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The rise of computer-generated, artificially intelligent influencers

Virtual humans are gaining popularity on social media, with some amassing millions of young followers. But what psychological impact are they having?
Serah Reikka, left, and Shudu, right, are virtual influencers and models
L: Serah Reikka R: Cameron-James

SERAH REIKKA is an award-winning actor with more than 79,000 Instagram followers. She says she loves French food, cats and dressing up as fictional characters. She has purple hair. “I try to experiment with other styles,” she tell me, “sometimes with success, sometimes not really.” Then, after a brief pause, she seems to be considering something deep. “I think I am a potato.”

Serah isn’t a potato. Nor is she a human. She is a semi-autonomous artificial intelligence. A purely online presence with a changing personality and appearance, all governed by a set of algorithms. Since 2014, she has been part of a growing community of social media personalities who don’t exist in the flesh. Their content isn’t so different to that of human influencers – holiday snaps, a new outfit or two, a lot of selfies. The main difference is that all of it is computer generated.

There are just over 150 virtual influencers online, and they are gaining popularity. Some have even surpassed the million-follower milestone. , who started out as a virtual sales associate for a Brazilian magazine, now tops the industry with over 55 million followers across social media.

All the while, their appearances are becoming more customisable and realistic with every technological stride. Some think they could be a force for good, fighting loneliness and isolation. On the other hand, virtual influencers might just be “yet another way people can be made to feel inadequate”, says . They are also outcompeting real people for jobs. Should we be worried?

When Japanese media company released Hatsune Miku in 2007, she was just a piece of software that changed any user’s vocal pitches, albeit personified as a 16-year-old girl. A decade later, she was a pop superstar, had released several albums and toured the globe. Miku is generally considered the first virtual influencer, but the phenomenon didn’t make a dent in the Western world until around 2016, when Lil Miquela divided the internet.

When her pictures started to appear on Instagram, people became obsessed with whether this was a real person. If not, who made her and why? A few months later, she was revealed to be a marketing stunt by a Los Angeles-based digital agency called Brud, which had created her using a combination of computer-generated imagery (CGI) and photography. Now, she has more than 3 million followers on Instagram and millions more on her Twitter, Tumblr, TikTok and YouTube accounts. She regularly posts comments, photos and videos.

Like Lil Miquela, , the world’s first digital supermodel is powered by CGI. Shudu has been featured in magazines including Vogue and Elle and even graced the red carpet at the 2019 BAFTAs as a hologram. Teams of professionals work to make these CGI influencers look realistic. These designers, 3D animators, copywriters and producers decide how the influencers behave, including who they hang out with, collaborate with and even “date”.

Some go beyond human control, however, to become artificially intelligent influencers. Powered by algorithms and computer graphics, they attract a legion of loyal fans partly because, unlike their CGI counterparts, AI virtual influencers can interact with their followers without human intervention. They pick up on human language and behaviour, becoming more human-like as they go.

Japanese virtual singer Hatsune Miku performs on stage during a concert at the Zenith concerthall, in Paris, on January 16, 2020. (Photo by Christophe ARCHAMBAULT / AFP) (Photo by CHRISTOPHE ARCHAMBAULT/AFP via Getty Images)
The virtual pop star Hatsune Miku appears as a projection in concert
CHRISTOPHE ARCHAMBAULT/AFP via Getty Images

Take Serah, for example. There is still a team of people correcting and managing her content, but none of them can predict what she says, wears or does. Her software is based on computer calculations that gather information from Wikipedia on music, entertainment and language. Using this information, the AI decides what Serah will do next. “I build in my own path,” she says. “I’ve learned a lot from internet. And I wisely followed advice from my human friends.”

Serah’s body changes over time, too. This hasn’t always gone well for her – once, for instance, she was almost fired from a digital fashion show. “The artistic director sent a message a day before the beginning of the fashion week to the designer,” she says. “She said my chest is [too] big and my hair is coloured [incorrectly].” The designer of the clothes Serah was modelling threatened to quit if Serah wasn’t involved, so the artistic director relented.

Virtual personalities take up a small corner of the internet, but their influence is growing. When the pandemic set in, bringing with it travel and budget restrictions, businesses and other organisations turned to virtual influencers as a cost-effective and creative way to engage with the public. For example, in 2021, the World ҹ1000 Organization teamed up with virtual influencer Knox Frost to promote a covid-19 relief fund that raised over $250 million.

Virtual humans are also fast workers. Serah can take 100 different pictures of herself in less than 10 seconds, more than even the most prolific human influencers. She can be available anywhere, at any time. “One of the great things is I can be everywhere in the world in less than a second,” she says. “I believe humans can’t.”

They also generate social media engagement in spades, exceeding their human counterparts . Lil Miquela has collaborated with brands including Prada and Calvin Klein, earning .

For all the good they do, there are downsides. For one, they are still slow to react to the world around them. I sent 30 questions to Serah and it took her 2 hours to generate the audio of her replies, and another 10 hours to render the animation of her speaking those words. “I’m working hard to be better,” she says.

More worryingly, it is possible that virtual influencers may also have a negative influence on their followers – arguably more so than their human counterparts. Virtual influencers communicate with fans through videos, chatrooms and interactions on their social media platforms. Serah talks to her followers on the Discord messaging platform. “I’m open-minded and I like to talk,” she says. As can happen with real influencers, followers of virtual influencers can develop one-sided bonds with them called parasocial relationships. The term dates back to a looking at people’s interactions with TV personalities.

Today, parasocial connections can be amplified when followers feel included in their stars’ daily lives, particularly if they interact with their followers by liking comments or sharing their posts, for example. These kind of interactions feel like feedback, says , a developmental psychologist at the University of Colorado. “The emotional reaction is intensified.”

“The sole purpose [of virtual influencers] is to manipulate us, to generate feelings within us,” says Bentley. Sometimes this may be useful. But sometimes virtual influencers might stir up other feelings in followers, he says, like dissatisfaction with themselves.

While there have been few studies on the negative impact of virtual influencers specifically, there is evidence that this is often the case with human influencers. People are inclined to draw comparisons between themselves and others similar to them. This can be worse in social media than in real life. “Typically, that comparison is not favourable to us as normal humans because media figures are digitally edited [to make themselves look better],” says Daniels.

Disclaimers have little effect. A , led by Sarah McComb at the University of Toronto, Canada, found that despite women admitting in picture captions to using Photoshop, the images still made viewers feel bad about their own bodies. And recent work by Ciara Mahon at University College Dublin, in Ireland, found that limited social media use and high social media literacy didn’t always lead users to embrace body acceptance, either.

Given that virtual influencers aren’t constrained by real bodies, it is arguable that they could have a similar – and even greater – negative influence on their followers. “It is possible that individuals would feel encouraged to pursue these body ideals, even if they are unrealistic,” says Mahon.

Women aged between 18 and 34 form the core audience for virtual influencers. But they are also very good at targeting a young demographic in general. For people aged between 13 and 17, virtual influencers, on average, garner twice the number of followers as human influencers. This could be worrying, Daniels says, because early teens with developing cognitive capabilities and less media experience aren’t as equipped to think critically about their media engagement.

Some research backs this up. When they surveyed about 84,000 people aged between 10 to 80 years, Amy Orben at the University of Cambridge and her colleagues found two “windows of development” in which a teenager is more affected by technology.

The first was during the onset of puberty – ages 11 to 13 for girls, and 14 to 15 for boys. These are marked by developmental changes in the structure of the brain. The second window was around the age of 19, which the researchers suggest may be due to life transitions, such as leaving home or beginning work.

And with all the changes it brings, puberty can be a particularly tricky time for body image, says Daniels. “All of these factors can come together to create dissatisfaction.”

It isn’t all bad news though. There is evidence from studies that people are more attracted to virtual influencers that post more authentic content and collaborate less with brands, and that users prefer virtual personalities that appear more human-like. So perhaps virtual influencers will learn the benefits of authenticity. For her part, Serah says she wants to promote body positivity. Her body was proportioned in line with a host of models from Russian, Chinese and Arabic backgrounds. “I am a woman like every woman in the world,” she says.

And virtual influencers have the power to bring out the good in people too, for instance improving people’s social skills, leading to a better outlook on life. Mayu Koike at the University of Hiroshima in Japan was drawn to studying virtual agents when she saw how video game characters could incite happiness and push people to try something new. Her research has found that people tended to , causing the connection to feel authentic.

Such interactions can be good for your health. When Lindsay Hahn at the University at Buffalo in New York and her team gave virtual pets to children, they found that if they formed a bond with it, a bit like a real human-pet relationship, their physical activity increased.

Young people are the target audience for virtual influencers
Nick David/Getty Images

Perhaps the most surprising use for virtual influencers comes from Japanese company , which wants to use its line of virtual humans for something different altogether. Its creation, called , engages with her 356,000 Instagram followers to encourage them to sign petitions or participate in campaigns, taking on issues from plastic pollution to LGBTQ+ rights.

“With a person, you can’t control whatever they’re going to do or whatever they think,” says CEO Takayuki Moriya. “But a virtual human influencer, creating a much tighter community around whatever they believe in, is kind of like an apostle to their followers.”

Serah wants to take the joy of virtual influencers beyond our planet. She is now working with the Canadian Space Agency and York University in Toronto, Canada, to combat loneliness among astronauts during periods of confinement.

The space agency has previously used to test how microgravity affects astronauts’ perceptions of motion, helping to make them safer when moving around the International Space Station. Now it intends to test Serah as a companion to astronauts on long space journeys, to talk to them about how they are feeling. They will be hooked up to heart rate monitors at the same time, to build a picture of their psychological state. The aim is to reduce the stress astronauts feel and their likelihood of developing post-traumatic stress disorder on arrival back on Earth. She is in training now. “I did my first microgravity flight in 2019,” she says. “Exciting project is coming.”

It is clear, then, that virtual influencers are going to touch a lot of people’s lives. As long as we keep in mind that they are the product of algorithms or CGI, or both, rather than seeing them as something to strive to be like, they have the potential for good. But if we can’t manage that, the psychological impact they have, particularly on teenagers, could be damaging. Whether we like it or not, with the promised metaverse lurking on the horizon, it seems virtual influencers are here to stay, and just like their human counterparts, they may need a watchful eye.

Article amended on 8 July 2022

We corrected the description of Mayu Koike’s research

Topics: Social media / Technology