The trust problem with food influencers
Food influencers are increasingly being met with frustration and scepticism—just scroll through the comments. Viewers are questioning the legitimacy of creator “reviews.” You know the ones: clips of exaggerated facial expressions, lots of pointing, and claims that everything is “the best.”
Many of these posts are paid for—and well. Reels and TikToks from popular creators can cost upwards of $3,500, on top of a comped dining experience. These accounts run off a lucrative business model, and audiences are catching on.
Influencers are required to disclose paid partnerships, but this information is often buried at the end of lengthy captions among a cluster of hashtags—exactly where most people glaze over.
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Not me! Whenever a video from a popular account comes up my feed, I go looking. Increasingly, the disclosure is [AD], A D (spaced out to avoid triggering the algorithm), or #pp (paid partnership). Technically compliant, but far from upfront. Similarly, posting with or tagging a venue isn’t clear enough either—I’ve noticed a rise in this on Instagram.
Platforms offer tools for sponsored content (“paid partnership” on Instagram and TikTok), but some creators don’t want viewers to know their videos are paid ads, as it risks their credibility and can impact engagement.
Of course, creators are almost always going to speak favourably about the venue they’re being paid to promote—that’s their job. But when the video looks like any other, it’s a slippery slope and should be labelled accordingly.
Speaking of credibility, there are many creators who don’t do paid posts or accept comped meals. Accounts like @hungrywolfgrams and @howac bring something different to the table if you’re looking for unbiased, self-funded dining recommendations.
Which brings me to another form of content rooted in “authenticity.”
There’s been a rise in Australian creators who wear Meta glasses to capture “candid” dining interactions. The POV format has been circulating in the US for a while and is now picking up locally.
The narrative and the dreamy harp audio are almost always the same: solo diners visit empty restaurants or market stalls without any customers, intentionally seeking out the perceived underdog. The protagonist will take a seat and typically strike up a conversation with a worker, asking for suggestions on what to order.
Here’s the issue: it’s often unclear if staff know they’re being filmed and used for social content unless the creator includes that conversation in the video. Meta glasses have a white flashing light (not red) in one corner when recording, which could be confusing for those who aren’t familiar with the tech.
I can only imagine what would go through someone’s mind when a customer sits down with blinking Ray-Bans. It would be much easier to operate as usual rather than ask, “Are you recording me?” and risk an awkward interaction.
When these videos are created transparently, they’re no doubt effective. Natural conversation takes place, revealing information about a business and its owner—whether it’s ingredient traceability, cooking techniques or cultural influences.
These videos focus more on the human interaction rather than the food and drink, which incentivises people to engage with the content, particularly if the creator is engaging with someone who is funny, knowledgeable or hardworking.
Nevertheless, I think POV videos are the next big thing in food media. There’s consistent demand for content that depicts candid human interactions, and these videos provide that very easily.
The social landscape has always been riddled with both inauthentic and authentic content. In a world where views and comments come first, the level of transparency provided is dictated by the account holder and is therefore subjective. Ultimately, audiences need to use discretion and read between the lines—or at least make it to the end of the caption.
