As a journalist, I remember when the red carpet used to be sacred ground.
Coming up in the industry, it’s the place where we paid our dues (and man, did we really pay them). We would all be fighting for a place in line to interview some of the biggest names in entertainment, accessing the night’s biggest fashion moments (what were the hits and misses) and rubbing shoulders with some of the industry’s elite. It was like bootcamp for really building your skills and talent for interviewing and being able to think (and command) on the spot.
Then a shift happened.
Some of the influencers we were seeing online replaced some of the most respected career journalists on the carpet (or got premium placements — if you’re a Black journalist #iykyk), and even more shocking, if that weren’t the case, they were walking the carpet themselves, and we were left to try and spend a few moments with them to increase their cultural relevance (but also in a way, dumb us down?).
It’s something I’ve been thinking about increasingly, and as the BET Awards wrapped up at the Peacock Theater last night, a conversation topic I heard many people mentioning as well.
Now let me back up. I actually love influencers. I’m chronically online and find myself scrolling and being entertained for hours just like everyone else. But, when Kai Cenat becomes a bigger viral moment (for his interaction with Wale, or his stage moment with Kevin Hart) then legends like Mariah Carey or Kirk Franklin, it leads me to think — have we lost the plot? Or is this cultural shift really here to stay.
I asked my friend, former coworker and beauty/style extraordinaire, Blake Newby her thoughts because she’s one of the few who I’ve been able to tow both lines and do it in the most graceful way possible. Not only is she a journalist, turned influencer, turned national host and panelist, but many of the influencers that we reference in these conversations are her now mutuals. According to Newby, “It’s a double pronged answer here. On one hand, I think that influencers can actually add a lot to the space and actually bring in a viewership that usually does not watch it. I think that we’ve seen that with Keith Lee at the BET Awards, and so on and so forth. Or we’ve seen a lot of influencers going to the Oscars and things like that.
She continues, “I think that when it comes to whether they killed the essence of award shows is when there are creators or influencers who don’t understand the full breadth of the importance of these award shows. I think particularly when we look at big award seasons.
And she’s right. These conversations around influencers have been going on way before last night’s BET Awards. The tension became particularly evident this year through several viral moments that exposed the uncomfortable dynamics between established celebrities and digital creators. In March, Refinery29 highlighted how “the complicated crossroads the industry has found itself between legacy entertainment journalism, influencers, and celebrity interviews” after an awkward interaction between influencer Hannah Berner and Megan Thee Stallion went viral.
It’s not just isolated incidents. From the Met Gala to New York Fashion Week, influencers have been securing invitations to events that were once gatekept by publicists and industry insiders. The shift is particularly noticeable at Black-centered events, where content creators with millions of followers now walk the same carpet as established artists and actors.
And Newby agrees regarding these isolated incidents, “Unfortunately some of this is very much a some thing, it’s not all. What happens is the bad apples of the bunch tend to ruin it for everybody. You get a creator who comes in there, isn’t very kind or doesn’t seem engaged or kind of makes it hard for the publicist on the carpet or is interviewed and has no clue about the history of kind of the award show that they’re attending, and they have a tendency (those few bad apples) to spoil it for everybody else.”
She continued, “Because again bad news spreads a lot quicker than good news and so you often see this influx of like oh my “God, why are influencers here?””
Hollywood Reporter noted in October that “influencers’ hold on Hollywood isn’t loosening anytime soon”, even as studios grapple with mixed reactions to their presence.
And it would make sense to invite them, given that some of these influencers often have larger audiences than some of the traditional celebrities they’re sharing space with. Content creators like Kai Cenat or Monet McMichael or Keith Lee boast millions of subscribers across platforms, making them valuable assets for any event looking to reach younger demographics. But there’s something deeper happening here and it seems like the traditional Hollywood hierarchy seems to be clashing with the new digital aristocracy, creating an uncomfortable dynamic that plays out in real time on social media.
Award shows have always been cultural moments that define eras, create lasting memories, and celebrate the artistry that moves us. When Whitney Houston delivered her iconic performance at the 1994 American Music Awards, or when Beyoncé announced her pregnancy at the 2011 VMAs, these were cultural touchstones.
The question isn’t whether influencers have earned their place in these spaces. Many of them have built empires from scratch, created content that resonates with millions, and influenced culture in ways that can’t be ignored. The real question is whether their presence changes the fundamental nature of what these events represent.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel some type of way, but on the other hand, as an elder millennial who toes the line between remembering the good ole days, and the rise of things like streaming and TikTok — I can honestly see both sides.
Last night’s BET Awards, celebrating its 25th anniversary, found itself at the center of this cultural shift. The show has built a 25-year legacy as “culture’s biggest night”, but culture itself has evolved dramatically since the first ceremony in 2001. Social media didn’t exist then.and neither did the influencer economy or the idea that someone could build a massive following without traditional gatekeepers.
The old model of celebrity was largely controlled by studios, record labels, and traditional media. Today’s influencers have bypassed those systems entirely, building direct relationships with their audiences. And you know what? If the fans like it, that’s really all that matters. But the question remains (at least for the time being) whether this new approach enhances the viewing experience or dilutes what made these events special in the first place.