**“Bad Influencer” on Netflix? More Like *Bad Decision*.
And I’m Not Here for the Brain Rot.**
Let’s cut through the noise like a diamond-tipped katana through wet tissue paper.
Netflix just dropped another “original” that smells like last week’s leftovers microwaved in a plastic container labeled *“hope.”*
**“Bad Influencer.”**
Sounds edgy. Feels cheap. Tastes like recycled oat milk latte foam scraped off the floor of a Soho co-working space.
You know that moment when you swipe right on a profile that says “luxury lifestyle curator” but shows up to brunch in fast fashion and a wig that’s seen more Ubers than a Manhattan doorman?
Yeah. That’s this show.
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### It’s Not Content—It’s Cognitive Junk Food
This isn’t storytelling. It’s algorithmic regurgitation wrapped in a neon-lit lie.
Same washed-out lighting. Same chalk-white teeth that look like they were carved from a horse’s femur. Same wigs flopping around like they’re auditioning for a community theater production of *The Real Housewives of Pretoria*.
And don’t get me started on the casting.
**Thapelo Mokone—again?**
Look, I’m not saying the man can’t act. But when you see the same face headlining *every* African-diaspora-coded Netflix drama like it’s his personal content empire, you start to wonder:
Is Netflix running a talent monopoly or just too lazy to scroll past page one of their casting directory?
There are *legions* of raw, electric, undiscovered actors out here—hungry, trained, dripping with charisma—who’d bring actual heat to the screen.
But no. We get the same safe, sanitized, Tyler Perry–lite formula repackaged with a “modern influencer” sticker slapped on top like it’s innovation.
Newsflash: **Slapping “influencer” on a tired script doesn’t make it relevant.**
It makes it desperate.
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### Where’s the Risk? Where’s the Grit?
Real influence isn’t filters and follower counts.
Real influence is *impact*.
It’s Van Gogh cutting off his ear because the vision in his head wouldn’t shut up.
It’s Coco Chanel sewing rebellion into every stitch while the world called her “scandalous.”
It’s building a penthouse on principles, not posing in one for clout.
But this show? It’s selling the *illusion* of rebellion while playing it safer than a Swiss bank account.
It’s not “bad” because it’s bold—it’s bad because it’s *boring*.
It’s the cinematic equivalent of ordering truffle fries at an airport lounge and pretending you’re at Nobu.
And the “brain rot vibes”?
Yeah. They’re real.
This is content designed to numb, not ignite. To pacify, not provoke. To keep you scrolling, not thinking.
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### The Death of Originality Is a Silent Coup
Here’s the brutal truth they don’t want you to see:
When platforms like Netflix keep recycling the same faces, the same tropes, the same hollow “drama” dressed in designer knockoffs, they’re not just failing art—they’re failing *you*.
You deserve stories that punch you in the gut and kiss you on the forehead after.
You deserve characters who feel like they’ve lived, not just posted.
You deserve *new blood*—not the same actors playing slightly different versions of the same emotionally constipated archetype.
And for God’s sake, **stop trying to be Tyler Perry**.
We’ve had the church pews, the secret twins, the dramatic slaps, the gospel choir crescendos.
We *get it*.
Now innovate—or get off the screen.
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### Final Verdict? Hard Pass.
“Bad Influencer” isn’t just forgettable—it’s *offensive* in its laziness.
It’s the kind of show that makes you question whether streaming has given us more freedom… or just more filler.
So here’s my advice:
Skip it.
Block it.
Burn the algorithm that recommended it.
Go watch something that *demands* your attention—something that rewards your intelligence, not your dopamine addiction.
Or better yet—go live a life so rich, so layered, so explosively *yours* that fictional influencers look like cardboard cutouts in comparison.
Because real power isn’t trending.
**It’s timeless.**
And I don’t waste time on brain rot.
Sorry. Not sorry.
Netflix just dropped another original that smells like last week’s leftovers microwaved in a plastic container labeled *hope.* **Bad Influencer.** Sounds edgy. Feels cheap. Tastes like recycled oat milk latte foam scraped off the floor of a Soho co-working space. Skip it. Block it. Burn the algorithm that recommended it.
