Summary
We didn’t strictly need another drama about social media professionals, but Bad Influencer is much better than you’d think, boasting genuinely effective comedy and surprising heart.
I’ll be the first to admit that if I never see another drama about social media influencers, it’ll probably be too soon. And yet here I am having really earnestly enjoyed Netflix’s Bad Influencer (2025), a South African crime drama about, you guessed it, social media influencers. Funny how these things happen. But I think the secret is that Bad Influencer isn’t so much about influencers — it isn’t trying to make any novel, revelatory points about how it’s all deeply facile and inauthentic and a net negative for culture in general — as it is keen to use the idea of influencers as a component in a crime caper with a real sense of humour. And, more importantly, real heart.
This is a show that gets the irony of influencing and expects you to have figured it out on your own. It’s only the jumping-on point for a story about bigger themes and ideas, family not least among them. Here, being an influencer is like working at a casino or sleeping with a bank manager or any one of an infinite number of different roles that form just one link in a long chain; an opportunity that can be leveraged for personal gain. What’s more symbolic of influencer culture than that?
Besides, one of the protagonists isn’t even an influencer. BK is a single mother whose son, Leo, is on the autism spectrum and struggles with daily life, especially at a school that is ill-equipped to account for his needs. He’s often seen wearing ear defenders and struggling to deal with an overwhelming amount of sensory input, but he’s smart and funny and passionate, especially about space. He needs a strict routine, support, and understanding, all of which BK is trying to provide within her limited means.
And I mean extremely limited, since BK begins Bad Influencer in debt to loan sharks Bheki and Joyce, and Leo might become the collateral. BK’s side hustle selling fake designer handbags to The Real Housewives of Joburg has hit a snag, so she’s forced to improvise, turning to a social media influencer named Pinky, whom she meets by chance. The deal is simple enough. BK produces the handbags herself, and Pinky will sell them on her social media channels at a massive profit. They split the money, pay off their creditors, and away they go.
You don’t need me to tell you quite how wrong this goes, nor how quickly. We wouldn’t have a show if it didn’t. But that’s not really the point, since BK and Pinky’s evolving relationship, especially in how it incorporates Leo, is the real selling point of the series. BK’s level-headed determination and bravery obscure how much danger she’s putting the pair of them in, while Pinky’s materialistic facade is a performance she puts on to protect a more sensitive and vulnerable underlying character. The dynamic works very well immediately, and only improves as the circumstances around it become more severe and incorporate more challenging elements.
One of those elements is Themba, a love interest for BK who teaches an extracurricular class about the cosmos that Leo attends, but who also happens to be the captain of the police’s Counterfeit and Organized Crime Unit. Themba realises early on that BK is perhaps embroiled in illegal shenanigans, but he keeps his true identity a secret as the lines become blurry when a connection forms between them. Themba’s prime target quickly becomes BK’s supplier, and he’s forced to weigh up doing the right thing professionally with doing what might be the right thing for him personally.
A lot of this works because Bad Influencer is consistently and surprisingly funny. The fish-out-of-water comedy goes both ways, as BK has to navigate influencer culture while Pinky is thrown into the deep end of South Africa’s underworld, but it’s balanced well, embellishing rather than overwhelming the drama. When it’s time to get serious, the show is more than capable, but the throwaway comments, recurring gags, and moments of physical comedy — most coming from Pinky — really work to the show’s advantage rather than its detriment.
I’m as surprised as you are, since I’m called upon almost daily to pass judgment on some kind of story that features an influencer, and rarely ever do they have anything interesting to say about the subject. Even Bad Influencer doesn’t seek to offer anything new in that regard, but that’s a big part of why it works so well. I hate to admit it, but it seems like there’s still mileage in the topic after all, just so long as someone’s willing to have a laugh at its expense.
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