When Andy Sachs sat through her first Runway run-through, viewers didn’t just learn what shade cerulean was. They learned how deeply magazines shaped culture—even for the most fashion-averse. Gesturing at Sachs’ seemingly style-exempt blue sweater, Miranda Priestley says: “It’s sort of comical how you think that you’ve made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you’re wearing a sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room. From a pile of ‘stuff.’”
Once upon a time, influence in media had a clear address: the editor’s desk. Anna Wintour standardized the mix of couture and fast fashion. Franca Sozzani emphasized fashion as a vehicle for cultural commentary. The local Preview magazine, since its inception, has been promoting body positivity. The term ‘influencer’ (not to mention the less sexy ‘Key Opinion Leader’) might have become a dirty word for some, but one can’t argue that editors were the original influencers. With mastheads as their megaphones, they didn’t just report on trends, they set them and shaped traditions.
Then social media happened. You no longer needed a glossy title or a powerful publisher to spread your opinion. A phone camera and perhaps a certain kind of charm were enough. Discovery and critique, once guarded by gatekeepers, became open-source. Anyone could build an audience. And if you were good, that audience could become scalable and monetizable.
This isn’t a story of how blogging platforms and Instagram disrupted journalism. That much is obvious. This is about how the very measurement of influence has shifted the media economy. What was once a hierarchy has become a convergence, raising the question of what authority means in an era when a viral TikTok can sway taste as powerfully as a glossy September issue.
A Different Kind of Influence
Like many of the beauty and fashion editors from her generation, Belle Rodolfo joined the fashion magazine industry thanks to the likes of the endlessly referenced The Devil Wears Prada and How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. As a Creative Writing student in university, she manifested that she would become an editor at Preview magazine—a dream that would become fact in a few short years, first as an editorial assistant and then as an associate beauty editor.
It was the early 2010s, the height of Instagram’s first wave. Preview, long a cultural bellwether, expected its team to live the brand both online and off. “We were encouraged to engage in social media and to come to work na naka-outfit talaga (looking fashionable), and to go out and mingle with everybody in the industry,” Rodolfo recalls. The mandate was simple: Be visible. Even then, she built a respectable following—“3,000 followers,” she shrugs off with a laugh—proof that presence, not yet strategy, dictated your online authority.
When she became the beauty editor of L’Officiel Manila, TikTok was just blowing up, and she explained to her bosses the need to join in on the platform. By then, editors were no longer letters on a byline. They were facing the camera, becoming more public personalities themselves.
After suffering from pandemic burnout and with the encouragement of her friends and yoga teacher, Rodolfo decided to strike out on her own. Having grown up in an environment where journalists were supposed to stay in the background, Rodolfo’s earlier videos showed her naturally reserved demeanor. But after someone told her to “get over herself,” she went from timidly swatching makeup on her arms to offering fashion advice, publishing workout tips, and even sharing snippets of her personal life. Currently, she has 178.7K followers and 11.4 million Likes on TikTok. She has become a host and gave a TED Talk on how social media democratized beauty and challenged traditional media to let real women, not editors, define beauty.
This trajectory is similar for Bianca Alecxis, more known in the beauty circles as Bianca the Beauty Nerd. A former Candy Magazine and Cosmopolitan editor, the introspection that came with the pandemic pushed her to fulfill her dream of creating content and being in front of the camera.
“I started with YouTube, actually. I loved being able to talk for a long period of time, and really expound on things,” she explains. “I liked going on and on about ingredients in my reviews, explaining why a product worked well by breaking things down to a chemical level.” The process, she admits, was exhausting. The setting up and editing usually assigned to an entire production house, she was doing by herself.
Quickly, she found herself on TikTok. Once soft-spoken as an editor, she found herself dancing along to the memes. “Like most platforms, it evolved and became more dimensional,” Bianca Alecxis says. “When more and more Filipinos got on the app and showed interest in beauty, I decided to hop on because it was fun.”
And that clinched the deal. It was more fun. When Rodolfo dove into TikTok to represent her magazine, she had to make sure to embody the brand, no matter how she felt. When she became a full-time creator, she realized one thing: It’s not too deep.
“You can be more candid and more honest and just more casual there,” Rodolfo says.
The Journalism Edge
A while back, you needed an institution to boost your credibility. However, some people could become bigger than the brands they represented. For example, industry veterans Agoo Benzon, Myrza Sison, and, of course, Liz Uy, who have built their credibility through magazines, have long stepped out of the pages and built their own following. Uy’s fashion and lifestyle posts have earned her over 1.4 million followers on Instagram and 53.4K followers on TikTok. Social media has only managed to make creating a platform much easier.
Though social media has broken the walls of sharing and receiving information, not all creators are equal. After all, some are telling their followers to drink chlorophyll and use potatoes to treat acne. The value of expertise adds weight to experience.
Rodolfo believes that her time as a journalist added to her reputation. “My experience and work background have given me a leg up… I already built the network of connections in the beauty industry, and I was already being invited to events,” she says. “So it was a seamless integration.”
“I don’t know if I would make it if I started from scratch. You know what they say, everything happens at the perfect time. Because if I did this… if I jumped in five years ago, it would have been a bit different. I wouldn’t have been able to come from the point of view of being an ‘industry expert’… I wouldn’t bring that point of view to the table, and that’s the beauty of it.”
As for Bianca Alecxis, she knows that many may still see influencers with less authority, but it’s also more personal, which has a different appeal. Her stint at Cosmopolitan trained her to interview and investigate the science, reporting the chemistry of beauty products and how this ingredient affected this and that. “I knew I had to come from a place of authority, but now it’s much more personal,” she says. “Maybe it’s less authoritative, but now the recommendations are more niche.”
What’s changed is the direction of influence. Where it was once a top-down approach—editors setting the agenda for a captive audience—it’s now more grassroots. Creators go where the audience already is, shaping content around a demand for personalization and relatability.
What Connection Means in 2025
A writer, editor, or producer turning into a content creator? For Rodolfo, it’s simply the natural evolution for anyone who wants to tell stories. “It feels like a different ball game, but you’re equipped with the same tools,” she says. After all, editors were the original influencers.
What’s changed is the direction of influence. Where it was once a top-down approach—editors setting the agenda for a captive audience—it’s now more grassroots. Creators go where the audience already is, shaping content around a demand for personalization and relatability.
That’s also why name recognition matters. In a landscape where social media is the main channel of information, legacy media has to meet audiences on their turf. “Younger people don’t even know what it’s like to read a magazine every month. They might not even be able to find you. To stay relevant, you have to connect with them where they are—and that’s online,” Rodolfo explains.
The Demand for ‘Influence’
While the collapse of traditional gatekeeping has kicked doors open, it’s also triggered debate, Who gets the invite? Not so long ago, bloggers were on the sidelines during product launches. Now they’re sitting front row in fashion week. Who has the authority? Is authority even necessary? Emily in Paris captures this shift in fiction: Emily lands a prestigious Paris posting not because of years of editorial seniority but because of circumstance—and later, her instinct for viral content.
Like many influencers today, she ‘bypasses’ the traditional climb and asserts authority through audience reach rather than institutional title, raising the same question the industry is now grappling with: in a blurred landscape, what truly legitimizes influence?
This is an era where influence is currency, and the more progressive media companies have come to accept, if not embrace it. Chiara Ferragni has served as a guest editor in Vogue España; Heart Evangelista for Harper’s Bazaar Singapore. Bryanboy is editor-in-chief of Perfect Magazine. Emily Weiss transformed Into the Gloss into an entire media and beauty empire. AGC Power Holdings Corp. hired designer and tastemaker Bea Valdes to helm Vogue Philippines, supermodel Rissa Mananquil Trillo for Allure Philippines, and content creator Ayn Bernos for Nylon Philippines (she exited the title in 2023).
When Valdes was unveiled as editor-in-chief to the surprise of many, AGC chair and CEO Archie Carrasco explained, “Bea Valdes is immersed in the world of fashion and equipped with a widespread knowledge of the industry’s needs and constraints. As a creative, she can produce narratives through the lens of style; and as a leader, she is keen on spotting new and emerging talents.”
More and more, people are taking a more personal approach in receiving stories. What matters is what resonates with them. What makes them feel seen. What makes them feel relevant and beautiful and confident. Whether it’s through 30-second clips on TikTok or via a global magazine
Now editors and influencers occupy the same front rows, share the same brand deals, and even swap job titles. The line between them has blurred to the point of irrelevance—though we have to be careful about the types of influencers we’re talking about. Both curate, both frame narratives, both sell aspiration. But what separates them isn’t the masthead or the follower count; it’s weight. The ability to move culture, not just content.
Now that credibility is as fragile as the next algorithm change, the real currency is trust. That, more than a title or a viral post, is what keeps influence from being fleeting. And what will determine who still molds culture tomorrow.
