If you had told a Bangladeshi parent 20 years ago that their child would one day make millions of Taka a month by slapping dye into their hair, dancing wildly on a public overpass, or staging a screaming match with their in-laws in front of a ring light, they would have gently recommended a psychiatric consultation.
Yet, here we are in 2026.
The algorithm is the new deity, the smartphone is the altar, and "views" have somehow become a substitute for value.
Take, for instance, the recent domestic melodrama that dominated our feeds.
The internet exploded with details of infamous TikToker Prince Mamun allegedly joining forces with his second wife to physically assault and evict his own mother and mute sister from their home.
To complete this tragic soap opera, his former partner -- the ever-present "Blue Fairy" Laila -- rushed to the scene to offer shelter to the distressed mother, all under the piercing gaze of rolling smartphones and eager cameras.
Was it genuine heartbreak? Was it an orchestrated PR play? Does anyone even care anymore?
In the hyper-monetized content circus of Bangladesh, human dignity, filial piety, and familial trauma are no longer private matters.
They are mere "hooks" designed to drive retention rates, inflate impressions, and capture ad revenue.
When a society begins to trade its basic moral currency for digital validation, we must pause and ask: Is this truly the "future of work" we were promised?
Unlettered kings of the scroll generation
There was a time when upward social mobility required sweat, late-night study sessions, and decades of professional discipline.
Today, creators like Prince Mamun, Opu Bhai, and Rakib Hossain have bypassed traditional educational paths entirely.
Armed with little more than raw charisma, sensationalism, and an uncanny ability to exploit digital algorithms, these individuals have accumulated fortunes that leave university graduates, engineers, and corporate executives scratching their heads in utter disbelief.
Seeing unlettered influencers pull in tens of thousands of dollars a month while a fresh graduate earns peanuts at an entry-level job has created a profound psychological rift among Bangladeshi youth.
Why endure 16 years of grueling academic pressure only to face a stagnating job market when you can buy a tripod, film a provocative vlog, and land a lucrative brand deal by next Tuesday?
Thousands of young Bangladeshis are abandoning classrooms and technical institutions, harbouring a dangerous ambition: To become "content creators."
They mistake temporary digital notoriety for a legitimate career, unaware that building a life on social media metrics is like building a house on shifting sand.
The case of Ripon Miah
This entitlement to unearned wealth and status -- where one expects to enjoy all the rewards of social prominence without first putting in the sweat, integrity, or moral dues -- recently manifested in yet another grim headline.
Content creator Ripon Miah, who amassed nearly 1.9 million Facebook followers on the back of quick social media clips, was recently arrested by law enforcement after being accused of abusing his influencer status to harass and ultimately rape a 14-year-old schoolgirl in Netrakona.
Media reports revealed how local influential figures initially attempted to "settle" the heinous crime through an illegal local arbitration (shalish), fining him Tk5 lakh and asking him to leave the village while video clips of his apology went viral online.
Ripon’s trajectory -- from a local carpenter to a viral celebrity, and ultimately an accused predator attempting to buy his way out of criminal accountability with easy social media money -- serves as a chilling reminder of what happens when massive influence and financial windfalls precede character, discipline, and hard-earned merit.
It is the ultimate manifestation of wanting to pocket the rewards of success without paying the fundamental dues of human decency, rule of law, and honest labor first.
The illusion of sustainability and the dark underbelly
What these aspiring influencers fail to realize is that content creation is fundamentally unsustainable.
Relevance in the "reel-scrolling" era is ruthlessly ephemeral.
The same audience that elevates an influencer to digital royalty today will swipe away tomorrow without a second thought.
A single change in an algorithm, a shift in audience tastes, or a temporary suspension of monetization can instantly reduce a "social media millionaire" to complete financial oblivion.
Worse still, this desperate race for virality has given birth to a sinister, predatory ecosystem.
The promise of social media fame is no longer just a distraction -- it has turned into a dangerous trap.
Media reports across Bangladesh have documented tragic instances where young girls from vulnerable backgrounds were lured with promises of becoming "TikTok stars" or landed roles in viral videos.
Instead, they faced horrific fates -- abduction, sexual assault, and human trafficking networks operating under the guise of talent agencies and creator houses.
The tragic reality is that while a select few pocket cash from ad networks, scores of impressionable youths pay for this illusion with their lives, freedom, and dignity.
The monetization paradox
Even for those who manage to stay on the legitimate side of the law, the golden goose of online monetization is growing tired.
Platform giants like YouTube continuously refine their Partner Program policies.
In their ongoing efforts to appease advertisers, platforms are cracking down on repetitive content, sensationalized clickbait, low-effort clips, and ethical violations.
For Bangladeshi creators reliant on sensationalism or repurposed content, the revenue gravy train is slowing down.
While YouTube periodically adjusts regional monetization pathways, making it technically easier for localized content to earn revenue, the bar for qualifying content is rising sharply.
Algorithms are increasingly penalizing vulgarity, family drama, and synthetic outrage.
When the platforms decide to clean up their digital storefronts, hundreds of creators who traded their education for short-term views will find themselves with neither a steady paycheck nor transferable skills for the real world.
Why hard work and technical expertise remain unbeatable
This brings us to an inescapable truth: Mobile-generated content can never ethically or practically replace real labour, technical expertise, and formal education.
A nation cannot run on reaction videos, pranks, and unboxing clips.
Who will design the bridges, manage the power grids, or write the software systems that keep our economy moving forward?
Who will treat the sick, harvest the crops, teach the next generation, or manufacture the very goods that influencers unbox on camera?
True labor builds tangible value. It instills discipline, produces tangible progress, and offers a level of personal self-respect that no amount of digital "likes" can ever match.
Formal and technical education are not merely decorative certificates but are the structural framework of a functional society.
They impart problem-solving capabilities, critical thinking, and resilient skills that withstand algorithmic shifts, economic downturns, and platform updates.
Restoring the value of honest labor
There is no shame in leveraging modern technology to express oneself, share stories, or build an audience.
But when content creation degrades into public spectacles of familial abuse -- where a mother's tears are treated as engagement fuel -- it ceases to be entertainment.
It becomes a sign of moral degradation masquerading as entrepreneurship.
We must strip away the illusion surrounding "influencer culture."
Let the youth enjoy their short-form videos, but let them also understand the clear line between a temporary hobby and a lifelong profession.
Real success is not measured in subscriber counts, brand deals, or viral scandals.
It is measured in the quiet dignity of honest work, the pursuit of real knowledge, and the enduring strength of human integrity.
In the end, when the screens go black and the servers shut down, it is honest, physical, and intellectual labor that will keep the world turning -- long after the last reel has been swiped away.
Wafiur Rahman looks after the business desk at Dhaka Tribune.
