen anyone able to slice a steak giving off the same energy as those greaseballs in flamenco shirts that pester women with a rose between their teeth.
Sketch
Wrapped in murals of the natural world as if to claw back some sense of anything remotely organic, the aesthetic of Sketch overwhelmingly reminds me of an NHS children’s waiting room in the early Nineties. Allegedly based on the wretch-inducing brief of a “bohemian meadow”, Sketch with all its dangling glass a la Final Destination, among a scrim of greenery, resembles the dining rooms of the Titanic as they are today.
Sushisamba
In the pursuit of proper journalism, I’ve obtained actual footage of Sushisamba’s board of creatives in the moments leading up to its realisation. A comprehensive and thoughtful splicing of at least two cultures that leaves no authentic stone unturned – it might actually be a mistake to include after all.
Cafe Elan
The product of just spamming ChatGPT with three search terms, “Barbie”, “edible flowers” and “lobotomy”, Cafe Elan is a Kardashian fever dream. “All day dining and speciality coffee from the world’s most Instagrammable café and lifestyle brand.” Cafe Elan is meticulously designed to resemble the inner dialogue of the target audience.
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