When the Algorithm Outs You
Your Honor, I Plead Influencer
My thumb quickly pressed the side power button of my phone, and I tossed it to the other side of the couch. If my phone was off, I could stop time.
It happened.
A member of my legal clinic team had sent a screenshot of one of my OOTD TikToks to our seven-person group chat: “I found Mya-tok!” A pit in my stomach began expanding in every direction.
Kill me now.
I had naively hoped that the group of seven other 20-something, New York-based women—all with phones and probably (definitely) on social media—would just somehow never come across my online presence. Obviously, I would never volunteer this information, keeping my two worlds separate, and very, very far apart.
I relegated myself to living a sort of Hannah Montana double life. At law school, I was a serious law student who complained about how much reading we had for Evidence, frequently asked, “Do you have an outline for that class?” and spent a month locked in the library for finals. On the internet, I offer carousels of my weekly outfits, link away, respond to DMs about styling tips, and attend over-the-top PR events.
I did all the right things to maintain my privacy, to keep my worlds separate. I didn’t use my full name in my TikTok handle. I didn’t make law- or law school-related content to avoid ending up on LawTok, where I figured more of my peers might stumble upon me. I didn’t connect my TikTok to Facebook to avoid notifying friends and family about my secret corner of the world.
This wasn’t the first time someone from school or work had stumbled upon my social media. With the algorithm pushing videos to people in your area, my attempts at privacy felt futile at best. Yet every time someone from school or work finds my TikTok or Instagram, I freeze. As if these worlds truly existed in different universes, and their collision could disrupt the space-time continuum!!!
So I texted back, “So embarrassing lol!”
My usual response: self-deprecate, self-disparge, minimize.
To be clear, I don’t think making content online is embarrassing or something to minimize, at least not when other people do it. For some reason, when I am the one confronted with my online presence in any context outside of the creator economy, I don’t know what to say or how to act.
For some reason, I still cannot bring myself to admit to anyone—or even say the words—"I am an influencer." If I’m forced to, I say anything but that label: content creator, online stylist, internet person??? Most of the time, when someone from my real life finds my content, I can shake it off, I say something like “It’s my creative outlet!” Somehow legitimizing my social media presence if it’s seems more in line with an intellectual pursuit. Trust me I wish I could be chill about this whole thing, if someone from school was like “I saw your TikTok,” I could express the pride and self-accomplishment I feel from what I’ve built online.
Perhaps if I weren’t in a field where being taken seriously as a woman is already on thin ice, it would be different. I’ve always felt the need to prove myself, especially my intelligence—something I think most women have felt in any field where we’ve historically been underrepresented. As a Mexican-American woman, I feel this tenfold.
The truth of the matter is that I know deep down, I can’t exist in both worlds. Despite what I’ve heard from the influencer side of things, brand reps and PR agencies say, “Creators with careers, with lives, with 9-to-5s, are more relatable!”—in my law school life, I’ve been told that being online, especially in Big Law, is off-limits and a major liability.
To be honest, would you want your lawyer to be an influencer?
I just can’t seem to let go of either—I want my cake, and I want to eat it too. So I made a list of reasons to be an influencer in one column and reasons to be a lawyer in the other.
I adore social media: sharing my outfits, connecting with people in my DMs, and indulging in my right-brain tendancies. Meeting new people through this platform feels like a bonus prize, and let’s be honest, I’m not mad about the cushier side either. From well-paid brand deals that finally let me chip away at my student loans, to free clothes, and the dopamine rush of posting a Reel—it’s a dream in many ways.
I’m incredibly grateful for the platform I’ve built and genuinely proud of it. Knowing my style and taste resonate with others is a joy I don’t take for granted. Influencing, in every sense of the word, is a privilege, and I’ll never stop saying that.
On the other hand, being a lawyer was the plan—the plan I’ve been working toward for years. I have to stick to it, right? After undergrad, I spent four years as a paralegal, saving enough money to afford an LSAT prep course, which I took three times. For a while, I juggled working full-time and attending law school at night. Finally, last year, I was able to quit my full-time paralegal job and focus on school full-time—all thanks to influencing.
The ultimate goal is to engage in public interest work, focusing on de-incarceration and impact litigation—critical areas where my ability to be taken seriously can profoundly affect the lives of my future clients.
The scales seem unbalanced, and to many of you reading the choice might seem obvious. The other choice, to continue to do both seems harder and harder as I get to the graduation finish line. The few creators I know who have tried to do both have opted for two choices: leave behind the JD and become a full-time influencer or continue as a lawyer, and hope no one finds out you have a dirty little secret.
Operating in both worlds feels like uncharted territory and I don’t know if I am the one to forge ahead and blaze a new trail.
I might not know the full story, but the way a colleague shared your social profile ("I found Myatok!" on a 7-people chat) seems intentionally derogatory as if they were saying "I found Mya's dirty secret!" (them assuming it's a... dirty secret? and re-instating it by sharing it that way into a multi-people chat). I, like you and many other creators, have been in similar situations and I, like you, look up to many creators, but when it comes to my own content, I stay clear from defining myself as an "influencer". When I think of it, I find that disheartening: the word "influencer" has become so hurtful, when it shouldn't be.
I would never think less of an artist for selling 500K worth of artwork to a millionaire. Or of a chef for selling their dishes for a crazy amount of money. Or of the people at an advertising agency for selling us products with their creativity. We all fall into it, yet when it comes to influencers/content-creators/etc. everyone is quick to judge.
And perhaps I am wrong, but it seems to me that when people talk about "influencers" it is almost always referred to beauty and fashion influencers (e.g. for the majority, women or people who identify as).
In my opinion? Women are always the ones pushing for progress and perhaps there is a way to make these two parts of you live together. if it is something that lit you up then you deserve to have your cake, and eat it too.
D, a long-time fan x
Two things. First, employers really should not be looking at your social media (for a lot of reasons), but most definitely not during hiring. Most employers (I hope?) have social media policies. As long as your social media presence/use is in line with said policy, mainly isn’t interfering with work, and not violating rules of professional conduct, etc. there isn’t really anything “wrong” about it. Whether people think differently of you or “take you less seriously” haunts my brain too and always has. Even before tiktok or IG were what they are today. The farther I get from law school, the less I care what they think. The people who will take you less seriously, probably already do whether or not you post fucking amazing outfits. Second, I know so many lawyer influencers and love them all! just a few off the top of my head doing different stuff on social: Dillon White, Emily Amick, Reb Masel and You! This isn’t to say that it can’t have negative consequences and law school will scare you, but there are practicing attorneys out there with a social media presence. Me included. Embarrassed about it, yes. Then I think, wait there are more embarrassing things! Messing up your billing, being a married equity partner kissing 1st year female associates, male associate asking female associate if her belly is as flat as it was pre kids in the office, crying in court when a service dog comes in looking like your dog who just died. We think as women that we have to present a certain image to be taken seriously when really all we need to do is present our actual self. We aren’t hetero old white men and that’s kind of the point.