The Power of "Real Influence"

The future of social commerce is way bigger than #NYCinfluencers

If TikTok had a gossip column, last week’s headline would have read something like: “All NYC Influencers Are Starting to Look the Same.” If you’re on the NYC + fashion girlie side of TikTok, you know exactly what I’m talking about. My feed was flooded with videos dissecting a Big Apple phenomenon: the aspirational NYC girl aesthetic that’s so formulaic you could spot it from a mile away.

The consensus? They’re all carbon copies carrying matcha lattes. Some pointed to behind-the-scenes architects of this phenomenon, like social strategy firms (Ponte being name-dropped the most) that are said to curate these influencer personas, shaping what a certain slice of New York looks like online. It’s as if a group of stylish millennials all got handed the same script for the “perfect NYC life” and hit “record” on their phones.

As the founder of a fashion-tech startup (rodeo) and an avid observer of digital culture, I watched this saga with equal parts amusement and intrigue. Was New York’s famously eclectic style scene really being reduced to an army of look-alike content creators? I couldn’t help but channel my inner Carrie Bradshaw and wonder: In a city of 8 million people, how did personal style end up feeling like a copy-paste job?

The commentary was harsh, but I couldn’t help but laugh at how undeniably true some of it was. Yet, I found myself not taking sides. The trend of cookie-cutter influencers is easy to criticize, but I know there’s more to the story. But instead of jumping into the influencer discourse, let’s zoom out and talk about what this means for real influence—and how real influence sparked an idea that became Rodeo.

The frustration people voiced—the monotony of their feeds—is exactly why Rodeo champions diversity in influence. We’re not here to knock anyone’s hustle (hey, those polished NYC influencers work hard!), but we are here to offer an alternative.

Pandemic in Pajamas: My Accidental Influencer Moment

Rewind to 2020. New York City’s streets were eerily empty, and I headed down to South Carolina to quarantine with my parents, brothers, and pregnant sister-in-law — a move that certainly wasn’t on my 2020 BINGO card. I was living in sweatpants and uncertainty — and way too many people trying to hold Zoom calls under one roof.

At the time, I was seven years into a career at Ralph Lauren, a job I had once dreamed about but now found myself questioning. With the world on pause, I—like many—felt at a crossroads.

For fun (and frankly, for sanity), I started posting on TikTok. My content…? Lighthearted, self-deprecating humor—a mix of poking fun at my work-from-home fashion choices (business on the top, pajama pants on the bottom) and musing about my “new normal”. It was candid, playful, and, at first, just meant to entertain myself.

But then, something unexpected happened. My videos started gaining traction. I had 30,000 followers in a few months. Apparently, my quarter-life crisis was more relatable than I thought. Women from all over engaged with my content—not because I was an influencer, but because they saw themselves in my story. Some were at similar crossroads in their careers, some were simply enjoying the humor, and some were just there for the outfits.

The GAP No One Was Talking About

At first, I didn’t think much of it. Then, I started noticing a pattern in the comments:

“Obsessed with that sweater, where is it from?”

“Drop the link for those sunnies!”

“I need that dress—where can I buy it?”

Ironically, I wasn’t doing outfit-of-the-day posts and I definitely wasn’t part of the NYC influencer circuit getting gifted Alo workout sets. But suddenly, people wanted to shop my COVID looks (surprising, right?).

I quickly realized something strange: there was no easy way for me to share what I was wearing and where to buy it—at least not without jumping through hoops. Unlike traditional influencers, I didn’t have an affiliate storefront and adding a link to your Instagram story was a feature only available to people with over 10,000 followers. My immediate solution? Here’s the brand, try Google. Not exactly a frictionless shopping experience.

But then it hit me—this wasn’t just my problem. I started seeing unanswered “where can I buy that” comments littered across social media.

Despite billions of dollars flowing through influencer marketing, shopping from real people—people who aren’t full-time influencers—was surprisingly difficult. If you weren’t a paid creator or an affiliate marketer, you were left out of the loop, even if your content was inspiring purchases.

Why? Because the platforms that existed in 2020 weren’t built for people like me—or for the millions of creatives, stylists, photographers, designers, and multi-hyphenates who have real influence, just not the influencer title.

This realization set off a chain reaction in my mind. Why should sharing product recommendations be limited to the chosen few? Isn’t everyone’s favorite influencer their best friend?

Trading Ralph Lauren for Rodeo

Fueled by this idea, I made the scariest decision of my life. I left my job at Ralph Lauren after seven years. At 31, when most of my peers were doubling down on career security, I decided to leap into a whole new set of unknowns and build the platform I wished existed. I applied to business schools with my vision for Rodeo—a name inspired by Rodeo Drive (and the phrase this ain’t my first rodeo).

I envisioned a new kind of shopping destination, powered by real people, real recommendations, and culture-led commerce. A place where you could scroll through curated content—from a celebrity stylist’s favorite vintage finds to a teacher’s go-to sneakers—and instantly shop without ever leaving the app.

The Future of Social Commerce is Bigger Than Influencers

Fast forward to today, and that “idea” is now a real platform: Rodeo, the next great shopping destination, where culture fuels commerce and real recommendations from real people drive discovery. Rodeo joined Andreessen Horowitz’s Talent x Opportunity Initiative to accelerate the momentum 7 months after launching our app. And now, thanks to tailwinds like #TikTokban and general sentiment towards #NYCinfluencers, we’re growing fast.

Watching the recent TikTok debate about look-alike NYC influencers, I felt a reaffirmation of Rodeo’s mission. The frustration people voiced — that sense of monotony in their feeds — is exactly why we built Rodeo to celebrate difference and authenticity. We’re not here to knock anyone’s hustle (hey, those polished NYC influencer gals work hard at their craft, and we’d love to welcome them into the Rodeo community!). But we are here to offer an alternative: a place where inspiration comes from all corners, not just the same handful of influencers. Where your favorite trendsetter might be a small-town photographer or a stylish dermatologist or gasp, someone with under 1,000 followers who just has amazing taste.

Our community is made up of exactly those multi-hyphenate, passionate, influential people I dreamed about. On Rodeo, you might find a celebrity stylist’s picks for best vintage denim right alongside a school teacher’s list of favorite comfy shoes for the classroom. You’ll see an up-and-coming artist’s mood board of things that inspire them, next to a finance exec’s curated collection of power blazers she swears by. The content is diverse and vibrant, but it all shares one thing: genuine enthusiasm and credibility. And if you get inspired by something, you can shop it right then and there, through the platform, seamlessly. Content into commerce, in one place – no clones, no carbon copies, just personal style coming to life in a shoppable way.

In the end, the TikTok “clone wars” conversation isn’t really about pointing fingers – it’s about a desire for originality and trust in who we follow. And that’s what I want Rodeo to champion. I believe the future of social commerce isn’t about churning out more influencer carbon copies; it’s about empowering the true diversity of voices and styles that are out there. It’s about making it easy for any person who loves something to share it, and for any person who sees it to get it – no insider status required.

So I guess I share all this to say, I’m #grateful for the winding path that led me from pandemic TikToks to founding Rodeo, and grateful for the community of real influencers – the kind that don’t always fit the mold – who inspire me daily. In a city and an internet full of look-alikes, there’s nothing more powerful than being true to yourself and lifting up others who do the same.

Because the future of shopping isn’t about who has the biggest following. It’s about people with great taste, interesting POVs, quirky humor—

And that’s a rodeo worth seeing… over and over again.

But don’t take it from me. join the rodeo