Tang is what some in the fashion and lifestyle industries call a brand or in-house content creator.
Unlike influencers, who are typically paid to promote products on their own channels, Tang’s job is to produce short videos that emulate influencer-style content like room tours, vlogs and get-ready-with-me snippets on brands’ own social accounts. Her videos can generate thousands of views.
The goal of Tang and others like her is to make ads feel like anything but ads. The brand’s voice is embedded in the content, as are its products, but there’s no overt pitch, no awkward energy of a sponsored partnership.
The videos are seemingly unpolished, even if they may have been meticulously planned. And, in many cases, viewers may not even realise they’re being marketed to.
This approach, which has existed on some level for quite some time, is part of a growing shift in social media marketing.
Rather than investing in work from external influencers or celebrity ambassadors, many fashion, beauty and lifestyle companies are turning their cameras inward, enlisting their own employees to be the faces of the brand, while striving to make it feel more casual than that.
Brands including LVMH-owned Loewe, accessories brand Mejuri and Danish fashion label Ganni have adopted the format, often showing behind-the-scenes moments of building the brand and photo shoots on social media.
Vogue magazine, the soda brand Poppi and clothing and homeware brand Damson Madder regularly feature lo-fi office content starring staffers.
At luggage brand Baboon to the Moon, in-house creators film vlogs and sit-down interviews with the brand’s designers.
This kind of behind-the-scenes content is a clear departure from the glossy, heavily produced campaigns that typically fill Instagram feeds, brand websites, and fashion magazines.
“In the last sort of 10 years, there’s been a massive shift in terms of the way that customers want to be marketed to,” said Emma Shepard, head of marketing at Damson Madder.
“Peer-to-peer marketing has become such a huge part of how customers interact with brands and how customers want to be sold to.
“Gone are the days where customers want brands to kind of be really autocratic and tell you: ‘This is what you should wear. This is what’s on trend.’”
Dr Jonah Berger, a marketing professor at the Wharton School of Business and author of Contagious: Why Things Catch On, said this off-the-cuff content is appealing because it offers viewers a rare glimpse behind the curtain.
That insider perspective gives people a sense of social value or currency, making them more engaged and more likely to share the content.
This approach also helps solve what marketers call the content problem, according to Anthony Svirskis, chief executive of the creator marketing company Tribe.
In the past, a brand might have produced a few polished ads a year for TV or print.
Now, with dozens of social platforms, each demanding its own stream of content, brands need a constant flow of posts. Influencers and in-house creators help meet this demand.
For some brands, it’s not just about volume, it’s also about the tone. The hard sell of traditional advertising can feel out of sync with how young people want to be engaged. In-house creators offer something more casual and more human.
“I find, like, all of advertising to be embarrassing,” said Ellen Van Dusen, founder of homeware brand Dusen Dusen.
“Part of it is because this business is so personal. It just feels embarrassing to ask people to buy my stuff. I always think like, ‘Oh God, all my friends are going to see this.’”
The Dusen Dusen line was born because Van Dusen could not find decor in stores that matched her colourful, irreverent aesthetic.
When she started the label, she took on the role of a one-woman marketing team, treating the brand’s Instagram like a personal account.
She documented her print design process, decorated her studio in real time and posted photos from her wedding, snapshots of her dog, Snips, and eventually of her child. Early on, she realised that that kind of intimate, off-beat content resonated with her customers.
When it came to TikTok, a platform she described as hard to “wrap my head around”, Van Dusen brought in Tang in 2023. Several of Tang’s videos had taken off during her time as the in-house content creator for Baboon to the Moon.
On any given day, Tang arrives at Dusen Dusen’s studio in the Clinton Hill neighbourhood of Brooklyn, checks in with Van Dusen about upcoming launches or sample sales and then maps out video concepts tied to the calendar.
Her style leans toward deadpan humour, and she films, edits and posts the content.
Despite having found success in this medium, Tang admits she often wrestles with “how much of myself I gave to a brand to sell a product”.
“When you’re getting a lot of attention for something like your personality, it feels great,” Tang said.
“People love how I say things, or people love, like, my sense of humour. Sometimes, it feels like I, myself, become a product as well.”
These days, Tang is more protective of her boundaries.
She no longer films from her home or includes her friends in videos.
She works strictly from the brand’s office, which includes a staged set with couches, a kitchen and even a made-up bed designed to resemble a lived-in apartment. (It’s where she once filmed an “apartment tour”.)
She’s unsure how long she’ll keep lending her face to brands, describing the work as “taxing”.
Moving forward, Tang says, she is interested in working only with brands she feels aligned with, noting that she could not be an in-house creator for a large corporation. She appreciates that Dusen Dusen’s team is small and that the business is self-funded.
“There’s a point where I’m going to age out of the attention economy,” Tang said.
For now, she said: “When I’m on camera for the brand, I am the brand”.
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.
Written by: Yola Mzizi
Photographs by: Hiroko Masuike
©2025 THE NEW YORK TIMES
