Pimple extraction videos have blossomed from a niche micro-genre into an entire creator economy: people with acne-prone skin have grown audiences of millions off the back of pimple popping content alone, earning sizable incomes through the associated sponsorship deals and affiliate links. But if someone’s fame, audience and income are built upon visible blemishes, what happens when their skin clears up? 

Extraction videos quickly proved popular in the early days of YouTube, but were much more lo-fi than the kind of content popular on TikTok today. Filmed in bad lighting with shaky camera work, you were lucky to get even one clean pop on camera. So, when influencers started popping their pimples under the unforgivingly clear glare of ring lights, the demand was high. Creators soon levelled up, featuring expensive skincare products and tools fit for an esthetician in their videos. Then there were daily updates, close-up texture shots and emotional check-ins. Acne morphed from a private insecurity into episodic content, closely monitored by an accumulation of followers and brands.

While some viewers watch this kind of content to marvel at the ‘grossness’ of pimple popping, and others to get an ASMR-like buzz from the satisfaction of squeezing a ripe spot, these videos have also helped reacquaint us all with ‘imperfect’ skin. All too often social media is dominated by overly filtered and poreless skin, and seeing people publicly document acne, irritation and scarring helped normalise something millions of people experience. “Acne is such a common insecurity that people feel seen by it,” Allie Chen, known as @_alliechen to her 264,000 followers on TikTok, tells Dazed. “When someone posts their real skin online, it makes other people feel less alone in something they’re usually trying to hide.”

But somewhere along the line, “skin positivity” evolved into something more commercially valuable. Vulnerability became content, content became branding, and branding became sponsorships. Alex Demos, known online as @alexpops47, is one of the creators whose sudden growth represents this shift. When I first came across his videos on my For You page, he had around 4,000 followers. Within a month, that number had grown to over 86,000.

For Demos, the virality was unexpected. “The sudden rise to TikTok fame caught me completely off guard,” he tells me. “I never expected anything to come from starting an account about popping acne.” But with that sudden attention came a sense of responsibility. “The overwhelming support made me feel like I needed to keep posting consistently. I didn’t want to let my fans down – they mean a lot to me.” 

Because algorithms reward continuity, creators are incentivised to “niche down” and stick with whatever they originally went viral for. “My extraction videos were what originally blew up my account, so for a while it felt like every time I posted one, I knew it would do well,” Chen says. “It’s hard not to keep leaning into that when you’re rewarded for it.”

Demos describes this tension as “a bit of a double-edged sword.” After years of trying different products, medications and dermatologist visits, his skin finally improved, which is what he had always wanted. But it also makes it difficult, if not outright impossible, to create the content his audience originally followed him for. “On the one hand, I’ve finally achieved the clear skin I wanted for so long,” he says. “On the other, I’ve really fallen in love with creating content for my followers. My mind goes back and forth on which I want more some days, and honestly, I’m still figuring it out.”

Some creators have been able to successfully transition out of their original niche. While influencers like Marlynnae (@xxpushinpretty on TikTok) first build their audience through extraction content, they have gradually allowed more of their personalities to shine through, encouraging a deeper investment with the person behind the videos. Chen has taken a similar approach. “Over time I realised I didn’t want to be known for only one thing,” she says, “so I started sharing more of my personality, daily life and overall skincare journey too.” 

But for many creators, fame and financial opportunities remain inextricably tied to having visible acne. Demos is trying to stay optimistic, even as his pivot to non-skin content is so far failing to perform as well as his pimple popping videos did. “Even when I mix in other types of videos, I’m still getting hundreds of likes. I try not to see it negatively – it shows that some people are here for me, not just the popping.”

The internet claims to reward authenticity, but what it really rewards, now more than ever, is the performance of vulnerability. Close-up, almost invasive, skin shots; tearful updates filmed in someone’s bathroom; daily progress tracking disguised as intimacy – there is an unspoken expectation that the updates keep coming. Healing, in many cases, threatens the narrative. “There was definitely a point where I wondered what would happen if my skin cleared up because so much of my content revolved around acne,” Chen says. “But now I don’t really think that way. My goal was never to have acne forever so I could make content. If anything, clearing my skin would be a win.” 

The phenomenon of algorithmic pigeonholing is far from exclusive to skin content. Personal branding culture means that anyone who builds a platform speaking to a specific niche risks becoming trapped inside that storyline forever. I have seen creators who blow up making breakup content get ridiculed when they enter new relationships, and couples who turned their relationships into an online brand stay together longer than they wanted to. Body positivity influencers get criticised for losing weight. Wellness creators who admit burnout or unhealthy habits get branded hypocrites for failing to perfectly embody the lifestyle they sell online, and fitness influencers get blamed for their injuries. When we become invested in someone’s personal brand, we rarely reward them for changing.

The tragedy of the pimple creator economy is not necessarily that people monetise vulnerability online. In many ways, these creators have helped normalise acne and made people feel less alone in their skin. Demos himself says his goal is to keep his content “real” in a space that often feels “fake or overly edited”. But there is something unsettling about an internet that rewards people most when they are visibly struggling.