Travel influencers ‘do crazy things’ to entertain us – and downplay the risks

It’s common for Australians to use social media to find their next hike or swimming spot. And there’s a huge array of travel influencers willing to supply the #inspo for their next trip.

Many of these influencers create their content in a way that respects the environment and their followers. But unfortunately, not all #travelspo is made with such consideration.

My new research reveals how Australian travel and adventure influencers think about risk, responsibility and their role in shaping how their followers behave in natural environments.

Collectively, their accounts reach tens of thousands of people and prompt them to visit these parks in real life. Yet most influencers in my study saw themselves as entertainers, not educators.

And that distinction can have consequences, such as falls and drownings. People are risking their lives at cliff edges, mountain overhangs and around water. In fact, 379 people died taking selfies between 2008 and 2021.

‘Here to inspire, not teach’

I interviewed 19 Australian influencers aged 23–41 who specialise in travel and outdoor content.

Despite their large followings (up to 80,000), many rejected the idea they have a responsibility to overtly warn people about hazards.

As one put it:

“We’re not an education page. If you want what you should and shouldn’t be doing, follow a National Parks page.”

Another explained that influencers are :

“just there to entertain.”

Influencers consistently distanced themselves from the expectation they should communicate safety information. Many argued it was up to followers to “do their own research” or take “personal responsibility” when attempting the difficult hikes, cliff-edge photos or waterhole jumps they had seen online.

A few admitted they would “feel guilty” if someone was injured imitating their content, but quickly neutralised that responsibility by noting there was no way to know whether their post had caused the behaviour.

Why downplay hazards?

Social media platforms reward spectacular content. Posts showing people on cliff edges, waterfalls, remote rock formations or narrow ledges outperform more banal imagery.

One influencer was blunt:

“People want to watch people do crazy things… not talk about risk.”

Others acknowledged they sometimes entered closed areas or assessed hazards themselves, dismissing signage unless they believed it related to environmental or cultural protection.

A national survey we conducted found that social norms – the sense that “everyone does this” or will admire it – strongly predicted risky behaviour outdoors. People were far more likely to climb out onto ledges or jump into waterfalls if they believed others would approve. How risky they thought the activity was barely seemed to matter.

Influencers also curate a platform-specific aesthetic: Instagram is “perfect”, TikTok more “raw”, but neither encourages long, careful explanations of risk. Detailed safety advice was described as “ruining the vibe” or diminishing the illusion that inspires engagement.

This creates a perverse incentive: the more dangerous the content looks, the better it performs, meaning influencers may unintentionally promote behaviours unsafe for many followers.

Online posts are trusted

Australians treat influencer content as a trusted source of outdoor inspiration.

Followers may assume a location is safe because an influencer went there and filmed it. This impression is strengthened by the influencers’ perceived authenticity — a form of experiential credibility that substitutes for formal expertise.

Influencers in my study acknowledged their posts can send large numbers of unprepared visitors to fragile or hazardous environments. Some refused to share exact locations for this reason. Others posted the image but omitted details to avoid encouraging inexperienced users to attempt risky spots.

But most still avoided overt safety messaging because it felt mismatched to their brand — or simply because posts that highlighted difficulty or danger “don’t perform well”.

As I’ve argued elsewhere, our increasingly curated experience of the outdoors – from manicured trails to social media-driven expectations – has weakened the sense of personal responsibility that once came with venturing into nature.

Influencer content amplifies this shift by presenting the outdoors as effortless, aesthetic and risk-free, even when the reality is very different.

Why this matters

This dynamic creates challenges for Australia’s national parks and land managers. My earlier research showed rangers are dealing with increased injuries, rescues and environmental strain linked to social media-driven visitation.

In my work with the Queensland National Parks and Wildlife Service, I saw first-hand how social media funnels huge numbers of people into the same photogenic spots.

About a third of visitors said Instagram had influenced their decision to visit, and many described going “for the photo” rather than for the walk or the landscape itself. That behaviour often puts pressure on rangers and increases the likelihood of slips, falls and rescues.

Influencers hold enormous reach with audiences that official agencies often struggle to connect with. Many are open to collaborating – but only when safety messages can be delivered in ways that fit their storytelling style and personal brand.

As one influencer summed up:

“If it’s culturally sensitive or damaging to the environment, that’s where I draw the line. But safety – I’m happy to push the boundaries.”

Risk-taking gets rewarded

Influencers are not acting maliciously. They operate within a commercial and algorithmic system that rewards spectacle over nuance.

But understanding how they see their role helps explain why risky content thrives — and why followers may misjudge the real-world hazards behind the perfect shot.

If organisations want to reduce injuries and environmental pressures, engaging influencers through co-designed communication strategies may be essential. Because for many Australians, the journey outdoors now begins on a screen.

Samuel Cornell receives funding from an Australian Government Research Training Program Scholarship