When I first started creating content online seven years ago, my then-partner helped me shoot content, hyped up my ideas, and even listened and advised as I talked through contracts and campaigns. It felt collaborative and supportive, and as if he got it. Until it didn’t.
Amid our break-up a few years later, excuses started to emerge about my event-led lifestyle. Things that had never been flagged as a problem before, all of a sudden were. A day out I’d organised through press contacts, for example, was dismissed with a shrug: “Well, that was for Instagram,” he scoffed. When I corrected him, I was met with silence – but why did it matter what part of my job had secured the booking?
It had never been an issue before. But suddenly, this point of fascination and pride was reframed as something superficial and less meaningful.
As a result, I’m now reluctant to share my Instagram handle until we’ve met in person, as if I’m going to be judged. I want it to be on my real-life foot forward, not the curated version of my life online.
I’ve also had many guys ghost me after realising what and how I post on social media is clearly not for them – the initial admiration, slowly settling into resentment and judgement.
And I’m not alone in this. For Manchester-based influencer, Sadie Bass, 30, the tension often starts before a relationship even begins.
“I didn’t use to like giving people my social media on dating apps,” she tells Glamour UK. “They would see the underwear photos and assume I was a glamorous, ‘good-time girl', when really I’m quite introverted and wanted a long-term partner.”
The issue at hand wasn’t just visibility – but also projection. Men would build a version of her in their heads before they had even met, and then either reject it or try to reshape it.
Sadie admitted to having partners who felt her content made intimacy “less special”, while others couldn’t seem to celebrate her success without it bringing out a competitive side.
“If I went on a trip or booked a big campaign, instead of congratulating me, he’d say: 'I’ll be doing that soon.’” It really gave me the ick.”
Influencing doesn’t just make your work public – it makes you public. And for some partners, that’s where everything takes a bit of a U-turn.
Lana, a 33-year-old beauty influencer, describes how even well-intentioned attempts to include significant others in her world could backfire. “I’ve had exes get frustrated about the lifestyle for sure. I’ve been lucky enough to have some out-of-this-world experiences through my work, and even if I’ve invited exes and tried to include them, it usually ends up with them being insecure,” she says. “I think they worry they can’t measure up, but honestly, I’m happy with coffee dates in the park. I’ve still got my feet on the ground.”
But admiration, unfortunately, often comes with an expiration date. This is nothing new; success breeds insecurity and threat, especially when it comes to the power dynamic between men and women. Strip away the ring lights and brand deals, and a more familiar pattern emerges.
Distrust is the default on an internet build on deception.
Tasha*, 30, a model and influencer, puts it plainly: “At the beginning, partners really admire it – the opportunities, the lifestyle, etc. But over time, that same thing can become a point of tension.”
So what changes? The short answer: Nothing, except how the success is perceived.
She goes on to say that there is no big reveal as to why the shift happens: “It may come from insecurity or differences in perspective, but it’s something I’ve experienced more than once. While these challenges can exist in any relationship, I do think they’re particularly relevant when you’re in a visible role like content creation.
"From events to travel and brand experiences, I’ve always tried to share that with the people I’m with… So when that becomes the very thing that’s criticised or causes tension, it can feel really confusing and quite unfair, Tasha continues. “In the beginning, everything feels celebrated and recognised as a big milestone. But later on, those same moments can be downplayed.”
For 32-year-old food creator Verna, that strain showed up as rivalry. “Lots of creators are also highly driven people, including myself,” she says. “I find that it often comes across as intimidating if the person I'm dating isn’t sure of themselves. It becomes a competition. I’ve also experienced being put down and minimised instead of applauded for the things I've accomplished.”
Then there’s the suspicion. The assumption that visibility equals opportunity – romantically, not professionally. “My ex was paranoid I would meet someone else at events,” Verna adds. “He was also concerned that people would judge him because of me.”
But here’s the contradiction: plenty of men date women who post curated, posed, flattering images online. But when that same behaviour becomes a career, bringing in money, independence and a measurable form of success, suddenly it feels… different. They like the posts, just not the platform and the audience. The rules seem to change when money and influence enters the chat.
All of a sudden, it’s more threatening and less easy to control. There’s a loss of exclusivity that some men struggle to articulate, let alone process. The idea that your partner is not only seen but rewarded (at times, by other men) for being seen. And, like with every issue within a relationship that stems back to insecurities, for those who haven’t done the work to unpack those issues, this can become too much.
Of course, influencing isn’t entirely blameless as a career path. Many creators admit that, especially early on, the line between content and real life can blur beyond recognition – and there is complete validity in any irritation relating to this.
We don't want to be them, but we just can't stop watching.
Sadie reflects on how she used to share dating stories in real-time – something that brought engagement but complicated future relationships. “Followers would demand updates or make assumptions if I didn’t post a partner,” she says, alluding to the pressure of oversharing her personal life online.
Now, she’s more intentional: “It’s still me, I just choose to keep some things sacred.”
That level of privacy is so key – because, while influencing thrives on openness, relationships often need the exact opposite in order to survive and flourish. It’s hard to function when your entire connection is on a stage.
So… Is it influencing that’s the problem?
Not entirely. Underneath the filters and follower counts, this isn’t a new story. It’s an old one, dressed in modern clothes (with Reels and real-time reactions attached).
Women who are visible, successful, financially independent, socially active – and, above all, desired by other men? This scares the men in current pursuit or relationships with these women. Consciously or not, a lot of them struggle with what this means.
As Lana puts it: “These challenges exist for any woman who’s successful in her field. Being an influencer just adds another layer.”
Real women share their favourite Reddit hacks.
Influencer careers don’t create insecurities – they expose them.
Nor does it mean that influencers are destined to be alone – it’s just more crucial than ever to pick your fighter wisely. The difference between a successful and failing relationship isn’t at the mercy of any algorithm; it’s about the person.
Sadie is now in a happy relationship with someone who also creates content. “He understands how it works,” she says. “We help each other but we also plan time that’s just special for us.”
Verna echoes that sentiment. Dating someone outside of the industry, her new relationship proves it’s not the content that’s the crux of the matter. “My boyfriend is secure in himself. He doesn’t see my success as a threat.”
It seems as though it’s not about finding someone who tolerates the job; it’s about finding someone who isn’t at all unsettled about what the day-to-day elements of the career choice represent.
So maybe the question isn’t, “why can’t men date influencers?”, but instead, “why does a woman being seen, successful and self-sufficient still feel like a challenge to some men?”
Influencers haven’t changed the rules of dating; they’ve just made what’s always been there a little harder to ignore. And for those unwilling to confront their own insecurities, it’s easier to blame their partner’s job than face what it brings up.
*name has been changed
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