Introduction

For many teens and college underclassmen, summer provides a welcome respite from the classroom. Some spend the days idly, whereas others pick up seasonal gigs or resume-bolstering office jobs. Yet, in July 2017, a cohort of tech-savvy young people eagerly returned to the classroom to participate in the inaugural SocialStar creator camp. Based in Los Angeles – a city known for the industrial manufacture of status and stardom – the immersive educational camp was hyped as a ‘fast track for new and early social media content creators […][seeking] the best practices for exceptional platforms that result in earning money and viral fame’ (socialstarcreatorcamp.com). Over the course of three days and nights, participants received instruction in self-branding, platform monetization, and data analytics, among other splashy topics. First-gen YouTuber Michael Buckley (‘What the Buck?’), who figured prominently on the camp agenda, prognosticated that social media training programmes would see a profound uptick in years to come. ‘I’m shocked there's not one in every state. This could be very, very huge’, he told a Quartz reporter (Farokhmanesh, 2017). And, indeed, following the camp's initial run, SocialStar organizers announced their plans to orchestrate similar programmes in Las Vegas, London, and Melbourne.

While the emergence of initiatives like SocialStar raises compelling questions about the valorization of internet celebrity and the ethics of pseudo-educational programmes, they are also telling of the changing nature of work in the digital age. Over the last decade, social media have ushered in shiny new career exemplars: pro bloggers, YouTubers, and Instagram influencers. More telling, still, is the sprawling class of young people who covet success in these proto-professions. A widely cited study of 1,000 children and teens found that more than one-third consider ‘YouTuber’ their dream job (Weiss, 2017).