Lousy Food Banished

Remember when working hard actually meant, well… working? You’d clock in, clock out, maybe sneak a biscuit from the tea room, and that was your day. Now, there’s a whole generation of people making six figures sitting in front of a ring light, saying “Hi guys!” while opening PR boxes.

It’s wild.

We’re out here waking up to alarms, sitting in traffic, and eating soggy sandwiches in break rooms, while some 20-year-old on TikTok is getting paid to talk about the aesthetic of staying hydrated. They’re unboxing skincare; I’m unboxing leftovers from last night.

And the best part? They get sent free stuff — just for existing. You name-drop a brand once, and boom, a courier’s at your door with a “gifted” package wrapped better than most weddings. Meanwhile, I’m still chasing AusPost to find my parcel from three weeks ago.

There’s kids out there earning more in a month from Twitch streaming or YouTube unboxing than some people do in a year. Playing video games. Talking. Eating snacks. The rest of us are out here rationing coffee pods and trying to figure out how to make our weekly pay last till Thursday.

Look, I’m not hating on it — good on them. If I could make money reviewing lip balm or showing my “day in the life,” I’d do it too. But no one’s sending me free moisturiser for surviving a twelve-hour shift or making dinner out of freezer scraps. Where’s my #ad deal for managing to not lose my mind at work meetings?

And it’s not even just the big influencers anymore — everyone’s trying to be one. Every café visit has to be filmed, every outfit “linked in bio.” Even dogs have their own accounts now, with better engagement than most small businesses.

The line between job and hobby has fully dissolved. You don’t apply for these jobs; you just… post. Enough. And somehow, you’re an influencer. I post a photo of banana bread, and ten people like it — eight of them are relatives.

But I’ll admit it — part of me’s jealous. I wouldn’t mind being sent PR boxes, sipping iced lattes in my kitchen while talking to “my followers.” The idea of my hardest decision being “what filter should I use” sounds kind of nice.

Still, there’s something grounding about a real job — that quiet pride in doing something solid, even if no one’s clapping for it. Influencers might get free skincare, but I get superannuation and the occasional morning tea. And honestly, that’s worth something.

Maybe one day the world will balance out. Until then, I’ll keep scrolling past #ad posts on my lunch break, wondering if there’s a PR company out there willing to send me a free candle just for turning up to work on time.

Question for the table:

Would you trade your nine-to-five grind for the influencer life — or do you reckon there’s something satisfying about earning it the old-school way?