Rhode's $1B Vibe Capital, AI Influencers & Airbnb's Identity Crisis
Beauty, bots, and the brand that forgot to rebrand
Issue #9
The future is glitchy, glazed, and gentrified, my friends. We’re in a weird era where everything from beauty to influence and even the way we vacation is being unbundled and redefined.
This week’s Culture Curve explores three moments that feel random at first glance but are actually deeply connected:
- Rhode’s billion-dollar skincare brand built off of ✨ vibes ✨
- Influencers that don’t exist IRL but still get paid more than you
- Airbnb’s attempt at a comeback after falling out of its cultural favor
Together, they reveal something bigger: our expectations around authenticity, aesthetic, and value are shifting faster than legacy brands (and people) can keep up.
Your Next Favorite Influencer Doesn’t Eat, Sleep, or Age
Meet Aitana Lopez. 25. Gym rat. Perfect skin. 364K followers. And also... entirely fictional.
Welcome to the strange, seamless world of AI influencers—where algorithms generate beauty, brands write the scripts, and no one complains about rates.
At first glance, I laughed this off. But Aitana (and the growing class of her hyperreal peers like Imma, Lil Miquela & Shudu) is already changing the economics of influence—and the very definition of authenticity.
Here’s why AI influencers are here to stay:
Scalable influence. No burnout. No scandals. No “off-brand” tweets. Their creators—often agencies or tech companies—can deploy them across languages, personas, and even time zones simultaneously. Imagine an entire influencer roster run like a SaaS company.
Algorithmically tuned content. These avatars aren’t just good-looking—they’re optimized. Lighting, captions, poses—everything is engineered for engagement. Human influencers used to try and mimic the algorithm. AI ones are literally born from it.
We seem to be emotionally okay with it? What’s most telling is that followers don’t care. The combined following of the AI influencers I listed above is nearly 3.5M and that’s just on Instagram. Many of these followers know the influencer isn’t real—and still engage. Because let’s face it, a lot of “real” influencers already behave like characters. The difference between a hyper-filtered lifestyle reel and an AI-rendered one? Maybe less than we’d like to admit.
The rise of AI influencers says something quietly profound about culture: we want relatability without risk, personality without unpredictability. But it also raises a scarier question: what happens when authenticity is less bankable than consistency?
Human influencers, for all their curated perfection, still bring unpredictability. They have bad days. They age. They form opinions. They sometimes mess up. And that humanness, while chaotic, is also what makes them interesting. We root for them, relate to them, and sometimes love them precisely because they’re flawed.
AI influencers don’t have that. But in return, they offer brands a dream: perfect content, round-the-clock availability, and zero drama. They’ll never go off-script on a podcast, post something off-brand during a breakup, or decide they want to start a competitor brand.
The ethical dilemma
We’re heading toward a fork in the road: one path is real influencers with real voices, who carry the risk of being unpredictable but also build genuine community. The other is flawless, factory-built avatars who reflect what brands want the world to see—but say nothing new.
If brands start consistently choosing AI avatars over real creators—not because they're better storytellers, but because they’re easier to control—what does that say about our values as an industry? Are we rewarding relatability and creativity? Or just compliance?
And here's the real plot twist: audiences seem undecided.
Many still crave human vulnerability. They follow creators who share struggles, growth, mess. But at the same time, they reward the AI girls with likes, shares, and loyalty—partly because they don’t expect depth.
So who wins?
AI influencers are rising fast, especially in beauty, fashion, and gaming. But they haven’t replaced humans yet—they’ve just given brands a new lane.
The future likely won’t be either/or. It’ll be both. But the deeper question remains: are we okay with a cultural landscape where automation outperforms authenticity—not because it's better, but because it’s safer?
That’s where things get uncomfortable. I’m curious…
Rhode to Riches: The $1B Brand Built on Aesthetic Discipline
When Hailey Bieber launched Rhode in 2022, people rolled their eyes - me, included. Another celebrity skincare line. Another dewy moisturizer. Another millennial-pink Instagram grid.
Fast forward (just) three years and Rhode has been acquired by e.l.f. Cosmetics for $1 billion. And no, it’s not because the products cured acne or made your pores invisible. It’s because Rhode became a cultural archetype.
Here’s what makes it fascinating:
The product isn’t the product. Rhode sells an aesthetic, not a formula. It’s soft glam. Clean girl. Y2K minimalism. The packaging isn’t trying to pop off the shelf; it’s made to blend into a TikTok vanity shot. The brand whispers, and in a market that screams, that’s rare (no pun intended, Selena).
Less is everything. Rhode launched with just three products. That’s almost radical in beauty, where most brands drop full lines before they even ship. Rhode’s restraint is the point. In a TikTok economy where everything screams for attention, a brand that whispers feels like a luxury. Minimalism is no longer about aesthetics, it’s about confidence. Rhode didn’t chase the algorithm. It trained the algorithm to chase it. As I outlined in my article about Fred Again’s hype marketing strategy, Rhode understood how scarcity breeds want and capitalized on it.
Hailey Bieber didn’t just co-sign the brand. She embodied it. Glazed skin wasn’t just a tagline—it became a TikTok challenge, a makeup tutorial genre, a vibe. And it all laddered back to Rhode. Hailey didn’t have to hard sell the product; she was the product.
The billion-dollar price tag isn’t just about EBITDA. Let’s call it vibe capital. Rhode proved that when a brand is culturally fluent, commercially restrained, and relentlessly consistent—it doesn’t need to be the biggest to be the most valuable.
Airbnb is the new… ClassPass?
Once the rebel, now the establishment… Airbnb's no longer shaping culture, it’s chasing it.
There was a time when Airbnb felt magical. Staying in an artist’s loft in Berlin. A surf shack in Tulum. An Airstream in California. The thrill of getting the “local experience” not just touring the city, but in your accommodation, too.
Now, the brand is offering massages, haircuts, private chefs, makeup artists, and personal trainers. And it’s not bundled into a vacation; you don’t even need to leave your own city.
Welcome to Airbnb Services: a new section of the site that reads suspiciously like ClassPass for lifestyle perks. It’s a full-on pivot into urban services.
Which begs the obvious question…
Why didn’t Airbnb just acquire ClassPass?
The infrastructure, brand equity, and city-by-city service model already existed. ClassPass had trained consumers to browse, book, and bounce between lifestyle appointments in major metros. Airbnb could’ve plugged straight in. Instead, they’re building this from scratch—which could be seen as a bold bet… or a confused one.
Why is Airbnb pivoting?
To answer this, we have to zoom out and re-evaluate the brand’s relevance today.
Airbnb is no longer “for us.”
In the early days, it was a community. People renting out their homes, complete with handwritten notes and personal quirks. Now, it’s full-time landlords optimizing for revenue, not experience. The human connection that made it cool is gone.
Hotels rebranded. Airbnb didn’t.
Boutique hotels got design-savvy. They leaned into curated experiences, local coffee, and no-checkout chores. Meanwhile, Airbnb stayed in functional mode—and the result feels... sterile.
Gen Z & Millennials are emotionally done.
The Airbnb I stayed at in Yosemite last year had more steps than my skincare routine and the stress of getting a bad review from the host just doesn’t feel worth it anymore. We want low-stress, high-style escapes with no weird rules, no tip jars, and no laminated checklists.
Airbnb no longer sells wanderlust. It sells widgets—bookable, brand-safe, hyper-local lifestyle widgets.
So this pivot makes more sense.
Airbnb Services isn’t just about growth. It’s about survival.
They’re trying to own your everyday, not just your vacation. Haircuts, facials, yoga classes—things that don’t require a passport or a booking. This is less about travel and more about territory. If they can’t win back your heart on the road, maybe they can win a piece of your routine at home.
Still, the brand stretch is real. Airbnb built its cultural capital on freedom, intimacy, and global connection. Booking a teeth whitening in Koreatown? That’s a different energy.
So the big question is: can a brand that once stood for escaping your life now sell you services that optimize it?
Honestly, my bet is no because Airbnb’s marketing and messaging has consistently been missing the mark for years now (remember their Paris Olympic campaign disaster?).
Airbnb didn’t just stop innovating. It stopped inspiring. And in a culture that worships novelty, that’s fatal.
Culture is fracturing into two camps: the friction-free and the full-of-feelings. One prizes polish, predictability and perfectly glazed skin; the other still wants mess, memory and meaning.
Our job—whether we’re marketers, builders or just curious humans—is to decide when to automate and when to stay wonderfully, painfully real.
Which side will you choose this week? Hit reply and tell me.
Coming Up Next on Culture Curve…
🤑 What’s the deal with stablecoins and why is everyone betting on it?
#️⃣ Content creators who are shaping politics & real world events (suggested HW: research Candace Owens)
🎥 The branding genius of Apple TV + Seth Rogen’s “The Studio” (actually fun suggested HW: binge watch the show before next week’s issue… I promise you will not regret it)
Stay curious, stay cultured, crew.
- Kasvi
Great write up!
The rate at which AI influencers can scale is meteoric compared to humans. Imagine a future where there are more AI influencers than real ones — what happens then? It feels like a lot of human creators could get cannibalized. Sure, the edge humans have is authenticity — maybe through live streams or real-life messiness — but I do wonder if discoverability will get harder. As you rightfully said — AI influencers are tuned to the algo, they never sleep, and they don’t burn out. That’s hard to compete with.
One thing’s clear though: the creator economy has never been more alive. I read that over 57% of Gen Z wants to be influencers. That’s… 🤯. We’re definitely in a new era.