Abstract
Situated within the theoretical work of Giddens and others on the role of expertise in contemporary society, this article evaluates the Instagram accounts of six dating-themed influencers. We seek to understand the role and strategies of these “new experts” in presenting, evaluating, and responding to contemporary heterosexual dating harms. Our analysis is informed by the existing literature on digital feminism, gendered abuse, and conceptions of harm, but also recognizes how social media marketing strategies shapes the expertise provided. We conclude that while the emerging expert discourses around online dating seek ostensibly to advocate for women, they are contradictory, likely to contribute to social anxiety, and could risk diluting and individualizing the material reality of abuse.
Introduction: dating as a social activity
Dating can be defined as a stage between experiencing a first intimate relationship and moving to a more permanent coupling, as well as moving between relationships over the life course. It is a period that provides “an opportunity to perform, reject, and refine new roles and responsibilities, whilst negotiating future status and identity” (Langhamer, 2007, p. 173). Social changes over recent decades mean that both younger and older ages are investing more time in partner searching and/or engaging in temporary relationships (Albury, 2017; ESRC Centre for Population Change, 2020).
In her book, “The Curious History of Dating: From Jane Austen to Tinder,” Hodgson (2017) reminds us that individual, familial and community desires, norms and expectations, mediated through the latest communication technology, have long characterized heterosexual dating. Siblings and peers have had a particularly important role in setting up and counseling through dating experiences, though are also implicated by some in “creating dramas” and fomenting jealousy and discord between the couple (C. K. Baker, 2016, p. 178). The rise of mobile dating applications (“dating apps”) has both widened the potential field of partners beyond familial and peer networks and allowed people—in theory—to navigate potential relationships in a more individualized way. In 2021, it was estimated that 207 million people worldwide were using a dating app (Curry, 2021). Motivations for use can be summarized as “love, sex, uncertainty reduction, and fun,” which Sobieraj and Humphreys (2022, p. 58) observe is consistent with the hopes and expectations of previous generations seeking a first date.
While meeting online appears to have eclipsed meeting through friends—what Rosenfeld et al. (2019) term “disintermediation”—it is not clear that the two routes are mutually exclusive. Henningsen and Henningsen (2020) suggest people are increasingly using apps to arrange “group dates” which have stronger communal or companionship motivation, and Sobieraj and Humphreys (2022) describe friends sitting in groups to review and rate dating app profiles. In October 2023, leading dating app Tinder announced a new “Matchmaker” tool, allowing “users to offer up to 15 friends, family members or guardians 24 hours to scrutinise their possible matches” (The Guardian, 2023). Wingman, founded by Tina Wilson in 2017, is similarly built around friends as love brokers.
Dating harms and digital feminism
Dating is not a risk-free activity. As with long-term relationships, short-term relationships can involve physical, emotional, or sexual abuse. Digital devices also afford new opportunities for control, harassment, stalking, and threatening behaviors, including once the relationship has formally “ended” (Caridade et al., 2019; Lu et al., 2021). Interestingly, some analyses of dating app use by gender suggest that women may use dating apps to exert control, thereby challenging prevailing gender-power dynamics (Chan, 2018). Other work suggests that heterosexual dating apps continue to be gender-traditional spaces (MacLeod & McArthur, 2019), which women disproportionately perceive as potentially unsafe (Hanson, 2021). However, this perception should be understood within the wider context of violence against women and girls in society, at school (Tomaszewska & Schuster, 2021), at university (Krahé, 2021) and through working age (Rivara et al., 2009), rather than purely a consequence of dating apps.
Traditionally, and facilitated by concurrent media, individuals have reached out to strangers for guidance: for example, “Agony aunt” and advice columns have been a staple of both women’s and general interest magazines (Forster, 2015). While young people are more likely to seek help and support from “informal sources,” including friends, following experiences of dating violence (Bundock et al., 2020), the use of internet-based advice and support specifically for intimate partner abuse or dating violence is under-researched for both young people (Bundock et al., 2020) and adults (Eckstein, 2021). But it is broadly agreed that online sites are key for young adults in gleaning social information (Russett & Waldron, 2017). Indeed, the internet has increased the options for external counsel significantly. Messaging, chatroom, and social media tools enable limitless groups to share advice and information, including anonymously (see, for example, Kim et al., 2017).
At the same time, there is a “new visibility of feminism” and “a multiplicity of different feminisms currently circulating in mainstream media culture” (Gill, 2016, p. 610). This digital feminism or “online sisterhood” (Cabalquinto & Soriano, 2020) are noted particularly for their “performative activism” (Jouët, 2018, p. 133), producing visual narratives, humor, and satire as forms (or mediums) of creative resistance (see also Vitis & Gilmour, 2017). Digital feminism(s) and dating combine on Instagram sites where people submit screenshots of interactions with men on online dating sites who demonstrate sexually harassing and entitled behaviors (Shaw, 2016; Thompson, 2018). In other words, these sites have an entertainment but also a didactic value in raising awareness about gender inequality and gendered norms.
Sternadori (2020, p. 184; drawing also on Luke, 1996) argues that such artifacts of popular culture are likely more powerful than any formal, institutional pedagogic tools. However, López Vázquez and Rangel-Pérez (2022, p. 415) caution that “sorority and empowerment” are a functional tool to enhance the credibility and appeal of the influencer to their followers (and in turn, boost profile engagement). In addition, Savolainen et al. (2022) suggest that such platforms effectively filter for versions of feminism which are confident, individualistic, and aesthetically appealing. This is consistent with the persuasive narrative techniques adopted by influencers to undercut sponsorship disclosures by projecting tailored and empathetic expertise (Feng et al., 2020).
The marketing strategies of influencers
Businesses and a variety of other types of services have realized the value of social media influencers (SMIs)—or “content creators”—in promoting and marketing goods, products, services, activities, and experiences. Djafarova and Rushworth (2017) suggest that high-profile Instagram (“Instafamous”) accounts, bloggers, and YouTubers (described as “lower-scale celebrities”) are now more influential than traditional celebrities for influencing consumer decisions due to their perceived higher credibility and trustworthiness. This was particularly the case for female “lower scale” celebrities in the context of influencing young women, because of their perceived increased relatability and authenticity (Duffy & Hund, 2017). Unsurprisingly, business and marketing research literature has set out to understand better the most effective ways of maximizing SMI’s value for a brand (see Rejeb et al., 2022; Tafesse & Wood, 2021; Vrontis et al., 2020). Evidence suggests that for successful marketing and communication, the nature of content created matters (Schouten et al., 2020); as does the perceived influencer’s personality (Casaló et al., 2018); the desirability factor the influencer holds and their “illusory friendship” with followers (Hu et al., 2020); and finally, the emotional attachments created with followers (Ki et al., 2020; Ladhari et al., 2020).
Research has also examined what kind of content is most likely to influence consumers. Ki and Kim (2019) found that SMIs who were highly interactive and informative; demonstrated their expertise on a subject and created visually appealing content; were most likely to be regarded positively by followers. Casaló et al. (2018) emphasize the importance of perceived originality and uniqueness. They suggest that the most successful SMIs will see followers both follow advice given and recommend that others follow the account. A burgeoning range of research on social media influencers exists, but, as Vrontis et al. (2020) in their systematic review of research note, much of it lacks theoretical depth. The focus tends to be broadly on effectiveness of social media influencing as a marketing tool, rather than what social role influencers might play.
Theoretical framework: the new experts
Anthony Giddens (1990, 1991) highlights self-identity, reflexivity, expert systems, trust, and truth claims as prominent themes of high modernity. These are prescient in explaining the widening of social actors involved in contemporary dating practices and the entrance of new experts, in the form of Instagram influencers. Reflexivity refers to the constant monitoring of social life and the organization and use of expertise to evaluate and improve it (Giddens, 1990, p. 38; 1991, p. 14). Self-identity and reflexivity conjoin in the growth of identity-based social movements that seek to expose and disrupt traditional social relations as inequitable. Technology, including social media, has served to “lift out” and disseminate these new forms of knowledge in a way which may undercut traditional sources: a process which Giddens (1990) terms, “disembedding” (p. 21). This can be used to describe how dating-themed influencers provide feminist-derived narratives to counsel their followers, contributing to a multipolar landscape of “expertise” alongside the traditional sources of friends and family.
The plurality of expert voices is further complicated by the market logic of social media platforms, where increased attention means increased sponsorship income. Perceived expert knowledge is therefore a valuable commodity (Smith, 2022). It is within these competitive and profit-linked contexts that rival truth claims are undermined (see Holmberg, 2015 for a case study example). Even the use of misinformation online (see Lavorgna & Di Ronco, 2020) is itself muddied by the assertion that alternative voices are “just as valid—if not even more valid”—as those of experts (Massa, 2020, p. 70).
Online dating provides an interesting dimension to this discussion as it may not be clear where or to whom we might go for “expert” advice, or who, what, and why someone would constitute the label of “expert.” Social media invests particular value in the accessibility of “lived experience expertise” that is celebrated in this space for its “authenticity” (Kreling et al., 2022). We should caution, first, that people may follow these Instagram accounts for interest and community rather than overtly seeking expertise and advice and, second, that dating-themed influencers may not necessarily position themselves as “experts” (see Balaban & Szambolics, 2022, p. 241). Third, Archer (2019) asks whether amateur, often female, account holders engaging in the precarious “playbour” of influencing are always afforded full control in their interactions with public relations practitioners and platform professionals. Notwithstanding these caveats, we focus in this article on dating-themed Instagram influencers whose content could be described as both entertaining and didactic. Our research aim is to understand the role and strategies of these “new experts” in presenting, evaluating, and responding to contemporary (heterosexual) dating harms. Specifically, we ask:
Which types of online dating harms are identified by dating influencers?
How do influencers seek to inform their audiences about these forms of harm?
How might we characterize overall the “expertise” offered by dating influencers?
Method and ethics
This article draws on a qualitative analysis of public-facing social media accounts, whose content focuses on online dating practices. After receiving ethical approval from the School for Policy Studies Research Ethics Committee at the University of Bristol, we examined six high-profile Instagram accounts and their static main “feed” posts (image, text, and caption) between 1 and 31 December 2022 as an illustration of a cross-sectional snapshot in time. We purposively selected these accounts for their mix of educational, entertaining, and advisory content combined with high-level followings. Our sampling strategy focused on identifying accounts that were: highly subscribed; had “public” privacy settings; focused explicitly on online dating; and had a predominantly heterosexual dating focus, discussing women’s experiences of meeting men on dating apps. This approach to sampling reflected our focus on examining a specific case within a specific context and the boundaries of a small-scale qualitative project. Our decision to focus on heterosexual dating reflected the common gendered narratives we witnessed in our initial observations of these kinds of dating-focused accounts and is in line with existing literature on dating harms and digital feminism.
To devise our sampling frame and select the sample, we ran a number of hashtag and account profile searches to pull up relevant posts and accounts. We combined this approach with recommendations and suggestions from social media users and were generally immersed over a period of time as observers in relevant online communities. This approach allowed us to identify popular accounts where the author does not use hashtags on posts, and to understand the specific data collection aspect of our research within the broader socio-virtual context for which it exists (see Hine, 2000, for a discussion of conducting virtual ethnography). Following this, we drew up an initial list of accounts and conducted some loose reviews of accounts to understand things such as: post frequency, post nature, account nature, popularity, and interaction with the account, and whether the account was public-facing or not. We excluded accounts that were not explicitly focused on online dating, such as those focused on more general lifestyle advice, and two relatively large accounts that were more focused on sharing personal dating experiences. We suggest that this iterative and “human” process of selecting accounts in combination with web-searching is important to capture accounts that do not have clear keyword biographies or who may not use hashtags on posts.
Reviewing this initial list, we excluded any accounts with less than 10,000 followers or that were not clearly public-facing. This process removed a number of ethical questions around analyzing accounts that might be quasi-private, or where the account holder is unaware of their privacy settings (see Highfield & Leaver, 2016; Ravn et al., 2020; Von-Benzon, n.d., for discussions). We further excluded accounts that were either focused on reacting to content or primarily focused on alternative platforms. The final six accounts were purposively selected as broadly representative examples of three types: (1) feminist educational and reviewing profiles (“Dating Education” category); (2) dating advice and coaching (“Dating Advice” category), and (3) screenshots of dating app conversations with little or no account holder commentary (“Dating Nightmares” category). We acknowledge that this approach to sampling is subjective and has potential for bias implications. Nevertheless, our immersive method means we are confident that our final sample is a good example to illustrate current content within the boundaries of our specific research focus and provides sufficient scope to explore subjective meanings of content.
We adopted “Iterative Thematic Inquiry” (ITI) as our analytical framework (see Morgan & Nica, 2020). This approach, grounded in pragmatism, recognizes that beliefs change rather than emerge and encouraged us to confront our existing beliefs and knowledge from the outset. Morgan and Nica (2020) outline four phases of analysis: (1) Assessing initial beliefs as themes; (2) Building new beliefs during data collection; (3) Listing tentative themes; and (4) Evaluating themes through coding. Our initial beliefs (Phase 1) draw on the respective interests and expertise of the authors: Large focuses on harm, consumption, and leisure; Mulvihill on gender, coercive control, and violence. The authors also have diametric experiences of engaging with social media, which brought a novel and productive element to interpreting the data together. In Phase 2, we collected descriptive data about each post, including the number of likes, number of comments, and recorded the type of post (such as video/static images) by systematically gathering, transcribing, and recording the posts into an Excel file (in March 2023). The descriptive summary is provided in Table 1. We also developed categories—Dating Education, Dating Advice, and Dating Nightmares—which are not mutually exclusive nor exhaustive, but we considered it essential to review content of social media posts within their consumptive and marketing context.
Descriptive Summary of the Data.
Shifting our focus in Phase 3 onto the detailed content of the posts, we developed our codebook, developing ideas (“memos”) iteratively and reflectively in relation to our existing knowledge and beliefs. Having analyzed data across our accounts over a month, we considered that we had reached “theoretical saturation”—which, in ITI terms, reflected finding “no new materials for memo writing” (p. 6). We revisited and finalized our codebook and iteratively agreed the final themes, which structure the discussion that follows (Phase 4). Overall, this approach enabled us as researchers to acknowledge how our prior interests and theoretical positions influenced the sampling strategy and data collection, but ensured that our final analysis was rooted in (and challenged and re-shaped by) engagement with the data in front of us.
While we analyzed posts which included images and text, we have chosen not to reproduce images or use screenshots (see Locatelli, 2017, for a useful discussion). Noting the difficulties of securing anonymity when using searchable, public, social media data (see Highfield & Leaver, 2016; Ravn et al., 2020), and recognizing the importance of intellectual property rights of content authors who are producing material for consumptive purposes, we opted for a hybrid approach to presenting our research findings. To minimize “potential for harm” (Highfield & Leaver, 2016), we have acknowledged Instagram accounts researched in our descriptive overview but assigned coded names throughout the analytical discussions. This less personalized approach supported our ambition to avoid “critiquing” specific content creators and instead focus on discussing discursive themes in dating advice.
Descriptive overview of the data
In the following sections, we refer to social media influencers variously as “Instagram influencers,” “Instagram authors,” or “content creators.” We refer to those who engage with the sites by reading or commenting on content as “followers,” even though they may not formally subscribe to an account.
Analysis and discussion
Which types of online dating harms are identified by dating influencers?
The dating harms identified in our dataset can be categorized under two broad headings. The first is the risk of inappropriate or unwanted behaviors, collectively referred to as “red flags.” This is most commonly found in the “Dating Education” and “Dating Nightmares” account categories. The second harm—or rather, caution—is the risk of “settling too low” and accepting a relationship which is unrewarding emotionally and materially. This theme is most commonly found in the “Dating Advice” account category, but also underpins much of the content in “Dating Education” and “Dating Nightmares.”
Potential harms as “red flags.”
“Red flag” is a warning term which has become part of contemporary discourse to describe relationship behaviors which signal abuse, or potential for abuse. In the Instagram accounts analyzed, “red flag” is sometimes employed in line with this more classic understanding of controlling and sexist behaviors. For example, When I was young and stupid I was actually highly attracted to red flags. [. . .] If a man asked me my body count I’d say [one], whilst wholeheartedly agreeing that a low body count is really important for women. [DA4, 19/12/22] Anyone who is telling you to chill out BEFORE you’ve even matched on dating app is a big red flag, in my opinion. [DA3, 12/12/2022]
The second comment above is attached to the Instagram post where the author is reading an excerpt from a man’s dating profile (which may or may not be genuine), where he writes: Complaining and nagging is toxic. Which is what I told my ex-girlfriend who I gaslit for 2 years. Be easy going and take it all in your stride. One day at a time. [cited in DA3, 12/12/2022]
Red flag is also used as a synonym for broader concerns and further gradations of behavior are analyzed using the term “pink flag.” For example, in a post discussing how to interpret men who repeatedly ask for pictures before dating: There are usually many millions of questions they haven’t yet asked. If they’re more interested in making sure they definitely fancy you than making sure you’ve got real common ground, then it’s a pink flag. [DA4, 1/12/2022]
While there is no definitive definition or source, “red flags” are popularly understood to relate to coercive and controlling behaviors (see Red Flag Campaign, n.d.). These could include, for example: intense jealousy and monitoring of a partner’s behavior, or being verbally offensive and demeaning. However, some of the behaviors identified within our Instagram dataset appear to be more ambivalent (hence perhaps the term “pink flag” used by some): requesting repeated nude pictures, telling someone in pre-date exchanges to “chill out,” or being unwilling to talk about one’s children are examples given. These might indicate a time-waster, flippancy, or guardedness, but they do not necessarily indicate an abuser. Indeed, isolating individual behaviors as potential indicators in this way may be unhelpful, because coercive control is best understood as an ongoing experience characterized by multiple points of control, which can be hard to identify from a single behavior. In addition, what are now termed “red flag” behaviors were developed in the context of active relationships, and they may lose context and meaning when imported into the pre-relationship phase.
Second, the behaviors being discussed in our Instagram dataset are sometimes conflated with and indistinguishable from discourses of stereotypical masculinity. For example, a common reference in the dataset is that many men are instrumental (though not necessarily predatory) on the dating scene: they are positioned as wanting sex, leisure time, and no commitment: Looking to go on one or two dates (three max) and see if sex happens. Then hoping for some sort of Netflix and chill situation for 1-3 months—basically however long I can enjoy your company and body without you requiring any sort of commitment, effort or emotional availability. [DA3, 28/12/2022]
There is also discussion on requests for pictures (including nudes), and how this signals the male preoccupation with the visual and sexual (consistent with Mulvey, 1975). These typically “masculine” behaviors of course preclude that women may also want fun without commitment or seek pleasure from viewing. Conventionally masculine traits can be sexist and unwanted in a partner. But by focusing unduly on these, the effect is to be silent about still more concerning conduct—sexual coercion or emotional threats, for example. We appreciate that there may be a continuum of behaviors, and we would not seek to demarcate between abusive and non-abusive (and this is usefully documented in the work on “intimate intrusions” in mobile dating contexts (Gillett, 2018). We would simply caution whether drawing multiple peripheral behaviors into the red flag discourse could dilute the value of work to raise awareness of abuse.
Finally, it has been well documented by Renehan et al. (2023) that the red flag discourse tends to responsibilize women. This is consistent with the late modern trend to individualize and manage risk (Beck, 1992; Giddens, 1999) rather than position harm as a collective responsibility. After reflecting on their own experience of unhealthy relationships, this content creator concludes that “I was lost, and so I attracted and accepted lost men” [DA4, 19/12/2022]. In a later post, a related commentary is worth quoting at length: If looking back at your past lovers is like looking at a graph of your own mental health decline then maybe it’s not them, it’s you. I mean, it’s definitely them too—they do need an intervention. But the part we need to work on is why we have such terrible taste in the first place. We don’t actually like degenerates, we just go for them because it feels familiar. The uncertainty and chaos they bring is what we are used to. We aren’t attracted to calm sorted people because we are not yet calm and sorted ourselves. [. . .] This does not mean that you are at fault for any abuse or ill treatment you may have suffered, you cannot choose abuse. But you are responsible for your own future happiness, and you will not find that in the arms of a man who is a carbon copy of all your exes. Stop repeating patterns. Fix yourself and break the chain. [DA4, 22/12/2022]
This appeal to women to self-reflect and self-educate to defend themselves against potentially harmful partners is seductive because it is well intentioned and meant to be empowering. It is exactly consistent with the role of Instagram experts in providing confiding, sisterly advice. It has a “tough love” tone and binds followers into a putative “inside track” on dating realities and harms (see, for example, Winch, 2012, on “the girlfriend gaze”). However, many abusive perpetrators engage in something akin to a “grooming process” (Cairns, 2020; Duron et al., 2021) in the early stages of a relationship with their victim. Problematic behaviors may be subtle or concealed during the dating and pre-commitment phase, and they may emerge or intensify at later transition points (after moving in together, during pregnancy, or when trying to leave the relationship: see, for example, Halpern-Meekin et al., 2013; Li, 2023). In addition, even assuming the abusive behaviors are overt, being a victim of abuse is different from describing it abstractly. For these reasons, structuring dating advice around simply “being in the know” about red flags is problematic.
The risk of “settling.”
The second harm—or rather, caution—identified within our dataset is the risk of “settling” for a relationship which does not provide the emotional and material rewards that followers should expect. In the “Dating Education” and “Dating Nightmares” categories, there is a repeated mantra of “raising the bar.” Reviewing a book published by a content creator, one account follower posts a comment praising the publication: This book has given me the confidence and confirmation that my standards and expectations aren’t too high, and that there’s nothing wrong with knowing what I want from dating apps and the boundaries I set for interactions on said apps. [DA3, 6/12/2022]
Another user adds, Even if you’re not on dating apps, keep it [the book] handy to weed through the jungle of rubbish! [DA3, 6/12/2022]
This second quote captures well the imagined landscape of online dating into which female Instagram authors are writing. The online dating world is presented as crowded with unsuitable men, who are either unworthy or—as per the red flag discourse above—potentially abusive. This in turn enables authors to underline the need for their expertise, to support people in navigating this fraught space.
This theme is also common to the “Dating Advice” category accounts, but employed rather differently. Example posts include: 5 mindsets of a high value woman. #“I determine my own value” mindset. # “I put myself first” mindset. # “No fear of rejection” mindset. #”I am my primary source of security and happiness” mindset. #“I deserve everything I ask for” mindset. [DA2, 3/12/2022]
While the overall message of “don’t settle for less” is similar, here it is predicated on a woman-reverent and entitled version of femininity. Posts are commonly promoted using tags such as: #elegant_lady; #elegant_woman; #high_maintenance; and #high_standards. Interestingly, and unlike the “Dating Education” and “Dating Nightmares” accounts, this construction is not just meant to support female empowerment, but also suggested to raise the “value” of women in the dating marketplace.
Projecting a somewhat remote and highly selective persona is an established courtship trope (see, for example, Giles, 1992) and draws also on beliefs in evolutionary psychology that sexual availability in females is attractive to men looking for short-term, rather than long-term, mates (Schmitt & Buss, 1996). Sociologically, these ideas have been used to regulate (and usually constrain) the behavior of women, but here the influencer seeks to reclaim these traditional notions of femininity as an opportunity to exert power. In their analysis of involuntary celibate (“incel”) forum threads, Preston et al. (2021, p. 829) suggest that incel users identify dating apps as accelerating women’s ability to “trade up,” based on men’s looks and social status. This, it is suggested, further isolates [self-perceived] “subordinate” men (Preston et al., 2021, p. 832). In this way, the “risk of settling” discourse, which may be a reasonable caution by Instagram experts to their followers, can be weaponized by male supremacist groups to evidence women’s hypergamous advantage in contemporary dating.
Finally, the unspoken implication of “don’t settle” is “because you’re worth it.” This affirmative advertising slogan is consistent with neoliberal marketing and consumerist forms of feminism (Gill and Kanai, 2019). It reinforces the individualized subject (Giddens, 1991) and makes followers feel “exclusive,” in both senses of the word, which potentially enhances and personalizes profile engagement. The caution against “settling” may also be driving the expanding definitions of “red flag” (including the variant, “pink flag”). In other words, it is blurring the boundaries between behavior that is abusive and behavior that demonstrates insufficient empathy, openness, attention, or money spent.
How do influencers seek to inform their audiences about these forms of harm?
We turn now to how Instagram content creators seek to inform their audiences about these forms of harm and identify two strategies: performative skewering and citing evidence.
Performative skewering
Drawing on humor and the visual-textual possibilities of Instagram, content creators commonly use posts or videos by men on online dating sites to expose their misogyny, foolishness, or hubris—a technique we term “performative skewering.” Notably, the skewer tends to land as a punchline or sign-off comment. For example, returning to the theme of men using women instrumentally for sex, the content creator posts a TikTok video on their Instagram account that replays an (imagined) post-sex, in-bed conversation between a man and a woman. The woman has just shared what a good time she is having with the man, to which he agrees but discloses that he is not looking for anything serious. Momentarily dismayed, she re-asserts control over the situation by undermining his sexual performance:
Oh right. Thanks for the heads up. [Grimaces]
Cool, cool, coz you don’t wanna get like in too deep with a guy like me. I’m pretty bad news.
Listen, this can just be a onetime thing then.
No, nah, nah, I didn’t, nah like . . .
No, I really appreciate you telling me, to be honest, as I’m obviously not going to waste my time if you’re literally gonna ruin my life [giggles then sighs]. I mean the sex was like, good, but it wasn’t like that good [laughs]. You know what I mean?
Yeah, no, yeah. [DA3, 27/12/2022]
Physical performance is mocked in another post, which received 31,018 likes: in response to a male boasting his strength in lifting a desk one-handed, the content creator responds: “I have two arms that can do that. You need a new opening line” (DA6, 6/12/2022).
One account run by a content creator who has created an online dating profile set to attract men over 45 commonly uses screenshots of exchanges with men, accompanied by a “post caption” which provides the comedic skewer. Post themes include men who are presented as self-preoccupied. In the related sugar dating context, this is linked also to age, wealth, and privilege. For example, after a rambling description of himself, the potential sugar daddy finishes: I’m procrastinating right now by the way . . . texting instead of seeing my next office patient [laughing face emoji]. I could go on. But I think that’s a start. I annoy myself quite a bit [laughing face emoji] [
Also exposed are men who move the conversation quickly toward sexual innuendo; men who ask strange questions (e.g. “Are you of European Blood lines?” [DA5, 13/12/2022]); and exchanges which foreground the banality of online dating:
“U like bagels [bagel emoji].” “Yep.” “Mee too. What you like on it.” “Tofu cream cheese and cucumber slices.” “Ohh ok something different.” “What do you like on your bagel.” “On egg bagel just cream cheese on cinnamon raisin bagel I like cinnamon raisin cream cheese.” [
While on one level, performative skewering sits within feminist digilantism (Jane, 2017), the approach has common ground also with the “vernacular criticism” identified by Literat and van den Berg (2019). Vernacular criticism captures the democratic impulse of social media, where everyone can provide an opinion. The Instagram experts are critiquing online content but in turn opening it up to their followers for further comment. The content is meant to be educational but has a strong performative element—because the dramatic and comedic elements also drive attention, engagement, and brand success (as evidenced by high number of comments generated for DA4 and DA5 (see Table 1). Some may turn performative skewering into merchandise, for example: One time this angry internet man called me a “hysterical c*ck-fearing shrew” . . . So I put it on a t-shirt. Link in my bio bitches! If you want a mug in time for Christmas you need to order it BY TOMORROW. [DA3, 9/12/2022]
This could be seen as a symbolic counter to the income generated by misogynistic content online, as detailed in the report “Monetising Misogyny” (#ShePersisted, 2023). But also, paradoxically, content creators may build their brand around, and benefit financially from, the very object of their critique. In this way, feminism is reworked and leveraged to boost engagement and appeal with followers, and thereby income. It is not clear that this instrumentalism is disingenuous: rather, content creators are reflecting and re-shaping the available discursive resources which appeal to both their self and brand identity. It reminds us too of the market imperatives shaping influencer “expertise.”
Using evidence
The second way in which content creators seek to inform is through drawing on independent sources of authority. In the “Dating Education” and “Dating Nightmares” accounts, this is commonly research evidence. For example, responding to an online claim that feminist women have “wounded” relationships with their father, the content creator draws on statistics from the United Nations, World Health Organization, European Institute for Gender Inequality, and a peer-reviewed academic paper to rebut the assertion [DA4, 20/12/2022]. In another example, an Instagram author critiques frame-by-frame a TikTok video, which claims “feminism is a scam,” by using historical evidence and dates. To underline her critical and educational intent, she tags this post #feminism #debunking #womens_history (DA3, 30/12/2022). By drawing on feminist ideas (and commonly combined with the “performative skewering” described above), the “Dating Nightmares” and “Dating Education” accounts position themselves as critical, humorous, and savvy about how prevailing gender relations operate in contemporary dating. By implication, the follower is brought into this “knowing circle.”
In the Dating Advice category, concepts from popular psychology or lifestyle trends are used ostensibly as evidence, but serve rather as a hook around which the content creator writes their post. For example, one Instagram author writes a post about “dating like a scientist”: Will you date like a scientist? [emoji] That means running experiments and testing your hypotheses. It means open to being proven wrong. Stop making assumptions. Start being open to new ways of doing things. The results may surprise you. [emoji] [DA1, 23/12/2022]
A week later, they create content around the now-popular “Dry January,” where people give up alcohol for the month, to suggest date venue options which do not involve alcohol. In another, the creator uses evidence from a Hinge user survey (Hinge is a popular international dating site) that the top trait that users are looking for in a date is “emotional vulnerability.” A list of tips is offered on how to both demonstrate and elicit emotional vulnerability from a date. For example, Shape the conversation with thoughtful questions. Then ask follow up questions to encourage them to go deeper. For example, if they talk about their job, say “What surprises you most about your career?” or “what would 16 year old you think of what you’re doing now?” [DA1, 19/12/2022]
Elsewhere, followers are encouraged to share something personal and talk with passion about their interests. It could be argued that emotional vulnerability is instrumentalized here as a dating strategy: individuals become akin to entrepreneurs, metrifying their dating interactions. Yet it is not clear that authentic connection can be successfully “coached.” Indeed, over-sharing and self-preoccupation could ironically invoke the red flags identified earlier. The content creator does acknowledge this risk toward the end of the post. The Dating Advice accounts therefore tend rather to draw on market research, current trends, and popular science/popular psychology, which reflects their branding as lifestyle and consumerist-oriented. This may be useful for influencers in attracting sponsorship income, but can lead to internal contradictions in the expertise offered over time.
How might we characterize overall the “expertise” offered by dating influencers
In this final section, we identify “popular feminism” and “hyper reflexivity” as significant dynamics shaping the type of expertise provided by dating advice influencers. These are in turn driven by the logic of brand-building and income generation.
Popular feminism
Discussion of gender-stereotypical behaviors dominate the “Dating Education” and “Dating Nightmares” accounts. This is consistent with the notion of a “fourth wave” of feminism, particularly on social media, from the 2010s. This “popular feminism” is related to similarly networked and vocal movements that Banet-Weiser (2018) calls “popular misogyny.” Instagram authors are often writing directly at the interface, creatively and humorously teaching their followers to identify and respond to sexism and risks in online dating (Jouët, 2018, p. 133; Vitis & Gilmour, 2017). Their confiding tone invokes a sense of online sisterhood (Cabalquinto & Soriano, 2020), disembedding traditional kinship sources of support (Giddens, 1990). In reviewing a book published by one Instagram author, some account followers position her in intimate, familial terms: Absolutely hilarious insight into the dating world. Wish my younger self had been able to read this kind of knowledge. Like listening to a really knowledgeable best friend. [DA3, 6/12/22] I love how Aunty [author] constantly speaks to the reader and tells us our worth. I support women supporting women (heart emoji). [DA3, 6/12/22]
However, feminism is a plural concept. One of the accounts within the “Dating Advice” category offers a more consumerist and traditional notion of femininity. Posts display tags such as #hypergamy lifestyle #lady luxury #soft life, suggesting followers leverage conventional womanhood and sensuality to access relationships that are both materially and emotionally profitable. Here, stereotypical female characteristics are promoted as enabling success. For example, #Allow yourself to be led.—When you allow a man to lead you, it gives him space to show his care and provide you with what you need. [DA2, 12/12/2022]
Individual womanhood is promoted, though not necessarily collective sisterhood: Signs of a truly feminine woman. [. . .] #She is inspired by other women, but always stays true to herself. [DA2, 18/12/2022]
Sometimes labeled “lipstick feminism” or “choice feminism,” this is an approach to empowerment informed by aesthetics and consumerism (Gurrieri & Drenten, 2021). While it is associated with “third wave feminism,” it appears to draw less on raunch (criticized notably by Levy, 2014, and Walters, 2011) and more on the implied potential of sexual power. The “#soft girl” appears to be a related post-feminist concept, describing a woman who is active in demanding her rights, but passive in relation to finances and work (Anestad Nilsson, 2024), and has some overlap with the “#StayAtHomeGirlfriends” (Tirocchi & Taddeo, 2024). Both profiles emerged on TikTok through 2022–2024. It is difficult to gauge the level of influence on behavior—rather than just audience intrigue—for this brand of feminism: while account DA2 has the least followers in our dataset, this may be because the content is less personal or (intentionally) entertaining.
Hyper reflexivity
Finally, we recall Giddens’ (1990, 1991) identification of self-identity, reflexivity, expert systems, trust, and truth claims as prominent themes of high modernity. What is notable in reviewing the expertise offered by online dating advice sites is the requirement for constant self-scrutiny: whether through the confessional monologues of content creators or the etiquette guidance and analysis they offer to followers. For example, in a long and confessional post, this Instagram author meditates on how being well-versed in “red flags” has been important, but has also made them cautious about all relationships: . . . the joy of knowing that I’m avoiding bad relationships can sometimes be shaken by the thought that I’m basically now avoiding all relationships because so many fucking men are waving red flags. Occasionally I wonder if I should just ignore the red flags and see what happens, feel a bit of anxiety, experience a bit of chaos, feel some emotions again. (DA4, 22/12/2022)
On the same account, and cross-posted from a magazine advice column also run by the Instagram author, a female reader recounts two dates with a man and asks the author whether her concerns are valid: Could I be in danger by ignoring these red flags, and are they really red flags, or am I being dramatic? [DA4, 12/12/2022)
In the Dating Advice accounts, followers are given abundant and occasionally contradictory advice: People will be less willing to share if they feel like you’re distracted, and it will also take you out of the moment. At the beginning of the date, ask how the other person feels about keeping your phones out of sight. [DA1, 16/12/2022] #Find your center—everytime you feel triggered, do not react! Centering helps you to disconnect from all the things asking for your attention. Learn to stay grounded and calm. [DA2, 12/12/2022] [A truly feminine woman] #She doesn’t apologise for who she is or hold back for fear of being “too much.” [. . .] #She doesn’t flaunt and is not excessive in her sexuality. [DA2, 18/12/2022]
While behavior guides (see, for example, Debrett’s) and sources of conflicting expertise are not a new phenomenon, three contemporary factors facilitate this hyper reflexivity and, we would argue, associated high anxiety. First, changing technology means the volume of content has increased exponentially. Second, social guidance is increasingly commodified, with books, websites, and social media accounts competing to offer advice on topics such as dating, parenting, or dieting (S. A. Baker & Rojek, 2020). Marketing money may move toward popular emerging ideas, creating echo chambers, or support multiple opposing ideas, leading to a complex and overwhelming amount of circulating information. This can have particular implications for young women who, Gill (2023) argues, contend with competing demands to be “perfect” yet also “authentic” (Gill, 2023). Third, if users are engaging individually, and disintermediated from peers and family, it can be difficult to interpret and tailor online advice and avoiding an anxiety spiral: what Bawden and Robinson (2009) perceptively termed “the dark side of information.” Without large-scale research, it is difficult to gauge to what extent hyper-reflexivity binds followers in—by mirroring their own doubts and fears—or facilitates a restless search onwards for new experts who provide the advice they want to hear.
Conclusion
Giddens (1990) argued that technology has served to “lift out” and disseminate new forms of knowledge in a way which may undercut traditional sources, a process called “disembedding” (p. 21). New forms of online dating advice have potentially disintermediated the traditional role of friends and family (Rosenfeld et al., 2019). Our original analysis shows that, depending on their orientation (Dating Advice, Dating Education, Dating Nightmares), Instagram content creators use a combination of comedic, confessional, and affirmative narratives to construct and elucidate the harms of online dating for their followers. These accounts draw on feminist rhetoric but tend to stress individual choice and responsibility rather than collective resistance to patriarchy (see Budgeon, 2015; Giddens, 1991). This is consistent with the neoliberalization of feminism (Prügl, 2014).
It could be argued that the entrance of these new experts via social media cuts through knowledge monopoly. It overcomes the potential biases, mixed motives, and misconceptions of those in our immediate circle. It enables the engagement of followers with feminist ideas and vernacular criticism of popular misogyny (Banet-Weiser, 2018; Literat & van den Berg, 2019). It also values the voices of (often female) content creators and showcases their wit and insight (demonstrated through performative skewering), albeit the precarious and unpaid nature of much of this work is of concern (Archer, 2019).
However, we agree with Duffy and Hund (2015, p. 9) that Instagram culture tends to “construct women as feminine subjectivities, emotional laborers, and above all, consumers.” We suggest that the hyper-reflexive content—often employed to promote intimacy and build the brand—is consistent with wider cultural trends but may raise social anxiety about dating. Indeed, dating advice accounts are paradoxically predicated on the need for reassurance and the anathema of popular misogyny. In this way, they can perpetuate epistemic injustice and reify prevailing gender-power relations. Specifically, we suggest that the discourse of “red flags,” common to online dating advice, tends to dilute and individualize the material reality of sexual, physical, economic, or psychological abuse. It may also blur the line between abuse and inadequate efforts by a potential partner to demonstrate sufficient empathy, attention or financial largesse. We agree that efforts at consciousness-raising and education are necessary, but it is important also to recognize that “knowing” is not enough: individuals can become victims of intimate partner and dating abuse irrespective of their intelligence or their technical knowledge of abuse.
Finally, it is notable that young women are required to shoulder this anxiety—to consider how best they ought, individually, to manage men. In this way, content creators and their followers construct and participate in an ecosystem of ostensibly empowering dating advice, yet all remain subject to the structuring forces of income-generation and gender expectations. Effective resistance requires a diversity of platforms, as well as “expert” voices (Bonini & Treré, 2024).
Study limitations
We acknowledge the small sample size used in this study and the narrow focus on post content. Future work could use text mining tools to analyze a larger sample over a longer period of time. Platform analytic data tracking engagement with posts, classified using the analysis categories above (such as “confessional/hyper-reflexive” or “comedic/performative skewering”) could give greater insight into how different posts resonate with Instagram users and how that impacts future engagement. In addition, it would be valuable to interview content creators to understand how they perceive their role and what informs their decision-making on writing content, branding, and building engagement.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
Not applicable.
Ethical considerations
This study was approved by a University of Bristol Research Ethics Committee (approval no. SPSREC/22-23/296) on 22 November 2022.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Declaration of conflicting interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Data availability statement
The raw data used for this publication is available on request: please contact the lead author