From QVC to FYP

“But wait—there’s more!”

That cheesy tagline from the As Seen on TV ads that filled my childhood afternoons still echoes in my head. They were dramatic, exaggerated, and somehow entirely effective. Why? Even in their absurdity, they built a kind of trust, not the deep kind we associate with friends or family, but a trust in certainty: that the problem was legitimate, the solution was easy, and that we needed it.

Infomercials in the early 2000s followed a strict formula: a black-and-white struggle scene to dramatize a mundane inconvenience, followed by an energetic host presenting a miracle solution, often mid-demo and shouting over the results. The Shake Weight sold over two million units not because people genuinely believed it would revolutionize fitness but because the format made it look like it already had. OxiClean commercials, powered by Billy Mays’ booming delivery and live stain-removal demos, created a sense of urgency and instant gratification. The viewer wasn’t just told the product worked; they saw it. And if they acted fast, they’d get a bonus. The pitch wasn’t subtle but sensory, strategic, and satisfying. And that made it work.

Fast forward to today, and the format hasn’t gone away. It’s just migrated. The TikTok Shop, launched in 2023, has revived the infomercial formula in a new, scrollable form. Brands can now create shoppable videos, while its affiliate system allows everyday users to promote products for commission. The fast cuts, dramatic voice-overs, and exaggerated demonstrations? Still there. The pitch comes from a pretty face, someone whose appearance skews our expectations of the product before we’ve even registered what it is. The lighting, angles, and body type are all part of the illusion we buy into, even when we know better.

These videos work because, even with the illusion, we perceive authenticity. There’s a sense of connection in how they’re delivered, a familiarity that makes us feel like we’re getting an honest opinion. When we witness a solution in action, even if it’s misleading, it creates a mental shortcut: we saw it work, so it must. That’s the power of performance dressed up as proof. One study found that 79% say user-generated content strongly influences purchasing decisions.

But this hyper-accessibility comes at a cost. Shopping with social media has made it easier than ever to hit “buy.” Still, it’s also fueled a cycle of overconsumption driven by comparison, insecurity, and the pressure to keep up. We’re no longer buying out of necessity. We’re buying to belong. And that kind of emotional, aspirational, and even parasocial trust is more complicated to track but even more challenging to resist.

Who We Trust and Why We Buy

Trust is a powerful concept, yet most of us genuinely trust only a small group of people. But how does that trust influence what we buy, how we buy, and who we buy it from?

Shopping online has made trust even more complicated. I’m often skeptical of brands I haven’t ordered from before. Fit, feel, and functionality are difficult to gauge through a screen. Whether it’s clothing, makeup, kitchen gadgets, or tech, an item’s online presentation often doesn’t match how it performs in real life. That’s why I turn to real reviews—not from brands but other people.

I’ll give you an example: I wanted a new swimsuit before a vacation. How it fit mattered most, but ordering online was the most efficient option. So, I went down the rabbit hole, scrolling through tagged photos, breaking down fabric blends, and comparing reviews. I didn’t want to drop $25 or even $100 on something unflattering only to go through the hassle of returns. First-world problems, I know, but disappointment is universal. Everyone knows that letdown, whether it’s pants that pinch weird, sunglasses that feel flimsy, or fabric that makes your skin itch. I ordered six swimsuits from one site, returned five, and reordered the winner in two more colors. So yeah, worth it, but certainly not simple. For me, there’s no better feeling than getting it right: doing the research, making the call, and opening the package to find exactly what you pictured. That’s not just relief; it's validation.

Still, even with all that research, trust is selective. I read and watch a range of reviews to get a better sense of people’s thoughts and perspectives. Some are influencer breakdowns, and others are just written comments: they tried it, had an opinion, and decided to share it. I trust authenticity, not the overly polished product photo or a sponsored post where someone’s being paid to praise something they may not have used.

Lately, though, even “real” can be part of the performance. Brands and creators have gotten good at simulating honesty, using casual language, curated imperfections, and a mix of buzzwords, all crafted to feel effortless. It doesn’t have to convince everyone, just enough people to create momentum. However, when something is genuine, you can feel it. That’s what resonates and why I don’t take any one person’s words as absolute.

The Proof Is in the Scroll

Authenticity isn’t just a buzzword; it’s the currency of modern marketing. We’re no longer moved by polished campaigns or celebrity endorsements that feel miles away from our real lives. What resonates today are the moments that feel unscripted and sincere, the kind of content that doesn’t try to sell but simply shares.

A perfect example?

Joe & The Juice’s Tunacado – It started with a TikTok from @dzaslavsky, whose luxe lunch order turned everyday tuna into a must-try. While the post is no longer up, the creator still has related videos. The post racked up over 11.7M views, drove in-store traffic, and helped make the Tunacado the brand’s top-selling sandwich.

Milk Makeup’s Jelly Tint – The blush stick became an instant TikTok sensation upon launch, driven by its bold pigment, innovative cooling jelly texture, and surprisingly strong staining power. Creators showcased these features in real-time reactions and tutorials, fueling a 45,000-person waitlist, over 44 million TikTok views, and a significant boost in sales.

Chili’s Triple Dipper – This mix-and-match appetizer became a TikTok sensation, with users highlighting its dramatic cheese pulls and affordability. The viral attention led to a 70% sales increase for the Triple Dipper. It contributed to Chili's 14.1% same-store sales growth, alongside a 6% rise in customer traffic, solidifying its spot as one of the brand’s top-performing menu items.

Baked Feta Pasta – A Finnish blogger’s recipe went viral after being recreated by U.S. creators who praised its ease and rich, comforting flavor. The trend was so widespread that grocery stores reported feta shortages, and it became one of TikTok’s most recreated food recipes.

Stanley Cup Quencher Tumbler – Initially popular among moms and nurses on #watertok (yes, that’s a thing), it exploded after people praised its large size, trendy colors, and hydration-friendly design. The viral momentum, bolstered by limited-edition releases, led to rapid sellouts and resale markups, contributing to Stanley's annual sales surge from $94 million in 2020 to $750 million in 2023.

Cloud Slippers – Users widely shared them in TikTok hauls and Amazon recs, praising their comfort, softness, and “bounce.” Dubbed the “walk-on-a-cloud” shoe in creator reviews and comment sections, the slippers repeatedly sold out across retailers.

The Pink Stuff – This retro cleaning paste got its second life after creators filmed oddly satisfying before-and-after videos using it to scrub everything from sneakers to stovetops. The hashtag #CleanTok amassed over 662 million views, propelling The Pink Stuff's annual sales to quadruple to $125 million since 2018.

These products had a viral moment not because of ads but because of genuine, unscripted reactions. But what makes them stick isn’t just relatability; it’s the context behind the reaction. That’s where organic virality sets itself apart.

Take Emily Mariko’s salmon rice bowl. On the surface, it’s just a leftover lunch recipe. But her soft-spoken delivery, clean kitchen aesthetic, and the oddly satisfying act of placing an ice cube on rice before microwaving created an almost meditative experience. It wasn’t just a video; it was a vibe. Tierney Bricker wrote in E! News, “I was today years old when I placed an ice cube atop my mashed salmon and rice.” For many, it marked their first brush with a TikTok-native food trend: an approachable recipe turned cultural reset.

Fenty Beauty’s Pro Filt'r Soft Matte Longwear Foundation went viral because of its emotional payoff. While many brands offer inclusive shade ranges now, Fenty was one of the first to center that inclusivity in its marketing and product development. TikTok videos show people, especially Black and Brown users, visibly moved when they find a perfect match for the first time, often after years of settling for “close enough.” These reactions aren’t performative; they reflect a lived experience of being underserved by the beauty industry. According to Statista, Fenty saw a 72% sales jump in the first month of the foundation’s TikTok virality, proving the power of validation through representation.

Then there’s the Dyson Airwrap, a $600 hair tool that continues to dominate TikTok, not because of ads, but because of theatrics. Videos of users accidentally wrapping entire sections of hair or reacting mid-style to the tool’s vacuum-like suction have made it both a comedy bit and a beauty must-have. With over 1.1 billion views under #dysonairwrap, most of the content isn’t sponsored. It's real users testing its limits. Despite the price, the buzz has helped Dyson nearly sell out the tool each holiday season. James Dyson’s net worth jumped 60% in one year, a spike analysts partially attribute to haircare profits and viral traction.

The key difference between paid advertising and organic virality is control. Brands can plan campaigns but can’t dictate when, how, or why a product takes off. Viral moments don’t follow a script. They spark ripple effects fueled by reaction, remixing, and repetition. It’s never just one video; it’s a collective conversation.

That’s the power of organic spread: unpredictable, chaotic, and far more memorable than a polished ad. It gives content a longer shelf life, turning it into lasting brand association and, often, repeat purchases.

As a result, brands have shifted toward storytelling, using behind-the-scenes content like packaging orders, staff Q&As, or production footage to give consumers an inside look. This “office content” often outperforms polished ads because it feels real. It humanizes the brand, satisfies the craving for transparency, and taps into the same appeal that’s made “day in the life” content and factory tour videos rack up millions of views.

Even when brands try to manufacture authenticity through influencer partnerships, overly polished sponsorships rarely have the same impact as raw, unscripted excitement.

When Real Starts to Feel Rehearsed

It’s not just products that benefit from authenticity; consumers do as well. The creators we continue to follow, trust, and buy from are often the ones who feel most human. However, as their audience grows and sponsorships become more frequent, their content shifts. Money takes the wheel, and over time, that sense of authenticity can fade, reshaping how they are perceived.

Mikayla Nogueira is a perfect example. She blew up on TikTok thanks to her unfiltered product reviews and thick Boston accent, which made her feel like a friend giving brutally honest beauty recs. But as her influence grew, so did the skepticism. In early 2023, she faced significant backlash after promoting L’Oréal mascara in a video where viewers accused her of wearing false lashes, calling her credibility into question. That moment changed how many people saw her, proving how quickly authenticity can be questioned when money enters the picture and how fast the internet can swing from praise to backlash.

While that backlash wasn’t necessarily about overexposure, it’s worth noting that creator fatigue plays a growing role in how we engage with influencers. One study found that 51% of consumers have unfollowed an influencer simply because they were tired of seeing their content. We’re quick to call out what feels fake but just as quick to rally behind what feels real. Online, perception flips fast. Someone mocked one week might be celebrated the next, not because they changed, but because the narrative did. We elevate people, tear them down, and sometimes circle right back, all based on curated impressions.

Rare Beauty is proof of that. One standout example is a TikTok posted by Ferny Zambrana (@fernyzambrana1) in early 2021, where she applied just a few dots of Rare Beauty’s Liquid Blush and was immediately shocked by how intensely pigmented it was. Her visible surprise and struggle to blend it out struck a chord with viewers, and the video quickly went viral, racking up around a million likes and inspiring countless others to film their own reactions. Together, these authentic testimonials helped fuel over 3 million unit sales in 2022 and drove $70 million in revenue. As Rare Beauty CMO Katie Welch put it, the product “spread like wildfire” on TikTok, not because of a campaign, but because real people shared real experiences that resonated. Rare Beauty’s success story is proof of how authenticity drives results. But that kind of trust doesn’t come easy, especially online.

From Ads to Advocates

But there's a deeper layer to every authentic viral moment: the person behind it and whether we believe them. The easy critique is that influencers are fake or just doing it for the money, and some definitely are. But the creators we keep coming back to are the ones we’re willing to give our time and money to feel real. They connect with us through entertainment, expertise, and, above all, relatability.

Modern product endorsements rarely announce themselves. When a recommendation is woven into storytelling, personal and emotional, with a disarming kind of honesty, the boundary between content and commerce blurs. The influencer dynamic hits differently. It feels more like a FaceTime than a billboard.

Bethenny Frankel exemplifies this shift. For those unfamiliar, she got her start on The Real Housewives of New York City in 2008, where her blunt, candid personality and unapologetic honesty quickly set her apart. While filming the show, she crafted what would become the “Skinnygirl Margarita” on camera, an impromptu creation that tapped into a growing demand for healthier cocktail options. This moment not only led to the creation of her Skinnygirl brand but also disrupted the spirits market by meeting a previously untapped demand for health-conscious, ready-to-drink cocktails. By 2011, Skinnygirl Cocktails had become the fastest-growing spirits brand in the U.S., with a 388% growth, surpassing 500,000 cases sold. Recognizing its potential, Beam Global acquired the brand in 2011, further amplifying its market presence. Frankel's innovation popularized low-calorie, ready-to-drink cocktails. It inspired a wave of "skinny" products across the food and beverage sectors, embedding the concept of healthier indulgence into mainstream culture. What started as a low-calorie cocktail grew into a lifestyle empire, reportedly selling for $100 million. With sharp instincts, a savvy sense of consumer trends, and perfect timing, she turned one drink into a category disruptor and a powerhouse brand.

That same sensibility, sharp timing, direct delivery, and ability to read an audience now power her presence on TikTok. She’s described the platform as her modern-day talk show, giving her direct access to fans, creative freedom, and massive engagement. It’s a space where she can skip the middlemen and connect with her audience on her own terms.

Photo by Getty Images for L'Oréal Paris | Page Six

Her honesty has a real-world impact. She once posted an unsponsored review of L’Oréal Paris’ Midnight Cream, and it not only boosted sales but eventually led to her walking in Paris Fashion Week for the brand.

She’s since leaned fully into the role of social media influencer, and her audience trusts her because she’s unapologetically blunt. In one of her recent TikTok's, she reviewed a chicken and tuna salad from Butterfield Market on Manhattan's Upper East Side. She delivered her unfiltered feedback while standing next to the store’s owner. At one point, she said plainly, “It needs work.” Most people might have softened their opinion then, but she didn’t, and the comment section praised her. That kind of unvarnished honesty is hard to come by, and it’s precisely what builds trust.

Additionally, in March 2025, Bethenny launched a curated shopping platform called The List. In a TikTok announcing it, she explained that one of the most common questions she’d get when reviewing products was, “Where do I get it?” or “Where does this list live” So, true to her brand, she listened. The List features her current obsessions, shopping picks from her closet, gift guides, travel essentials, and multiple other lifestyle categories. It’s a modern, shoppable extension of the trust she’s built through direct, no-nonsense reviews. And it perfectly illustrates how the sales floor has moved online, not to a storefront, but to a feed.

What makes Bethenny stand out is how she evolves with culture without ever changing who she is. Her bluntness isn’t branding; it's baseline. In one interview, she said, “I don’t have the capability to lie,” and honestly, her content and reputation backs that up. While most influencers tailor themselves to trends, Bethenny has continuously operated without a filter, and that’s why people believe her.

What Feeds Us Now

Building trust online comes with different rules. In person, we read body language, tone, and timing to decide if something feels genuine. Digital communication flattens that. A brand’s website might have glossy photos and some clever copy, but it can’t recreate the feeling of someone you trust handing you a product and saying, “I swear by this.”

Social media has tried to close that gap. The rise of digital creators, especially those who share intimate, unfiltered moments, offers a version of that in-person connection. Emma Chamberlain is a prime example.

When she launched her YouTube channel in 2016 at just 15, her unfiltered vlogs and distinctive editing style immediately resonated. She let us into her world, breakouts, bad days, and self-deprecating bits included. That raw honesty earned her millions of subscribers and set her apart from the overly curated content dominating the platform. She wasn’t just watched; she was imitated. Her mannerisms, style, and even how she spoke became a reference point. That kind of digital intimacy changed what celebrity status could look like. Her transition from teen vlogger to front-row fashion week fixture wasn’t random; it was built on trust and genuine interest. Partnerships with Louis Vuitton and Cartier didn’t dilute her authenticity; they reflected how a new kind of fame is earned online.

We follow creators like Emma for their content and because they reflect who we aspire to be, mirroring our routines, moods, and evolving identities. I see that in whom I follow, too; when I need gym advice, I turn to @jpgcoaching; he’s like that fit friend who explains things clearly, not just recycling fitness buzzwords. For a laugh that feels like it’s coming from a friend, it’s Jake Shane. For style inspiration, I scroll Jake Fleming’s page; he’s the guy walking down the street with such effortless style that you almost feel too underdressed to make eye contact until you realize he’s the type to stop, tell you where he got his jacket, and have an entire conversation about the cut, the color, and how he styled it. And when I need a mindset shift, Mel Robbins is the go-to friend for real talk; she’ll call you out but somehow still leave you feeling seen. We’re not just following people; we’re following signals - how they communicate, what they value, and how they make us feel.

Less Persuasion, More Participation

We’re no longer in the era of hard selling; we’re in the age of soft influence. Advertising isn’t about convincing anymore; it’s about connecting. Consumers today don’t want to be pitched to. They crave storytelling over slogans, transparency over tactics, and authentic voices over rehearsed ones.

The companies that thrive today don’t just market, they participate. Instead of shouting from billboards, they become the topic of Reddit threads, comment sections, and stitched videos, spaces where trust is built peer-to-peer. Culture isn’t something they advertise around; it’s something they’re part of. The modern marketplace isn’t driven by commercials but by scrolls and shares.

What works now isn’t a pitch, it’s a post. From casual TikTok hauls to niche creators sharing unscripted product wins, the most effective marketing today doesn’t come from a brand. It comes from people, seamlessly blending into our feeds. It feels like discovery, conversation, and connection. The fundamental shift isn’t about the death of traditional marketing. It’s about its evolution. In a feed full of filters and formulas, the brands that last are the ones that feel human.

The Death of the Hard Sell and the Rise of the Soft Influence