Influencer burnout – Creator stress in continuous performance

Influencer burnout, social media stress, creator stress – sounds like buzzwords from the tabloids, doesn’t it? But as a lawyer specializing in influencer law, I experience first-hand how real and serious these problems are in 2024/2025. I advise content creators, YouTubers, streamers and OnlyFans artists – and more and more often it’s not just about marketing and legal issues, but about sheer mental exhaustion. Am I still creative enough? What is the algorithm doing to my reach right now? Can I take a break without disappearing from the face of the earth “relevance-wise”? I hear these questions all the time. Burnout in the creator business is no longer a fringe issue, but a bitter everyday reality in the brave new platform work. And I can no longer remain a neutral observer. In this commentary – yes, it’s pointed, it’s personal – I take you into the abyss behind the shiny scenes of the influencer world. Spoiler: It gets emotional, it gets uncomfortable, and it takes a clear stance. I say: it can’t go on like this.

Always On: New platforms, new social media stress

Source: iStock (symbolic image) – Every new platform promises sparkling opportunities, but often means even more stress for creators.

Do you know the feeling of having to keep one balloon in the air after another? That’s what it feels like for creators when a new platform is hyped every few months. No sooner have you painstakingly built up a following on Instagram than Meta blows up the next one: Threads, the Twitter clone, came along in 2023 – of course, as a forward-thinking creator, you had to be directly present, otherwise you were considered yesterday’s news. Then came the new streaming service Kick, which is competing with Twitch: a paradise for gamers with loose rules and fat profit margins, but at the same time another channel that needs to be played. BeReal wanted to enforce authenticity in 2022/23, a real photo every day – also an additional “to-do” in the creator’s daily schedule (the alarm clock for the daily BeReal photo already causes phantom pains for some). OnlyFans continues to boom, LinkedIn influencing is becoming a phenomenon to be taken seriously (yes, even on LinkedIn people now feel like content creators). In short, anyone working as an influencer or content creator today has a dozen stages that all want to be used at the same time.

The downside: having to be present everywhere creates social media stress. Every new account, every new content strategy frays your nerves. Taking a break? Not a chance. Many creators hardly dare to go offline for a day – the algorithm could punish them. It’s a veritable platform jet: Insta story in the morning, TikTok at lunchtime, LinkedIn post in the afternoon, Twitch stream in the evening and a quick check of the news on OnlyFans before bed. Always on, 24/7. This is how we are breeding a generation that literally burns out in front of their smartphones. Am I exaggerating? Unfortunately not. Studies show that over two thirds of content creators say they have symptoms of burnout. In one survey, for example, 71% of the Instagram influencers questioned reported suffering from burnout stress; for around 66%, burnout even has a direct negative impact on their mental health. These are no longer isolated cases, they are a mass reality.

Algorithmic pressure and the need for constant creativity

Some people still think that the life of an influencer consists of free PR packages and smiling at the camera. Wrong. Behind the scenes, algorithmic pressure is raging. The social media platforms only reward those who constantly deliver content – and mercilessly punish any lull. “The fear of disappearing fuels burnout in a system that constantly demands you feed the feeds,” is how influencer Shira Lazar sums it up. Translated: The fear of disappearing in the flood of content fuels burnout – because the system constantly demands that you “feed the feeds”. There’s no better way to put it.

I see creators who seriously believe that they shouldn’t get sick, that they can’t even go on a weekend trip without their cell phone because their numbers will immediately plummet. Of course, this is not due to any ill will on the part of the individual, but to an invisible driver: the platform algorithms. These beasts want to be constantly fed – otherwise they will spit you out. YouTube, for example, rewards channels that upload as regularly as possible. Instagram’s algorithm penalizes you if you don’t post stories all the time. TikTok… well, TikTok is the algorithm – if you don’t trend here, you disappear. Creators feel this algorithmic breath on their necks. This leads to a compulsion for constant creativity: no normal company would ask its employees to work overtime every day full of creative excellence – but in the creator business, this is exactly the standard. New content every day, new ideas, being “creative at the touch of a button”.

The irony: even the platform insiders know how broken this system is. According to a study, 72% of influencers see the constant platform changes as the main cause of their stress and anxiety. One way today, one way tomorrow – algorithm changes, new formats (hello reels, hello YouTube shorts), changing trends. It’s like being on a hamster wheel that’s constantly spinning faster. And help from the platforms? Not at all. Over half of respondents (54%) said that the resources provided by the platforms were of no help at all – in the case of Instagram, as many as 87% felt that the platform support services were completely inadequate. Is anyone surprised? These companies make money from creators pumping out content until they drop. A rogue who thinks evil.

Social debate: Creators’ mental health at the limit

A few years ago, it was considered taboo to talk about mental health in the creator business. Today, there is a noticeable murmur in the community and even in public. Burnout influencers are suddenly a topic in the major media. More and more sufferers are daring to talk publicly about anxiety disorders, depression, dopamine addiction caused by likes and body image problems. Some do it preventively, others unfortunately only when nothing else works.

I recently read a Wired article about a creator, Jayde Powell, who is mainly active on LinkedIn – yes, LinkedIn, the business platform, there are now influencer careers there too. Jayde was super successful (over 50,000 $ income in the first quarter), but what did she say in the interview? She is already planning to quit social media at 40 because now, in her early 30s, she is already realizing how unhealthy it all is. She wakes up in the morning and the first thing she does is reach for her cell phone – “not really okay”, she says. Constantly staring at screens has given her migraines and she already wears blue light filter glasses. She openly admits: “I’m addicted to social media and the dopamine kick of likes”. How many would honestly say that? This woman goes to therapy every month, and the majority of her sessions revolve around career issues: Burnout, the constant pressure to stay relevant, and shitstorm levels from complete strangers. And here’s the thing: she says that most of her creator friends would like to see a therapist, but many can’t afford it – insecure income, no insurance, you name it. That’s absurd: an industry worth billions, but mental health is considered a luxury problem.

The social debate about Creator Mental Health has gained momentum. Specialized services are even emerging: In the USA, for example, a telehealth therapy service called CreatorCare was launched in 2025, which is aimed specifically at influencers. The fact that something like this is necessary speaks volumes. Its founder – the aforementioned Shira Lazar – is herself an industry veteran and confirms what I observe on a daily basis: the fear of losing relevance is eating away at creatives. The price of constant success is an inner burnout that many initially suppress. But now there are more and more cases of big creators pulling the emergency brake live: Tearful confessions in Instagram stories, YouTubers who go into hiding for months on end, streamers who suddenly announce: “Guys, I can’t do it anymore”. People are finally talking about it – but at what cost? Often only when mental health is at its limit or already beyond it.

Between like-hunger and tiredness of life: practical examples

Let’s take the extreme examples that act like burning glasses. Emily (last name anonymous), mid-20s, streamer on Twitch from the USA. She has achieved a depressing level of fame: Emily has been streaming her entire life around the clock for over three years. Yes, you read that right: every sleep, every birthday, every cold – all live on the internet. When I read that, I had to swallow. This young woman hasn ‘t spent a vacation, a day off or even a night offline for three years. She no longer has any real social contacts, cancels appointments, doesn’t date anyone – her whole life is content. Why do you do that to yourself? Well, Emily really wanted to “make it”. And she has “made it” in the outward sense: thousands pay $5.99 a month to watch her uninterrupted; she makes good money from it. She is a “marathon streamer“, an extreme manifestation of what is considered success today: total authenticity and total perseverance – whatever the cost.

The price? Isolation, loneliness, the threat of burnout. Emily herself posted things like: “Feeling burnout, dead inside, waking up every day at 2pm, the cycle continues :(” on X (Twitter) . She asks into the void: “Do great streamers actually have normal friends?”. What a heartbreaking question! You want to shout at her: “Get out before it destroys you!” But for Emily, the spiral has been going on for a long time. She says she has to stay live so she doesn’t have to think. The constant streaming numbs her fears – a bitter medicine. And the viewers? They still cheer her on. When Emily cracked the 3-year mark, fans created a card online with messages of thanks: she was a “safe place” for so many who felt alone; people came home and her voice was like a warm hug. Imagine that: There’s one sacrificing her mental health on the altar of continuous performance, and thousands applauding because it keeps them company. This is the perverse dialectic of the creator economy: individuals burn themselves out to warm masses of lonely spectators. As a lawyer and a human being, it makes my stomach choke.

Another example from the “real world”: Marcela, almost 60 years old, from Colombia. Not a teenage influencer, but actually a physiotherapist. During the pandemic, she started sharing Pilates exercises on Instagram – with huge success and an audience of millions. She later talked in interviews about what happened to her when she achieved influencer fame virtually overnight. One day, she went into a restaurant hungry, sat down – and couldn’t swallow a bite. “I was chewing and couldn’t swallow – a clear symptom of burnout,” said Marcela. The body was on strike. The woman had literally burnt her fingers on the sudden Fame candle. Dysphagia caused by stress – you have to imagine that. A 60-year-old who teaches others fitness and balance becomes a cautionary tale herself: too much fame, too much pressure, and the body shuts down. Marcela drew conclusions and warned others of the danger of being consumed by the hype. “The effects of sudden success should not be underestimated,” the report says. Truth be told.

Another look at a special creator niche: NSFW content creators on OnlyFans & Co. Many think that these people earn quick money with a few revealing images – but burnout is rampant here too. A blog article on a coaching site for OnlyFans creators vividly described the mental treadmills: Anxiety, depression, burnout – it’s all part of everyday life here too, because you have to perform constantly to keep the fans happy. It’s a never-ending cycle: always offering new hot content, constantly flirting and chatting with paying subscribers, otherwise they will drop out. Many creators report the pressure of always having to show “more” – once you have crossed certain boundaries, many fans immediately expect the next taboo to be broken. Then there are parasocial relationships: Fans quickly confuse money for nude pictures with genuine closeness. Creators feel emotionally drained because they are constantly expected to maintain an illusion of intimacy. And earning money in the “pay-per-view” model can create additional stress: income is directly linked to what fans are willing to pay for your content – existential pressure and creative pressure combine to create a toxic mix. In short: whether you’re a beauty influencer on Instagram, a family vlogger on YouTube, a permanent streamer on Twitch or an erotic performer on OnlyFans – burnout doesn’t stop at any genre. The mechanisms (pressure, expectations, self-exploitation) are frighteningly similar.

Differences between influencer types – and what they have in common

Nevertheless, it is worth taking a look at the differences: classic influencers (fashion, lifestyle, travel on Insta & YouTube) often struggle with the compulsion to create a fair-weather world. Everything has to look perfect, always happy, always product-crazy. This is draining because reality can never keep up. Many start to lead two lives: the Instagram mask and the real person behind it, who is in danger of falling apart.

NSFW creators (OnlyFans etc.) in turn have a particular mental burden: they often operate in secret, out of shame or for self-protection. Few talk openly about their work. As a result, they often lack a social safety net – nobody knows what they are really doing and going through. The stigmatization of erotic work sends its regards. At the same time, some earn very well, which in turn provokes envy and resentment. These creators are under pressure to push boundaries further and further in order to keep paying customers happy – a dangerous game that leaves many of them psychologically isolated in the end.

Streaming creators (Twitch, YouTube Live, Kick) have the special feature of live pressure. Hours-long streams, unpredictable live chats, troll attacks in real time – it’s pure stress. Many streamers report completely broken daily rhythms (streaming at night, sleeping during the day – isolation sends its regards) and that they are afraid of not going live for even one day, because on the Internet any absence is immediately punished with being forgotten. The competition is just a click away. As one well-known Twitch streamer put it: “If I don’t want to stream, I look in the mirror and ask: do you want to make money today or not?” – Cynical, but it shows the pressure. Quite a few streaming stars have spoken publicly about burnout; some go on “indefinite hiatus”, others switch to platforms like Kick, hoping for less pressure there (which often proves to be a fallacy).

And then we have solo freelancers in traditional media professions – journalists, photographers, artists. They also know the pressure to perform, no question. But there are often at least some structures in these traditional fields: collective agreements, professional associations, health insurance, possibly collegial exchanges. A freelance journalist can also burn out, of course – but they are often more aware of the problem, there are (theoretically) instruments such as artists’ social insurance, company doctors in editorial offices or sometimes a trade union workshop on work-life balance. In the creator industry, on the other hand, it’s the Wild West. Everyone fights for themselves, driven by opaque algorithms. There are hardly any established protection networks. Those who are lucky join multi-channel networks or agencies – but they usually think about turnover first, not the health of the talent.

Unfortunately, despite these differences, self-exploitation is the order of the day across all industries. The combination of personal passion (many love what they do), direct feedback (likes, money from fans) and a lack of external boundaries (no boss who locks the office at 6 pm) means that creators voluntarily work until they drop. “Self and constantly” – that old saying of freelancers – applies here in the literal sense. And many realize too late that they need help.

Legal gray areas: Gaps in labor law and bogus self-employment

Now I’ll put on my legal glasses for a moment, but don’t worry, it’s still understandable. The core problem: influencers and creators don’t fit into our existing labor law pigeonholes. There are gaps in employment law protection everywhere. If you are self-employed, for example, working time laws or health and safety regulations do not apply. No maximum working hours, no guaranteed rest breaks, no entitlement to continued payment of wages in the event of illness. That may be okay for the classic freelancer, who is relatively free to decide on his assignments. But in the platform business? This begs the question: are creators really as self-employed as they seem? Or are they often employees in disguise? The term “bogus self-employed content creator” has been doing the rounds for some time now.

In fact, there are indications that some YouTubers could be legally classified as employees – which would have enormous consequences. In an interview in 2019, employment lawyer Thomas Klebe aptly stated that YouTube gives partners very precise guidelines on how their videos should look, monitors compliance in non-transparent procedures and acquires and manages advertising customers itself – all of which argues against YouTubers really acting as independent entrepreneurs. “So there are indications that YouTubers are employees,” concluded Klebe. Wow. Imagine that: YouTubers as employees of Google/Alphabet – with vacation entitlement, sick pay, protection against dismissal. It was even mentioned in the interview: If bogus self-employment were established, YouTube partners could claim vacation entitlements and protection against dismissal, among other things, and YouTube would have to pay social security contributions in arrears. Of course, the industry is fighting tooth and nail against such a view. After all, it would break the current business model.

But the discussion is in full swing. Platform work is the buzzword in politics. This label is actually used to describe gig workers such as Uber drivers or delivery service couriers – but why shouldn’t content creators also be included? At the end of 2024, the EU actually adopted a directive on platform work that aims to uncover precisely this kind of bogus self-employment. The key point is that a legal presumption of employee status will be introduced if certain criteria of control and direction by the platform are met. The burden of proof is reversed – in future, the platform will have to prove that someone is not an employee instead of the creator having to prove that they are one, as was previously the case. This could be a game changer. For many gig platforms (Lieferando and the like), this is a small revolution. Whether it will also apply to influencer platforms such as YouTube, Instagram and TikTok is not yet clear – the definition of “platform work” in the directive includes work on digital platforms in return for payment and using automated decision-making systems. This could also be applied to some creators, as they earn money and are subject to algorithm control. If Germany implements this directive (there is time until 2026), it will be exciting: it is possible that courts will one day find that a top YouTuber, for example, is considered an employee because YouTube exercises too much control (think of all the community guidelines, monetization rules, algorithms – directives through the back door).

Until then, however, we are still legally in the dark. Influencers are currently falling through many cracks. Occupational health and safety? Not applicable, as self-employed. Works council? Doesn’t exist in the one-(wo)man show. Health insurance? Voluntary, expensive. Social insurance? Some are covered by the artists’ social security fund if they can pass as artists/publicists – which at least applies to some YouTubers or Instagrammers. But many others are not, e.g. gamers are not recognized as artists in the traditional sense. And so on. We simply do not yet have tailor-made legal regulations for this professional group.

Another topic: platform responsibility for creator mental health. Up to now, platform operators have acted as if creators were just users and not responsible for their well-being. “YouTube doesn’t force anyone to stream 24/7” – such an argument would probably be put forward. Legally, this is formally correct. But I ask provocatively: if a platform uses its algorithms to create incentives to exploit itself, shouldn’t it also have a duty of care-like responsibility? In traditional companies, there is company health management, there are health and safety laws that would, for example, prohibit someone from working seven days a week. Twitch & Co doesn’t have any of that. Perhaps in the future we will talk about whether large platforms have an obligation to prevent creators from demonstrably suffering damage to their health. Sounds utopian today – but who knows? By way of comparison, the EU Platform Work Directive explicitly prohibits platforms from using certain sensitive data to monitor performance – such as biometric data or data on the emotional or mental state of workers. You can see that an awareness is slowly seeping through that a line needs to be drawn somewhere. Perhaps we will see Twitch display a message saying: “You’ve been streaming for 20 hours, take a break” – similar to how games admonish their players. There are even initial approaches in this direction: YouTube occasionally shows reminders “Time for a break” – but so far only for viewers, not for creators…

Incidentally, the limits of competition law have also been reached: traditional competition law (UWG) only applies if influencers violate labeling requirements or engage in unfair advertising – it protects consumers and fair competition, but not influencers from themselves or the constraints of the market. As long as a creator works overtime voluntarily (albeit under implicit duress) to remain competitive, no UWG judge can intervene. In other words, the system forces the players into a competition to see who can sacrifice more – and the law looks on as long as no law is violated. The competition authorities can only define the outer framework (e.g. prohibit surreptitious advertising), but cannot shut down the hamster wheel itself.

Politics and the industry: initial movements, long construction sites

At least there is some political movement – tentative, but still. In Germany, better social security for solo self-employed people in general has been under discussion for a few years now. The current German government, for example, is planning to introduce compulsory pension provision for the self-employed and to make it easier for solo self-employed people to access statutory health insurance. Of course, this would also affect Creator. It sounds dry, but it is immensely important: many young influencers think about everything but their pension account. If there is an obligation, it will at least ensure that not everyone ends up completely broke.

As described above, the Platform Work Directive was adopted at EU level and is to be implemented by 2026. The European Parliament certainly has the new worlds of work in mind. It is interesting to note: Representatives of creator interests are now also speaking out in the consultations and public hearings. There is, for example, the YouTubers Union (an initiative of YouTubers that cooperates with the German IG Metall trade union). Back in 2019, the union put pressure on Google to be more transparent and fair. Partially successful: although there was no resounding “major victory”, the fact that a union is taking on YouTubers shows that creators are getting organized. Slowly, but still. When the first collective agreements for content creators or collective remuneration models are introduced, exciting times will dawn. Imagine a collective of influencers negotiating fixed rules with YouTube, e.g. maximum “working hours” per week or minimum rates per call – sounds like science fiction, but there have been similar developments in other industries.

In turn, pressure is coming from below in the social debate: Fans and the public are asking more critical questions. The glamor of the influencer life is cracking. There are more and more reports about young talents who have burnt out, and there are discussions about the responsibility of agencies and advertisers. Is it ethical as a brand to demand that a 20-year-old influencer delivers 10 story posts a day for a campaign fee? As a company that advertises with creators, should we make sure that they have humane working conditions? So far, everything has been voluntary, but I’m seeing the first signs of sensitization. Some large agencies now offer their talents mental health coaching or provide psychological counselors. The topic of “creator consulting” is also coming up – in other words, holistic consulting that focuses not only on marketing and reach, but also on the person behind it. I personally always advocate setting boundaries early on in my consulting: A content plan with breaks, digital detox phases and, if necessary, deliberately leaving your reach behind for the sake of your own soul. I’d rather have 5% fewer followers than end up in hospital.

The EU Commission is also keeping an eye on the lack of transparency of platforms: With the Digital Services Act (DSA), stricter rules have applied to large platforms since 2024, which also include risk analyses for impacts on society. Although it does not explicitly mention “creator burnout”, the very large services must examine risks to mental health overall, for example. And the Digital Markets Act (DMA) could at some point impose requirements on monopoly-like platforms that would indirectly help (such as better interoperability – imagine being able to “take your followers with you” to another platform, which would reduce dependency… still a dream of the future).

It is also worth taking a look at the protection of minors: some countries already have special laws for child influencers (France passed a law in 2020 regulating the working hours and income of underage influencers). In Germany, we’re not quite there yet, but the debate is ongoing. Why am I mentioning this? Well, many of today’s full-time creators started at 14 or 15 – without any regulation. Perhaps we are only now realizing how these young people were brought up to be stress junkies during the crucial formative phase. Future laws could, for example, introduce mandatory training for parents of young creators or minimum rest periods similar to normal apprentices. This is still a vision, but I can slowly see outlines on the horizon.

Conclusion: “Something has to change” – and now

I’m writing this commentary in the first person because I can’t talk about it neutrally. I experience the fates behind the accounts. There’s the Instagram influencer who had a nervous breakdown in my lawyer colleague’s office at the age of 22 because the requests for cooperation and the pressure of expectations were getting too much for her. There’s the father of a family and YouTuber who confesses with a bright red head that he hasn’t slept a proper night’s sleep in months for fear of the analytics figures the next morning. Creator burnout is real, damn it, and we – industry, legislators, community – must not leave those affected alone.

As a legal and strategic industry expert, I say clearly: we need new rules and a rethink. Creators need to learn (and possibly be contractually assured) that self-care takes precedence over algorithm leasing. Platforms must create transparency and offer human contact persons instead of leaving everything to the black box algorithms. Agencies and advertising partners should agree realistic deliverables in contracts – nobody needs 15 Insta stories a day, not even a Brand X promotion. And politicians must finally recognize that a growing working class has emerged in the digital economy: solo freelancers, often young, often naively started, now trapped in the hustle. Whether they should be legally classified as employees or given their own protection categories remains to be seen – but doing nothing is not an option.

I personally got into the habit of asking uncomfortable questions in counseling sessions: “How much do you actually sleep? Do you have someone you can confide in? Do those around you know about your stress?” Many creators are surprised when a lawyer asks something like this – but I see it as part of my job. In 2025, legal advice in influencer law also means seeing the person behind the brand. And sometimes the best advice is: “Turn down the deal, you need a break.” Clearly positioned, right? I’d rather be the lawyer who stabilizes a burned-out client than the one who hands him the umpteenth advertising deal.

Dear readers, we are at a turning point. The creator economy has grown up – and with it comes responsibility and maturity tests. Burnout and mental collapse must no longer be dismissed as collateral damage. This is about people, often very young people, who work hard under a glamorous guise – usually without a safety net. Let’s make sure that the year 2025 perhaps goes down in history as a turning point: where the awareness matures that reach is of no use if you lose your own soul over it.

With this in mind: take care of yourselves out there. Success is nothing if your health is at risk. Social media stress is not a sign of individual weakness, but a structural problem of our time. Let’s tackle it – everyone in their own role: as a creator, a follower, an advisor, a legislator. I have never felt it as clearly as I do today: something has to change. And now. Because the next “burnout influencer” is bound to come along – and it could be someone we all like to look at. It would be a shame if we only woke up when it’s too late.

LIBINT: Stay healthy and don’t be afraid to seek help – and ask for it. As your advocate and fellow human being, I promise to have an open ear. Because at the end of the day, we are all just people who want a fulfilling life – and not a hamster wheel, as shiny as it may seem from the outside.