The Brief.

The business of content.

Category: Creator Economy

  • How LGBTQ+ Creators Are Building Sustainable Brands in the Creator Economy

    How LGBTQ+ Creators Are Building Sustainable Brands in the Creator Economy

    Every June, the internet undergoes its annual rainbow transformation. Brands switch their logos, campaigns promise inclusion, and LGBTQ+ creators find their inboxes swelling with short-term offers. Pride has become both a cultural touchstone and a commercial cycle — one that can offer queer talent a moment in the spotlight but rarely a seat at the table.

    The problem isn’t visibility. It’s what happens to that visibility once the calendar flips to July.

    For many queer creators, this seasonal surge is a double-edged sword: welcome exposure wrapped in structural fragility. Pride Month may open the door to new audiences and brand collaborations, but it often does little to address the underlying instability of the creator economy — particularly for communities historically sidelined from its rewards.

    Sustainable creative work requires more than a seasonal invitation. It requires ownership, strategy, and infrastructure.

    A fragile spotlight

    The commercialisation of Pride has created a predictable rhythm. From mid-May to early July, brand budgets open up. Sponsored posts rise. Queer creators are booked for panels, features, and partnerships that promise to “celebrate diversity.” And then — almost as if by script — the emails slow down, the campaigns dry up, and attention drifts elsewhere.

    This annual boom-and-bust cycle leaves many creators trapped between hyper-visibility and neglect. It’s not just emotionally disorienting; it’s financially precarious. Campaigns are short-term, rates are often inconsistent, and visibility is typically built on borrowed platforms that don’t guarantee retention once the algorithm moves on.

    Several LGBTQ+ creators have described this moment as a “sugar high” — a burst of opportunity without the infrastructure to sustain it. For those without long-term audience strategies, the come-down can be brutal: metrics collapse, income dips, and creative momentum is interrupted.

    M&S’s limited-edition “LGBT” sandwich, a 2019 Pride stunt mocked for turning identity into a pun rather than offering real support.

    Platforms don’t owe permanence

    Social media has always been volatile terrain, but queer creators often face additional friction: shadowbanning, content moderation biases, and advertiser “brand safety” filters that penalise words, images, and identities. This is especially visible on Instagram and TikTok, where LGBTQ+ content is frequently demoted or flagged.

    Depending on seasonal marketing pushes makes creators vulnerable to forces they can’t control — algorithms, ad budgets, or shifting cultural winds. That’s why more queer creators are moving to models that prioritise direct audience ownership.

    Platforms like Substack and Beehiiv have become vital tools: not glamorous, but powerful. Email lists don’t vanish when hashtags fall out of trend. Subscription platforms such as Patreon or OnlyFans give creators predictable monthly income and the ability to define their communities on their own terms. Private Discord servers, Signal groups, and forums are becoming modern queer salons: spaces where creators and audiences connect without platform mediation.

    What’s happening here isn’t just diversification — it’s insulation. By owning the means of connection, creators reduce the damage when algorithms shift or Pride campaigns disappear.

    Jeffrey Marsh is a nonbinary creator and author who built a strong personal development niche through short-form video and books, they continue to build their personal brand through content education, speaking engagements and Patreon among other revenue streams.

    Diversifying income streams

    For creators, sustainable business models are rarely built on a single revenue source. Among queer talent who’ve managed to create stable income, certain patterns recur:

    • Direct subscriptions that provide a baseline of recurring revenue.
    • Digital products and merchandise that turn personal aesthetics or expertise into tangible assets.
    • Strategic brand partnerships negotiated year-round, not concentrated in June.
    • Workshops, live events, or performances that expand the relationship beyond the screen.
    • Consulting or creative direction that leverages personal branding into external opportunities.

    This layered structure is a hedge against volatility. It ensures that when one stream falters — whether that’s a platform policy change or the post-Pride marketing slump — another can pick up the slack.

    Importantly, these creators treat their work less like a campaign calendar and more like a publishing strategy. They understand what their audience values, how to deliver it consistently, and how to own as much of that delivery mechanism as possible.

    Bimini Bon-Boulash’s CBD lube is an uncompromising success story in the queer creator economy

    Branding without compromise

    Tokenization remains a persistent challenge. Many LGBTQ+ creators are offered opportunities framed around their identity rather than their craft. That dynamic can distort career trajectories: the work becomes secondary to representation, and creators are treated as seasonal symbols rather than fully formed talents.

    Long-term branding means reversing that hierarchy. It means treating identity as context, not commodity. Queer creators increasingly choose to collaborate with partners whose values align with their communities year-round — not just when rainbow logos trend. They set terms, build their own media ecosystems, and use seasonal campaigns as leverage rather than lifelines.

    This isn’t about turning down visibility. It’s about refusing to let visibility define the perimeter of their work.

    Case Studies: Queer Creators Redefining Independence

    A growing number of LGBTQ+ creators are proving that creative control and commercial success aren’t mutually exclusive. Across media, fashion, and publishing, they’re demonstrating that independence — not token visibility — is the foundation of a lasting career.

    Alok Vaid-Menon

    Alok Vaid-Menon, the writer and performance artist, has built a multifaceted brand that spans books, global speaking tours, and fashion collaborations. Their audience follows them not just for activism, but for perspective and style — an example of how thought leadership can function as a business model.

    Chella Man, the artist and filmmaker, blends queer and disability representation into a visual identity that extends from art installations to major brand work. By maintaining creative direction over every project, they’ve turned lived experience into both cultural and financial capital.

    Chris Olsen represents a new generation of digital-native LGBTQ+ entrepreneurs. What began as short-form humour on TikTok has evolved into a lifestyle brand anchored by Flight Fuel, his coffee company — a case study in how personality-led content can move from algorithm to product.

    In the adult and independent film space, Erika Lust has built a self-sustaining creative ecosystem through ErikaLust.com and LustCinema.com, showing how ethical, sex-positive storytelling can thrive on a subscription model. It’s an approach rooted in direct relationships with audiences, not dependency on ad-based platforms.

    Each of these creators operates with a similar blueprint: diversify income, retain rights, and build community around authentic work rather than opportunistic representation. Together, they illustrate what a mature queer creator economy looks like — one defined by ownership and longevity rather than seasonal relevance.

    Salsa Queer by Erika Lust

    Community over virality

    Another defining trait of sustainable queer creator brands is their orientation toward community rather than mass reach. Large platforms promise viral moments but rarely deliver loyal audiences. Newsletters, closed groups, and paid memberships may produce smaller numbers, but they foster deeper engagement, more stable income, and creative freedom.

    Queer creators have long been skilled at building alternative networks — a survival strategy born of exclusion. That same instinct is now becoming a blueprint for resilient digital business models.

    Playing the long game

    Building a queer creator brand that lasts requires a deliberate shift in perspective: away from seasonal visibility, toward ownership and autonomy. Pride Month can offer a platform, but what matters most is what creators build after the campaigns end.

    The most durable queer creator brands operate like independent media companies: they own their audience relationships, distribute on multiple channels, diversify revenue, and protect their creative voice. They understand the cycle — and they prepare for it.

    The rainbow logos will fade each July. The work that remains is what counts.

    🔑 Key Takeaways: Building Sustainable LGBTQ+ Creator Brands

    • Don’t rely on Pride Month visibility. Treat seasonal campaigns as bonus exposure, not your foundation.
    • Own your audience data. Email lists, subscriptions, and private communities are long-term assets.
    • Diversify revenue. Combine recurring subscriptions, products, partnerships, and live experiences.
    • Build partnerships with alignment. Choose brands that reflect your values and audience all year.
    • Prioritise community. Deep engagement beats fleeting virality every time.
    • Think like a publisher. Consistency, ownership, and autonomy define sustainability in the creator economy.
  • From Bedroom Mirror to Boardroom

    From Bedroom Mirror to Boardroom

    How a generation of young women are transforming mirror selfies and ‘GRWM’ videos into fully fledged fashion and beauty businesses.

    Scroll through Instagram on any given morning and you’ll see it: a softly lit bedroom, a girl in front of a mirror, phone tilted just so. It’s a scene so familiar it barely registers. But beneath that simplicity lies a complex and increasingly powerful engine of commerce — one that’s reshaping how style moves from personal expression to marketable brand.

    What used to be dismissed as vanity posting has become a launchpad. Mirror selfies, ‘get ready with me’ videos, and low-stakes styling clips are now early-stage branding exercises for a growing class of young female creators building empires out of their bedrooms.

    Emma Chamberlain

    Aesthetic as strategy

    The early influencer economy rewarded scale: glossy sponsored posts, aspirational trips, and big follower counts. Today, the power is shifting. Smaller, tightly defined communities — often built around one girl’s wardrobe, routine, or beauty rituals — drive more targeted engagement than mass-market celebrity campaigns ever could.

    Look at creators like Matilda Djerf. What began as an Instagram feed of hair tutorials and mirror outfits grew into Djerf Avenue, a multimillion-dollar fashion label worn by girls from Stockholm to Seoul. Her brand didn’t emerge from a boardroom brainstorm; it was built post by post, over years, by cultivating a personal aesthetic that felt both intimate and aspirational.

    Then there’s Emma Chamberlain, whose offhand personal style — thrifted vintage, hoodies, half-buttoned shirts — redefined what “influence” could look like. She parlayed that identity into Chamberlain Coffee, a brand that mirrors her irreverent, slightly chaotic persona. Her image didn’t follow a marketing plan. It was the marketing plan.

    Nitsan Raiter

    From personal taste to intellectual property

    This is the crucial shift: taste, once a soft asset, is now hard currency. A mirror selfie isn’t just documentation; it’s an early-stage product test. Affiliate links and soft drops allow creators to measure demand before manufacturing at scale. Brands follow their audiences rather than the other way around.

    In 2024, affiliate revenue among female fashion and beauty influencers on Instagram and TikTok grew by over 40%, according to data from Lyst. Smaller creators — typically those with 10–100k followers — consistently outperform larger influencers on conversion rates. It’s not about reach anymore; it’s about resonance.

    A new generation of founders understands this intuitively. Nitsan Raiter, for example, built her beauty brand Mind Your Skin not from glossy campaign shoots, but through years of sharing her personal skincare routine on Instagram Stories. By the time she launched, she had a built-in customer base who trusted her taste because they’d watched her evolve it in real time.

    The rise of the one-woman brand

    In practical terms, many of these businesses begin almost accidentally. A creator posts a thrift haul or a handmade jewellery drop. The response is immediate. DMs turn into orders. Orders turn into spreadsheets. Within a year, she’s negotiating with suppliers in Portugal or fulfillment partners in Los Angeles.

    But behind the casual tone lies a shrewd understanding of audience behaviour. The most successful fashion and beauty creators don’t try to reach everyone. They speak directly to a niche group — often young women who share not just a style, but a worldview. Their drops sell out not because they’re aggressively marketed, but because they feel personal.

    This intimacy is strategic. A “drop” on Instagram becomes a focus group. A mirror outfit post functions as pre-launch hype. It’s a loop that bypasses traditional advertising altogether.

    Camille Charrière

    The shifting power balance with legacy brands

    Legacy fashion and beauty houses have noticed. Where they once dictated trends, they now court them. Instead of sponsoring campaigns, they collaborate with individual creators who command small but fiercely loyal audiences.

    “Micro-creators can move product faster than some of our mid-tier retail campaigns,” says a marketing director at a major beauty label (who asked not to be named discussing strategy). “When their followers trust their taste, they don’t need convincing. They just buy.”

    This dynamic has tilted the balance of power. It’s no longer unusual to see a 23-year-old influencer with a home studio out-performing global fashion brands on product sell-through — with a fraction of the overhead.

    The cost of being the product

    But with power comes exposure. When your face, body, or personal taste is the brand, the line between professional and personal can collapse. Creators face intense pressure to maintain an image that isn’t just flattering but commercially viable. Burnout, parasocial scrutiny, and the demand to “stay on trend” all factor into this new model of entrepreneurship.

    Some influencers have responded by building teams earlier: bringing in managers, accountants, even production partners to professionalise their operations. Others are more protective, keeping things intentionally small to preserve their autonomy.

    This isn’t just a story about cute outfits and morning routines. It’s a story about a new kind of business built at the intersection of aesthetics, intimacy, and commerce.

    From mirror to empire

    In many ways, the mirror is the new boardroom. What looks like personal style is often structured strategy. A girl filming a GRWM in her bedroom might be soft-launching a beauty line. A thrift haul could be a mood board for a future label.

    The playbook is being written in real time, one outfit at a time — and young women are at the centre of it.

  • What Creators Can Learn from OnlyFans

    What Creators Can Learn from OnlyFans

    How a platform often dismissed for its adult content quietly perfected the direct-to-audience model.

    For years, tech companies have been trying to build the perfect creator platform. Subscription buttons, tipping systems, new algorithms, endless talk about “empowerment.” Meanwhile, one company quietly got it right — not through innovation theatre, but through a blunt, workable model.

    OnlyFans didn’t reinvent the internet. It removed the noise. It gave creators a way to build direct relationships, set their own price, and get paid without having to beg an algorithm for scraps. That’s the part most of the tech world still doesn’t want to admit.

    Visibility isn’t a lottery

    Most platforms keep creators on a leash. Reach depends on engagement spikes, algorithm shifts, and whether your content fits the current flavour of the week. OnlyFans works on a simpler premise: if someone pays to follow you, they see what you post. Every time.

    No games. No disappearing reach. No paid boosts. That kind of predictability is rare online, and it gives creators actual control over their audience.

    Small numbers can pay the bills

    The traditional internet economy fetishises reach. OnlyFans rewards loyalty. A creator with a few hundred subscribers can out-earn someone with a massive following elsewhere.

    Five hundred subscribers at $10 a month is $5,000 in predictable income — without chasing viral moments, brand deals, or platform bonuses. That’s a steady business, not a gamble on attention.

    Access is the hook

    The product isn’t just the content. It’s the closeness. Subscribers pay because they get direct contact — messages answered, attention returned. That kind of proximity is rare on the big ad-driven networks, and it’s what turns casual followers into paying supporters.

    It’s not romantic or sentimental; it’s structural. Intimacy, when managed well, scales better than reach.

    Niche beats noise

    Creators are often told to go broad — reach more people, post everywhere, get bigger. OnlyFans proves that narrow works. A well-defined niche with a loyal base can outperform a massive but passive audience.

    This is the part most “creator tools” miss: focus is an asset, not a limitation. The sharper the niche, the more direct the connection, the stronger the revenue.

    Power stays with the creator

    The platform doesn’t own the pricing. It doesn’t decide who sees what. It doesn’t shuffle creators through an opaque feed designed to keep them on a hamster wheel. OnlyFans hands over the controls and gets out of the way.

    For creators burned out by the churn of attention-based platforms, that control isn’t a perk — it’s the entire point.

    Lessons worth taking

    You don’t need to be on OnlyFans to borrow its playbook. The structure — not the content — is what works. Substack proved the model with newsletters; OnlyFans applied it to everything else.

    • Build a direct line to your audience.
    • Prioritise recurring revenue.
    • Keep control of pricing and delivery.
    • Focus on loyal niches, not big numbers.
    • Offer real access, not algorithmic crumbs.

    The rest of the industry is still over-engineering solutions to problems OnlyFans quietly solved years ago. Creators looking to build sustainable work don’t need another platform chasing buzzwords. They need a model that works. This one already does.