When did we stop listening to experts and start listening to the girl with the best hair?

Last month, I fell prey to an influencer. A cool New Yorker who named Clark Wallabees among the three types of shoe we all need right now. I ordered two pairs. Then realised I’d bought desert boots with a wedge crepe heel that I’m too old to wear with the required irony.

I’ve also shelled out for the Clare Waight Keller for Uniqlo trench that influencers said was a must-have instant classic, the BB cream which promised an unnatural glow (and delivered, DM me) and a set of silicone brushes that promised to make scrubbing the toot a pleasure.

Nagi Maehashi aka RecipeTin Eats (left) and Brooke Bellamy of Brooki Bakehouse.Credit: Rob Palmer; supplied

But even as I scroll, click, buy, I wonder when we started taking our cues from people we don’t know and — if we’re honest — often don’t even like that much.

Gah. Influencers.

Have you been eating up RecipeTin Eats founder Nagi Maehashi calling out influencer-turned-baker Brooke Bellamy for allegedly pinching two of her recipes for her Baked by Brooki bestseller?

Delicious. I just can’t get enough of the week’s second-biggest cooking scandal.

For context, neither protagonist is a chef.

Bellamy, who strenuously denies the plagiarism allegations, is a former travel blogger who married into a commercial food empire and launched her baking business with gorgeous branding and on point frosting.

Ex-financier Nagi pivoted to food blogging in 2014. Her style? Authentic rather than opportunistically authentic. You won’t catch her slowly licking buttercream off a spoon. Disclosure: I love her and her recipes.

My appetite for the boilover lies less in the question of who made the first caramel slice, more in how we got here.

Why are we taking our culinary inspiration from lifestyle influencers in the first place and not, say, actual cooks?

And no, this isn’t a takedown of Bellamy in particular — it’s a broader question. When did we stop listening to experts and start listening to the girl with the best hair?

We used to follow parenting tips from early childhood educators, not reels from a Perth mum with a eucalyptus-toned rumpus room who “tells it like it is” at “wine o’clock” or netball practice.

We bought clothes because they were well-made or flattering, not because someone wore them to brunch on a boat.

Our travel advice came from people who could tell us how to survive a long-haul economy flight rather than someone who stared into the middle distance at an infinity pool, pretending the bikini going up their clack was super comfy.

The influencer appeal is that they’re relatable, we’re told. Polished but not intimidating. They tell us, “You could do this too” and we believe them. Because they’re us. Only thinner, happier and always just back from Sardinia.

But are they really us? The curated feeds, the professional photographers, the product placements disguised as casual recommendations — there’s not much authentic about it.

So the part of me that has Googled “how to give up Botox” thinks this is all nonsense. That we’ve confused confidence with credibility. But this is not a new opinion and maybe I’m the dinosaur and expertise has been redefined.

Still, I miss when we admired people for what they knew, not how well they used a ring light.

I text a glamorous old school media mate. Influencers—talk to me.

“Good timing,” she texts back.

“I went to Malvern Central yesterday after drop-off to get ingredients for the Vietnamese pork in Nagi’s book.

“Popped into Decjuba and overheard the shop assistants say, ‘Jess the influencer has just picked up three coats for her reel’.”

And? “And I thought, WTF. If you’d said to me 10 years ago that posing in the mirror of your walk-in robe or making DIY porn would pay more than a junior doctor I would have laughed.”

Or been appalled. Or confused.

Anyway. Yes, I’ll still scroll and still not be immune to what a stranger tells me to eat or whack on my face. But when it comes to who I actually trust to teach me something, I’ll let the froth bubble up and disappear.

I’ll stick with substance. Unless influenced to do otherwise.

Kate Halfpenny is the founder of Bad Mother Media.

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