Honey, I sold the kids

When it’s dark outside, and the lights are on, I can see straight into my neighbour’s house. It’s a few days before Christmas, and she appears to be performing a mini Broadway show – in her pyjamas. In front of a tastefully decorated tree, she squeals ‘It’s tiiiiiiimmmeee!!!!’ as she drops to the floor on her knees, spreads jazz hands, and wiggles her chest. Her smile is a dazzling white, her honey-coloured hair sits in bouncy waves. Behind her, three young girls, in matching nightwear, twirl with giant candy sticks.

One day, I pick up binoculars. For hours, I observe this picture-perfect mother, her strong-jawed husband and their five children, as they eat, read, sing and dance. My neighbour opens her curtains a little wider – she wants me to watch her. Soon she starts showing me products she uses so that, I too, can purchase this fantasy existence and be just like her.

I don’t spy on my neighbours. (I would be arrested.) But I’ve spent hours doing a completely legal equivalent: trailing fellow mothers online. Madison Fisher provides footage of everything, from the monumental (the birth of her twins) to the mundane (meal prep), to millions of followers on YouTube and Instagram. She is one of thousands of mothers on social media – dubbed ‘momfluencers’ – who open up their lives for my consumption.

Instagram gained popularity as a clever way to add filters to your spring break photos. When sponsored posts were launched, following the company’s sale to Facebook in 2012, it transformed into something else entirely: a giant shopping mall. In 2021, 3.8 millionInstagram posts were marked worldwide with the hashtag #ad, a 27 percent jump from the year before. Instagram runs on sex, for sure: scantily clad women sell lipstick, handbags and dietary supplements. It also runs on what happens nine months later: babies.

And with babies come the mums, selling an apotheosised version of motherhood. It’s big money: the perfect mum in the United States must have a flat stomach, shiny hair, a cool job, a handsome husband, be able to cook a balanced organic meal, and be rich – all with the help of ‘sustainable’ skincare brands, fitness apps, weight-loss programmes, and the latest fashion. The more intimate the image, the more the message appears authentic. In one photo posted to her 29 millionInstagram followers, the US model Emily Ratajkowski lies naked and languid in the bath as her toddler son cuddles her. Captioned ‘Loml’ (‘love of my life’), it’s a sweet snapshot of motherhood. It is also a brand-building exercise.

Cute children are clickbait, adult nudity even more so. When an online backlash accused Ratajkowski of being ‘inappropriate’, she responded with a TikTok video. In it, she dances with her giggling son, mouthing a song by Megan Thee Stallion: ‘Talk about something y’all like, stop talkin’ ’bout me.’ Yet talking’bout meand gaining followers – which can be turned into lucrative brand deals, modelling gigs and business opportunities – is exactly the point for Ratajkowski, who uses Instagram to promote work ventures including her swimwear line Inamorata. Instagram, YouTube and TikTok have heralded an era of gauche personal branding where success is measured in followers and ‘Likes’, exposure trumps privacy, and fame translates into cash. In an influencer’s life, everything is for sale – including the kids.


I first delved into the world of momfluencers during the pandemic. Living in New York and heavily pregnant, I came across an influencer who had just had her own baby.

Where other mothers used their platforms to address difficult topics (fertility problems; toddler tantrums) and offer tips, this momfluencer embodied a more toxic genre: the aspirational, fabulous and unreal. Nothing in her life seemed sacred. She gave tours of her house, tagging her bespoke ceramics, wallpaper and designer chairs; performed photoshoots with her mini-me baby for clothing campaigns; holidayed at exclusive beach resorts. Endless packages arrived at her house stuffed with products sent from brands seeking publicity. Her kid was adorable, her husband supportive. Her life looked effortless! It looked like so much work.

In 2016, the burgeoning US industry of influencer marketing was worth $1.7 billion.By 2021, this had ballooned to $13.8 billion,and projectedto reach $21.1 billionby 2023. Within this world, momfluencers are particularly coveted. They provide safe, family-friendly content, appear to put others first, and appeal to fellow mothers – a lucrative market, given that women made 83 per centof all consumer purchases in the US in 2019.