Neil Humphreys: Don't mock influencer for SIA panic attack, mock her 15 million viewers for watching
Mocking online influencers is like shooting fish in a barrel, so it's easy to see why an influencer has been ridiculed for filming herself having a panic attack on a recent Singapore Airlines flight.
One minute, she's eating her business class meal (something I've never done). The next, she's screaming on the plane (something I have done, but in my defence, that passenger should never have left that for me to find in the toilet).
The original video of her screaming through some flight turbulence has picked up more than 15 million views, with spoof clips and memes popping up all over the world. Don't get me wrong. I was outraged by the contents of the clip too. For SQ business class prices, I'd expect much bigger food portions.
But the tawdry episode highlights the state of media consumption today. In geopolitics, US President Donald Trump continues to party like it's 1939 and the world stops to watch a Singaporean scream for a bit on social media.
If any Singaporean wanted to scream during a meal, they'd just have to look at a school canteen bento box.
'The influencer was just doing her thing'
As always, the non-story triggered comments and plenty of finger-wagging. The accusations of hypocrisy feel right, but they might be directed at the wrong target.
The influencer was just doing her thing before the turbulence kicked in, offering a subjective account of her business class food experience. That's what food influencers do, and I adore them for it, but only online. In person, I'd tip their meals over their heads, if only to stop them giving me a thumbs-up with every mouthful.
Imagine being at a coffee shop and a stranger looks across at you with come-to-bed eyes and whispers: "Ooh, this teh-tarik slips through my lips so smoothly." You'd call the police, wouldn't you?
That might be called influencing in cyberspace. In real life, it's called sexual harassment. I don't want to sit opposite a cooing stranger as he loudly fondles his dumplings.
Social media is just performative
Like Meg Ryan's fake orgasm in When Harry Met Sally, nobody behaves like that in reality. Nobody smacks their lips at a steamboat, or gasps at the arrival of the next course, or does a big "ta-dah" reveal when the meal arrives, as if a rabbit in a top hat is about to appear beneath an influencer's hands, rather than a plate of nasi lemak.
It's fake. It's phoney. It's a sly wink to the camera that this is all a little over-the-top and heightened, like watching an episode of the Kardashians and believing that such glamour dominates every aspect of their daily lives. As an audience, we wilfully suspend our disbelief to avoid accepting that the Kardashians also sit and strain on a toilet like the rest of us.
And journalists are not immune to a little exaggeration either. There's nothing better than watching CNN reporters in raincoats as they battle the elements and say: "Well, Chad, we are facing red-level hurricane winds right now. This deadly storm will kill anyone in its path", just as an old lady totters past with her shopping trolley.
And I've done it, too. Several years ago, I was asked to cover the Manchester football derby for an international broadcaster. I had to showcase the frenzied, tribal rivalry between the two EPL powerhouses in Singapore. The pub was full of United fans ... and one City supporter.
Looking down the lens, I'd scream: "It's all kicking off here. This Manchester derby is about to explode." Then the camera would cut to the only City fan, eating a bowl of peanuts.
Everyone is an influencer in some way
We all "influence" our respective audiences, to one degree or another, and it would be disingenuous to suggest otherwise. The idea of an influencer filming a panic attack may be just as inauthentic as filming an orgasmic meal. Because in reality, our first instinct isn't to film either.
At a deeper, visceral level, we know this. We just don't want to acknowledge the fakery, the oohing with every bite, the exaggerated joy at every attraction, the gasping at every sunset. All this somehow always takes place on camera, with everyone always ready to re-record if the initial natural reaction wasn't natural enough. This is our accepted reality now – one that comes with a ring-light, just out of every manufactured shot.
Personally, I'd applaud the young influencer for pulling back the curtain and inspiring the marketing campaign for my next book launch at Kinokuniya. If my anecdotes are going down like an SQ flight in turbulence, I'm having a panic attack.
Those 15 million viewers can't be wrong, can they?
Besides, it wouldn't be the first time I've died on stage.
Neil Humphreys is an award-winning writer and radio host, a successful author and a failed footballer.
