Who’s your Alix Earle? ; TikTok and the deification of the trendsetter
By Hali Mecklin
If you scroll far enough down on the comments of any given video on TikTok, you’ll find someone saying “You’re my Alix Earle,” usually ironically. But how did Earle become the beauty standard, and what does it mean to be an entire app’s style idol in the digital age?
If you’ve somehow avoided her reach, Alix Earle is video-sharing app TikTok’s newest it-girl. The 22-year-old UMiami senior posted her first video to @alixearle in 2020, skyrocketing in popularity in 2022 for her lifestyle content. She now boasts 4.7 million followers and over 200 million likes on the platform, and has inspired teens across the world to invest in white eyeliner and Drunk Elephant skincare.
“Okay TikTok, obviously you know exactly who this is,” said the owner of @celebstyleguide, an account dedicated to helping the masses dress like their favorite influencers. “This is Alix Earle, and I have had so many messages from people wanting to know about these jeans. You guys are obsessed with them!”
The jeans in question were plain, baggy medium wash – a style easily found in any thrift store. It wasn’t that the pants were particularly fashionable or interesting. It was that Earle was wearing them.
The rising star’s get-ready-with-me videos, product recommendations and storytimes captivate viewers and appease the algorithm. She’s been invited to beauty events, brand launches and even New York Fashion Week, solidifying her status as a bonafide style influencer. She’s impressively managed to avoid serious scandal, a commendable feat in the panopticon of today’s media. But who dubbed her the highest authority in college lifestyle and fashion spheres?
Well, no one. TikTok has a well-documented habit of doing this to young women; A girl achieves virality seemingly randomly, she rapidly rises through the ranks and becomes the pinnacle of teen fashion, and is just as quickly discarded when the ever-shortening trend cycle moves on.
According to a 2022 study published by Forbes, 66% of social media users said that their purchases are often driven by influencers, and 64% said that influencers help them discover new brands. Individual creators have replaced ad campaigns and fashion magazines as the public’s style guide, leading to narrower trends with far less longevity.
It doesn’t just hurt the creator when they lose their it-girl status. By idolizing one figure as the ultimate judge of what’s in and what’s out, TikTok promotes a single homogenized teenage style and beauty standard based on said person, encouraging microtrends and overconsumption. First, it was Charli D’Amelio.
“The conditions that led to her success are an unusual alignment between a social-media creator and an algorithm,” Cassidy George wrote about D’Amelio for the New Yorker. “Fame on TikTok has been, to a certain degree, automated.”
The then-16-year-old posted a simple dancing video in 2019 and gained millions of followers overnight, eventually becoming the most followed person on TikTok (as of March 1, she’s surpassed 150 million.) People bought makeup because she promoted it, people drank “the Charli” at Dunkin Donuts because it was named after her, and people even watched a reality TV show about her life.
However, almost instantly after her rise to fame, a countermovement of users who “didn’t get the hype” was launched to tear her down, and suddenly everything her fans bought to imitate her was uncool. While Charli still retains her fame, she has become too unrelatable to be the it-girl of the moment anymore – she is currently dating Landon Barker, son of Blink-182 drummer Travis Barker, and just finished a winning stint on Dancing with the Stars.
This relatability factor that fans cling to on TikTok is tenuous and ill-defined. While influencers are rewarded for perfection, they can’t be too perfect. Their lifestyle should be unattainable, but just enough that viewers can daydream about achieving it one day.
Take Earle for example. She’s white, thin, and conventionally attractive – Tiktok’s algorithm has shown a frightening trend of favoring white women over creators of color, according to Jess Kung at NPR, so influencers like Earle have an easier time finding an audience on the platform. Her glamorous and often expensive lifestyle added fuel to the fire, with young followers copying her every move.
“Do u shave ur face alix 😫 I’m trying to decide if I should or shouldn’t. What would alix do😫,” wrote one commenter on her video chronicling a day in her life at UMiami.
While it would be unfair to say that Earle’s status is entirely undeserved, it is important to note that influencers of color who create more labor-intensive, diverse content or showcase incredible talents have a far more difficult time reaching an audience on the platform.
Anayka She, @anaykashe on TikTok, is a creator with less than a third of Earle’s followers. She makes a variety of content, ranging from comedy skits to vlogs to a new series called “Trying it Darker,” where she tests trending makeup to see if it’s dark-skin friendly. She is also a musician with six songs and an ep out. Despite her diverse and engaging endeavors that seem sure to carve a path to virality, her account falls short of Earle’s popularity for one saddening reason.
Joolie Annie, @joolieannie on TikTok, is a Puerto Rican influencer. She posts product reviews and recommendations, videos about her experiences being trans and plus-sized in the beauty community and wild storytimes that rival any of Earle’s in hilarity. While she posts similar content to Earle’s, her identity doesn’t fit into TikTok’s rigid it-girl beauty standards and so she sits at 870 thousand followers, an impressive number but still less than a fifth of the aforementioned creator’s audience.
While this algorithmic disparity favors people who look like Earle, her stardom is not guaranteed to last past the initial hype. Being an entire app’s beauty standard and fashion mogul means that she has to take extra strides to remain somewhat relatable. She talks about her struggles with cystic acne and body issues, and occasionally posts a video with no makeup sporting a hangover and a crazy night-out story; She’s not just like us, but she has her moments.
“One source of TikTok’s power, however, is how unprofessional it still feels,” John Herrman wrote for the New York Times. “Even when people are trying to sell you something, their messages seem off-the-cuff, like trustworthy recommendations rather than sponsored shilling.”
This relatability is used as a marketing scheme. On March 29, Earle posted a video getting ready to go apartment hunting, lamenting her difficulties in finding a place to live as a young adult. As she spoke about this struggle that many college students face due to rising inflation and a housing crisis, she subtly worked in an American Eagle product placement.
“Bestie, u know u wouldn’t wear that 😂,” reads the top comment.
“Effortless commercials which people don’t even realize are commercials,” read the one directly below it.
The intimacy of these laid-back, poorly-disclosed advertisements that launched careers for people like Earle and D’Amelio is almost more sinister than a blatant commercial. However, the app shows no signs of slowing its impact on the fashion industry, and new it-girls seem to be popping up every week.
Earle is still holding on to her relatability, but her time in the spotlight isn’t promised. Videos filmed on red carpets have popped up alongside her college vlogs, and once her lifestyle is deemed too unattainable for the average TikTok user, viewers will likely transfer their affections to the next relatable idol.
This far into TikTok’s rinse-and-repeat influencer cycle, the process seems unstoppable. It may now be up to the individual consumer to choose their fashion icons critically and recognize the algorithm’s racist tendencies instead of relying on the girl-of-the-week’s Amazon storefront for inspiration.
If you’ve somehow avoided her reach, Alix Earle is video-sharing app TikTok’s newest it-girl. The 22-year-old UMiami senior posted her first video to @alixearle in 2020, skyrocketing in popularity in 2022 for her lifestyle content. She now boasts 4.7 million followers and over 200 million likes on the platform, and has inspired teens across the world to invest in white eyeliner and Drunk Elephant skincare.
“Okay TikTok, obviously you know exactly who this is,” said the owner of @celebstyleguide, an account dedicated to helping the masses dress like their favorite influencers. “This is Alix Earle, and I have had so many messages from people wanting to know about these jeans. You guys are obsessed with them!”
The jeans in question were plain, baggy medium wash – a style easily found in any thrift store. It wasn’t that the pants were particularly fashionable or interesting. It was that Earle was wearing them.
The rising star’s get-ready-with-me videos, product recommendations and storytimes captivate viewers and appease the algorithm. She’s been invited to beauty events, brand launches and even New York Fashion Week, solidifying her status as a bonafide style influencer. She’s impressively managed to avoid serious scandal, a commendable feat in the panopticon of today’s media. But who dubbed her the highest authority in college lifestyle and fashion spheres?
Well, no one. TikTok has a well-documented habit of doing this to young women; A girl achieves virality seemingly randomly, she rapidly rises through the ranks and becomes the pinnacle of teen fashion, and is just as quickly discarded when the ever-shortening trend cycle moves on.
According to a 2022 study published by Forbes, 66% of social media users said that their purchases are often driven by influencers, and 64% said that influencers help them discover new brands. Individual creators have replaced ad campaigns and fashion magazines as the public’s style guide, leading to narrower trends with far less longevity.
It doesn’t just hurt the creator when they lose their it-girl status. By idolizing one figure as the ultimate judge of what’s in and what’s out, TikTok promotes a single homogenized teenage style and beauty standard based on said person, encouraging microtrends and overconsumption. First, it was Charli D’Amelio.
“The conditions that led to her success are an unusual alignment between a social-media creator and an algorithm,” Cassidy George wrote about D’Amelio for the New Yorker. “Fame on TikTok has been, to a certain degree, automated.”
The then-16-year-old posted a simple dancing video in 2019 and gained millions of followers overnight, eventually becoming the most followed person on TikTok (as of March 1, she’s surpassed 150 million.) People bought makeup because she promoted it, people drank “the Charli” at Dunkin Donuts because it was named after her, and people even watched a reality TV show about her life.
However, almost instantly after her rise to fame, a countermovement of users who “didn’t get the hype” was launched to tear her down, and suddenly everything her fans bought to imitate her was uncool. While Charli still retains her fame, she has become too unrelatable to be the it-girl of the moment anymore – she is currently dating Landon Barker, son of Blink-182 drummer Travis Barker, and just finished a winning stint on Dancing with the Stars.
This relatability factor that fans cling to on TikTok is tenuous and ill-defined. While influencers are rewarded for perfection, they can’t be too perfect. Their lifestyle should be unattainable, but just enough that viewers can daydream about achieving it one day.
Take Earle for example. She’s white, thin, and conventionally attractive – Tiktok’s algorithm has shown a frightening trend of favoring white women over creators of color, according to Jess Kung at NPR, so influencers like Earle have an easier time finding an audience on the platform. Her glamorous and often expensive lifestyle added fuel to the fire, with young followers copying her every move.
“Do u shave ur face alix 😫 I’m trying to decide if I should or shouldn’t. What would alix do😫,” wrote one commenter on her video chronicling a day in her life at UMiami.
While it would be unfair to say that Earle’s status is entirely undeserved, it is important to note that influencers of color who create more labor-intensive, diverse content or showcase incredible talents have a far more difficult time reaching an audience on the platform.
Anayka She, @anaykashe on TikTok, is a creator with less than a third of Earle’s followers. She makes a variety of content, ranging from comedy skits to vlogs to a new series called “Trying it Darker,” where she tests trending makeup to see if it’s dark-skin friendly. She is also a musician with six songs and an ep out. Despite her diverse and engaging endeavors that seem sure to carve a path to virality, her account falls short of Earle’s popularity for one saddening reason.
Joolie Annie, @joolieannie on TikTok, is a Puerto Rican influencer. She posts product reviews and recommendations, videos about her experiences being trans and plus-sized in the beauty community and wild storytimes that rival any of Earle’s in hilarity. While she posts similar content to Earle’s, her identity doesn’t fit into TikTok’s rigid it-girl beauty standards and so she sits at 870 thousand followers, an impressive number but still less than a fifth of the aforementioned creator’s audience.
While this algorithmic disparity favors people who look like Earle, her stardom is not guaranteed to last past the initial hype. Being an entire app’s beauty standard and fashion mogul means that she has to take extra strides to remain somewhat relatable. She talks about her struggles with cystic acne and body issues, and occasionally posts a video with no makeup sporting a hangover and a crazy night-out story; She’s not just like us, but she has her moments.
“One source of TikTok’s power, however, is how unprofessional it still feels,” John Herrman wrote for the New York Times. “Even when people are trying to sell you something, their messages seem off-the-cuff, like trustworthy recommendations rather than sponsored shilling.”
This relatability is used as a marketing scheme. On March 29, Earle posted a video getting ready to go apartment hunting, lamenting her difficulties in finding a place to live as a young adult. As she spoke about this struggle that many college students face due to rising inflation and a housing crisis, she subtly worked in an American Eagle product placement.
“Bestie, u know u wouldn’t wear that 😂,” reads the top comment.
“Effortless commercials which people don’t even realize are commercials,” read the one directly below it.
The intimacy of these laid-back, poorly-disclosed advertisements that launched careers for people like Earle and D’Amelio is almost more sinister than a blatant commercial. However, the app shows no signs of slowing its impact on the fashion industry, and new it-girls seem to be popping up every week.
Earle is still holding on to her relatability, but her time in the spotlight isn’t promised. Videos filmed on red carpets have popped up alongside her college vlogs, and once her lifestyle is deemed too unattainable for the average TikTok user, viewers will likely transfer their affections to the next relatable idol.
This far into TikTok’s rinse-and-repeat influencer cycle, the process seems unstoppable. It may now be up to the individual consumer to choose their fashion icons critically and recognize the algorithm’s racist tendencies instead of relying on the girl-of-the-week’s Amazon storefront for inspiration.