The proper form of address is “YouTubers.” According to Sarah Kessler's immersion-journalism opus on the annual industry spectacle Vidcon, they're not yet ready to be called “celebrities” or “stars,” although the once-humble video-sharing site is home to an increasingly well-established galaxy of them.
Hollywood maintains a turbulent relationship with the internet, and YouTube isn't making the old system obsolete any time soon. Yet, the most popular YouTube creators have millions of subscribers and, in some cases, higher Q ratings among American teenagers than Jennifer Lawrence's.
These generally young video sensations exist in a weird and difficult half-light of semi-fame. Unless you're already a fan, it's hard to explain what they do, exactly. They preform skits, but at a far lower level of sophistication than that of the average Harold team. Mostly, they play video games, impart advice, and talk to cameras. For a teenager stuck in Inland Empire or someplace like it, having a favorite YouTuber is like having an imaginary friend.
Kessler quotes a YouTuber named Alfie Deyes, who describes himself and his colleagues as “just ordinary people who are able to brighten someone's days.”
Even most of the higher-profile YouTubers don't have the layers of protection that the Hollywood system provides. To buy into Tinseltown would be to sacrifice the “authenticity,” “approachability,” and “engaging” individuality their young, impressionable fans so admire.
This puts them in a precarious position. They're all-hell busy pumping their channels, which makes it hard to be as accessible as one might expect from an imaginary friend. What's more, an uncouth remark or a pattern of odd personal behavior can scar, damage, or even annihilate their careers over the course of a few Tumblr reblogs.
“Most of these YouTube creators are just that,” says Matt Sandler, “creators." Besides founding Chromatik, Sandler wrote the definitive guide to Hollywood for startups. "They don't know how to market and monetize.” He mentions Maker, Fullscreen, Victorious, Patreon, and other “value-add” startups that exist to aid YouTubers, and suggests that it's still a wide-open opportunity for marketers and others who know how to crunch numbers, lift 50 pounds, and do business.
“I don't know what I’m doing,” admits Hank Green, a popular YouTube elder statesman and the organizer of Vidcon, as quoted by Kessler. “I have no idea. I don’t think that any of us know what we’re doing. There is a wave, and it’s made of technological things and sociological things, and it’s individual people making individual decisions about how they’re going to spend their individual time. And we are riding it. And that’s impressive. But it is not as impressive as understanding the wave.”
Hang ten on that wave after your own fashion, and you can be part of a landscape as open and rich as Hollywood in its infancy.
