The New American Dream

By: Alessandra Zurini, Staff Writer Edited by: Catie Taylor

The influencer revolution has gripped Gen Z, pushing many to trade traditional 9-to-5 jobs for the uncertain but alluring world of full-time content creation.

When she picked up the phone, Matty Weis croaked like she was under the weather. “I sound fucking crazy,” Weis said. In reality, Weis came from a five-hour promotional video shoot which is a very regular night for her. Even without her voice, you can hear her ambition. 

Weis is a junior at Syracuse University majoring in marketing management, but she is also a TikTok content creator with over 20K followers. What started with a simple post for her sorority's TikTok account evolved into brand deals, PR opportunities, and free trips across the country. “It went from, ‘Oh my gosh, I love getting free stuff,’ to, ‘Okay, some of these collabs are paid, so why don’t I see what I can do with that?’” Weis said.

Matty’s story is becoming more common. The influencer industry, once dismissed as a silly trend, has morphed into a multi-billion-dollar business that is growing exponentially. Many are college students who become millionaires before they leave their dorm rooms. With  an oversaturation of post-grad candidates, more than half of Gen Z say they aspire to be influencers.

Syracuse University is embracing the profession with the formation of the Center for the Creator Economy (CFTCE) in September—reportedly the first of its kind on a U.S. college campus. “I predicted the content creation major,” influencer and SU Alum Chloe Hechter ‘23 said. “I literally said it, like, two months before it happened.”

Chloe, a New York City native, reaches a combined audience of nearly 250K between TikTok and Instagram. She is best known for her niche, creative skits about reform Jewish culture and her commentary on current trends. Before her rise on social media, Hechter gained early acting experience, including a voice-over role on the children’s television show Wonder Pets. Hechter never intended to be a full-time influencer. Early on, she was hesitant to post, worried about what her classmates might think. Now, she couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Hechter has the luxury to make her own schedule and considers fashion shows and Pilates classes part of her workday. 

While Hechter is grateful to run her own business at 24, she argues there are misconceptions about the ease of being an influencer. Content creation is a career where one has to depend solely on themselves meaning one wrong move can tank one’s entire source of income. “You don't 100% of the time know when your next brand deal is coming in or where your next paycheck is coming from,” Hechter said. 

Hechter’s top advice to emerging college influencers is to approach content creation like a business. Post content daily, create a content calendar, and maintain a document for all your ideas. Above all, consistency is key. 

Maddie Harp, a recent Syracuse grad, is a part-time content creator and executive assistant in the entertainment industry. To ensure quality, Harp plans out her content in advance around upcoming events in her life. These events range from networking events with major brands to simple shopping days with her mom. Everything is shareable if you have the right angle. 

Video quality is another important aspect of influencing, especially on platforms like Tiktok. Harp needs to pay attention to lighting, composition, shot variety, and background. She often writes a script for her videos, but sometimes the content just comes to her. She’ll be out for lunch with her friends, surrounded by delicious food and infectious laughter, the scene dying to be captured. 

However, Harp doesn’t fall into the stereotype that content creators share too much about their lives. She is selective about what she posts online, especially concerning brand partnerships. Harp deliberately chooses not to post negative content about brands. The influencer advertising industry is tight-knit and she believes it's best to avoid publicly dragging brands in case she wants to work with them in the future. 

Although Harp has over 34K followers on TikTok, she still wrestles with self-doubt every time she posts. The fact that her alma mater now supports content creation alongside traditional careers makes her feel like she chose a legitimate path. For her, the Center for the Creator Economy is less about resources and more about recognition that her profession is a real path for students like her.

While investing in the flourishing industry of content creation is viewed as positive by many, there has been concern in SU’s decision to invest in the new center while simultaneously cutting budgets and pausing admissions to 18 majors in the College of Arts and Sciences. Many of those majors have long histories at Syracuse University, while content creation is still an emerging field in academia.

Spencer Howard, better known as “Spow” to his 20K+ TikTok followers, voiced his own unease. Howard is a junior studying public relations at Syracuse University. He values teaching the technical side—editing videos, reading analytics, understanding audiences—but is not convinced the authentic influencer “spark” can be taught in a classroom.

Howard unintentionally built a platform for himself. When he first started posting on TikTok in 2021, it was just for fun—random clips with no real purpose to him. But last fall, everything changed. One night, he and a friend filmed themselves saying “pumpkin,” in Bird Library, each time yelling a little louder than the last. The video went viral, amassing over 4 million likes. Suddenly, everyone knew him as the “pumpkin guy.” Students shouted it across the quad and even in coffee shops, so much that he’d tense up whenever an order for a pumpkin spice latte was called. 

Howard’s content has reached farther than just his followers and fellow students. During move-in week at Sadler Hall, Howard was stationed checking in first-year students when one of the vice chancellors approached him. Instead of asking about student information or housing paperwork, the chancellor asked if Howard would be posting a TikTok later that day. Howard froze. He was used to classmates asking about his TikToks, but never thought an administrator would take an interest. For Howard this solidified his choice to post content. 

Beyond the recognition, Howard finds that his platform allows him to set himself apart when applying to internships. Content creation provides him with tangible skills—reading contracts, negotiating rates, and understanding the influencer side of PR. These experiences along with his education in PR give him an advantage as he pursues a career. But Howard is still anxious about the current job market. Given his content's heavy emphasis on personality, he worries that not everyone will be a fan. “Sometimes I'm like, oh, maybe an employer at a consulting firm or something like that wouldn't want that to be their image,” Howard said.

Matty Weis holds a different perspective, which is that content creation has opened a world of new opportunities for her. At her last internship for People Inc., they celebrated her background in influencer 

marketing. Weis mentioned she secured her current internship because they liked the work she did for her own TikTok and wanted similar results for their brand. “If a company sees my social media as a weakness, then it’s not a company for me. I want to work somewhere that accepts that.” Weis said.

Influencer talent agent Zoe Berman agrees with this sentiment. For nine years, Berman has built a career representing talent and digital creators, so she has seen the influencer space explode first hand. To Berman, a job in content creation is a “no-brainer” for Gen Z because it’s second nature to younger generations who grew up with social media. This theory is supported by  the 43% of Gen Z who prefer YouTube and TikTok to traditional TV. 

Berman only sees positives for students who want to explore the creator space. One of her clients started going viral in college. She was juggling schoolwork, her social life, and filming content simultaneously, which didn’t always feel sustainable, but she used her platform to obtain more opportunities to get involved on campus through interviews and events. Now she’s two years post-grad and has built a whole business through social media. 

The news about the CFTCE didn’t surprise Berman. She predicts this is just the start and believes more institutions should create programs to support student creators. With the shift in media consumption, Berman encourages people to embrace it. “It only hurts to stay away or think, ‘I’m above that.’ This isn’t going away. It’s been steadily growing for 10 years, and leaning in is only helpful,” Berman said.

Broadcast and Digital Journalism student Sunny Suaya experienced the shift firsthand last summer when she was interviewing for her dream internship at NBC. Along with her own account, Suaya runs Newhouse’s social media platforms with a team of other students. She prepared to talk about her experience in traditional media, but the conversation quickly moved to her involvement in social media which immediately worried her. “Oh no, I talk too much about my social media stuff. Like, this is not the role for that,” Suaya said.

Just when she was sure she’d talked herself out of the job, the interviewer admitted they were struggling with their social media presence and needed someone to revamp it. Suaya realized it wasn’t her journalistic background that landed her the job, but her social media skills. Everything she assumed was a liability about her social media presence actually increased her value.

Major media companies are adapting to the new social media landscape, and The Washington Post is a prime example. The legacy news outlet has built a TikTok following of 1.9 million by transforming its stories into entertaining, easily digestible, 60-second clips. Syracuse alumna Carmella Boykin, who works on the Post’s digital content team, is the face of many of these videos, helping bridge traditional journalism with modern digital storytelling.  

Boykin starts her day from bed—something she admits isn’t exactly healthy—scrolling through The Washington Post homepage to identify the top story she’ll cover. Once she has her angle, she drafts a script; however, she must get her editing team's approval before she can start shooting. 

Once everything is fact-checked, she slips on her “TikTok drag” as she likes to call it, and films. Finally, she gathers the clips into Adobe Premiere Pro for editing. Depending on how complex and detailed the video needs to be, the editing process can take anywhere from one to five hours.

“My intention is always: what’s the most important thing in the story to convey, what’s the information, and then how do I make it engaging? That’s where humor and other interesting details come into play,” Boykin explains.

This kind of content creation offers balance between creativity and job stability that full-time influencing lacks. Still, the idea of diving into an already oversaturated field makes many students hesitant. 

Boykin pushes back on that fear, insisting that saturation doesn’t erase need. “The market is always going to be oversaturated,” she said. “But no one has your exact perspective or life. Whatever your take is, that’s your advantage.” 

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