There was a time—not long ago—when having a degree, years of experience, and a peer-reviewed body of work meant something. When we turned to doctors for medical advice, climatologists for climate science, and historians to explain history. Now? We’re in an age where a TikToker with a ring light and a well-timed lip sync can tell you how to treat your autoimmune disease using celery juice and “vibrational energy.”
Welcome to the era of the algorithm—the slow erosion of expertise, one viral sound bite at a time.
I don’t mean to sound like the guy yelling at clouds, but damn it, I worked in nursing administration for years. I’ve sat through death audits, quality assurance meetings, medication management reviews. That’s not something you pick up because your aesthetic matches the inside of a Whole Foods. And yet, I’ve watched actual nurses get dismissed while someone’s cousin’s favorite lifestyle coach goes viral for saying sunscreen causes cancer. (Spoiler: It doesn’t. Skin cancer does.)
The problem isn’t just ignorance—it’s manufactured doubt. We live in a landscape where trust in institutions has been so thoroughly destabilized that even good-faith experts are lumped in with every failed politician, pharma scandal, and late-night infomercial. That distrust didn’t come out of nowhere. Corruption exists. Elitism exists. Gatekeeping has been real. But instead of reforming institutions, we’ve started rejecting the entire concept of expertise.
And who filled the vacuum? Influencers.
Don’t get me wrong, I love a good product review or a Get Ready With Me video. But when the same person who’s selling hair gummies suddenly starts dissecting vaccine trials or claiming the CDC is in bed with lizard people, it’s time to log out. We’ve confused visibility with credibility. Followers became a stand-in for qualifications. And with that shift, misinformation didn’t just get louder—it got prettier.
It’s not just science, either. We see it in politics, where conspiracy theorists have larger platforms than constitutional scholars. In history, where memes rewrite entire eras with a few cherry-picked headlines. In nutrition, where “wellness warriors” sell detoxes with all the confidence of a cardiologist and none of the liability.
We used to vet sources. Now we swipe right on belief systems. If it confirms our bias and it looks cute in a Canva graphic, that’s enough.
Why does this matter? Because facts should matter. Because in a world facing real crises—climate change, public health emergencies, racial injustice—we can’t afford to ignore the people who’ve dedicated their lives to understanding them. It’s not elitism to say I want a virologist to weigh in on a pandemic. It’s common sense.
And yet, here we are. People scoffing at PhDs while citing “independent research” (read: a Reddit thread and three YouTube videos). I get it. Expertise can be intimidating. It can feel inaccessible, even alienating. But that doesn’t mean it’s invalid. And pretending that every opinion is equally valid is not democracy—it’s delusion.
So what do we do? We push back. We uplift science and reason without arrogance. We call out bullshit when it’s dressed in good lighting and sponsored content. We re-teach media literacy—not as some academic exercise, but as a survival skill. And maybe most importantly, we humanize our experts. Because people are more likely to trust someone they relate to. And if we want the truth to win, it has to be told not just with precision—but with empathy.
The erosion of expertise didn’t happen overnight, and rebuilding trust will take time. But I refuse to live in a world where facts are optional and charisma trumps competence. Call me old-fashioned, but I still believe knowledge matters. And not just because someone said it confidently in a beige, minimalist kitchen with 100k followers.
No shade to influencers. But if I’m having chest pain, I’m not consulting a smoothie reel. I’m calling someone who’s spent years learning what a heart attack looks like.
And I hope you do, too.