SELLOUT

1,307 WORDS - WRITTEN MAY 30, 2024 - RATING: T ((brief mentions of doxxing, stalking, and sexual harassment)

As soon as she ended the stream and logged off, Iono fell back into her chair and stretched with a tired sigh. She took a swig from her water bottle and cleared her throat a bit, letting her now strained voice return to its natural register after hours of talking in a high pitched, overly cutesy voice. 

Sometimes she wondered how long she’d be able to keep up her bubbly, jumpy, marketable persona before she strained something. True, she was only in her mid-20s, it wasn't like she was some old hag, but it’d be only a matter of time before she’d hit 30 and she'd indeed be too “old” for her livestreams. At least by the standards of the public. And she was already pushing herself now, so it’d only be a matter of time before she’d burn out completely before then. Even 24 is "old" by the standards of some kids and teens online nowadays.

Bellibolt waddled towards her as she removed her hairclips and set them down, and started the long and tedious process of undoing her hair. Luxray came in not long after and stared at Iono very expectantly.

“Hey, buddies,” she said, reaching out a hand to pat Bellibolt's forehead and beckoning Luxray with the other.

Pulling out her phone and beginning to idly scroll, as her Luxray rested its head in her lap and purring, she could feel a headache coming when she thumbed through her e-mails and saw how many sponsorship requests she hadn’t gotten to yet.

So many groan-worthy requests in her inbox. So many boring or straight up gross products she’d never even glance at had she’d not been asked to advertise them, had she not been offered massive amounts of money if she were to give a glowing review.

Grusha’s words echoed in her head.

“I think I liked your older content better, if I’m being honest. You took more risks, y’know? Nowadays it feels like it’s all about gettin’ the most clicks – all the sponsorships and everything.”

In the moment, she’d responded in anger. Something about how fans like him were why she never reads the comments anymore. When he’d looked away, she couldn’t tell whether he’d felt hurt, or if, somehow, he had some insight on what was going on in her head.

But the latter couldn’t be possible, she wagered, as she’d learned very well by now how to keep her real self, her real emotions, and her real mannerisms hidden. Even in the face of people she’d known before she’d published her first livestream. She could never know when some secret camera was on her, and, as she’d told herself for years now, “The real ‘Iono’ isn’t as marketable.”

And it was true, she’d get comments and letters echoing Grusha’s sentiment all the time. Calling her a cheap sellout, asking her to bring back old series she’d dropped from her channel long ago. It was why she stopped reading every comment — why she’d stopped reading and responding to every letter.

And the part that sucked the most was that they were all right. Every single one of them. She’d stopped paying attention, hoping if she ignored it that it’d go away, but on nights like these she’d feel it the strongest.

She was a sellout. A hack. She’d almost solely leaned into clickbaiting and marketability now, and so shamelessly, at that.

And she couldn’t help but wish she hadn’t.

Iono had found her older videos a little embarrassing now, with how young she’d been at the time, but at the same time she yearned so deeply to go back to the creator she was then. Back when she had creativity to put in. Back when she was simply doing it for fun. Back when she had life.

Now, everything was staged. A mask she wore to keep the clicks rolling in. Soulless, bubblegum colored commercialism that she herself had cursed back in the day.

She wanted to go back. Be the genuine girl she’d once been – unapologetically weird, bright, hopeful, and most importantly, actually funny. But anything felt more enticing than life in the public as an influencer.

The internet was an unbelievably vicious place, full of rumors, hate, mockery, and downright cruelty. Iono didn’t have enough hands to count the amount of times her appearance had been ridiculed incessantly during or after a stream. If she took a shot for every time she’s been sexually harassed by fans online, for how many sexual comments her moderators have had to delete on her streams, her liver would be a fine dust. She’s had to move multiple times after her home address leaked online, and at one point she’d even had a stalker who made multiple threats on her life.

She had no time to be herself, for herself, or for family anymore. Everything was for money now, and if she even wanted to consider going out in public for non-commercial reasons like just going to the grocery store, she had to use a disguise and a pseudonym.

Remembering what she’d been doing before, her finger wandered to one of the more recent sponsorship requests in her inbox as a heavy feeling set in her stomach.

Iono wondered sometimes how many of her fellow league members she could have been real friends with. How many of them now only barely tolerate her presence. 

There was a singular time she was at a bar, and she drunkenly blubbered to a woman about how much she abhorred life as an influencer – later finding out the kind woman she’d spoken to had been Rika of the Elite Four. But could Iono ever count a woman who she’d only had one earnest interaction with as a real friend? A woman who she knew, and could tell, only pitied her now in her interactions with her?

She’d actually been friends with Grusha too at one point. Before she started streaming, before she donned the “Iono” persona. When she was her real self. They grew apart, like many friends do, but god, he had supported her for so long, and she threw it away in a fit of tired anger. What kind of a bitch had this career turned her into? Who knows if he’d even spare her a passing glance at meet-ups anymore? She might have lost what was the closest thing she had to a friend in one of her fellow Gym Leaders.

When was the last time she’d known a trainer she could call a real friend? She’d done so many “friendly” collaborations with other popular influencers and called so many people “friendo” now that it was almost like she had no concept of it anymore.

True friendship felt like this foreign, alien concept. She knew it existed, but for her it was simply unattainable. Talking to the wrong people and connecting with them could jeopardize her entire career if she was careless about it, so it was better for her and her career if she just had no friends to begin with. 

But she’d wonder if she’s even worthy of it at this point, worthy of having friends.

Her thumb shook as she read the e-mail, barely registering the contents, and at first, not even realizing what they wanted her to sell.

Iono wondered when she’d last seen her parents. She was their only child, and she was too busy to ever talk to them, let alone fly over to Unova to visit them.

… Were they still proud of her, like they’d told her years ago when she first hit 1000 subscribers?

…

Tears pricked her eyes. She could hear the volume of Luxray’s purrs increase, the worried chirping of her Bellibolt beside her.

Pinching her nose, Iono swallowed the nauseous, empty feeling welling inside of her as she accepted yet another sponsorship for Rage Candy Bars.