Dolly Singh: “The Internet has not only changed how stories are told but also who gets to tell them”

The content creator reflects on what it takes to grow in the public eye and stand out in an age of  doomscrolling

The consumption of content online has never been static; social media trends rise and fall in the blink of an eye. From the experience of watching films in cinema halls to the tailored convenience of OTT platforms, and now endlessly scrolling on Instagram, each medium has demanded something different from creators. That’s where the Best Worst Date series came in—a rom-com adapted for Instagram, it is a response to how audiences consume content today. It’s about meeting people where they usually are—on their phones, scrolling between moments in their day—to offer them something fun, relatable, and engaging. 

Having spent 10 years in this industry, starting with fashion, exaggerated character sketches, to more slice-of-life and relatable content, a large part of my job is also to figure out what the audience wants to watch. 

Relatability is what works when it comes to content consumption in 2025. But seven years ago, there was no blueprint available. Content creation was neither considered a legitimate career, nor was it taken seriously; it was a task to explain to people what we actually did. It was difficult to leave a stable job and dive into content creation full-time. Moreover, coming from a middle-class family, I had to be financially secure. My parents weren’t too happy about it then. 

Today, the landscape is completely different. If you tell your parents you want to be a YouTuber, they aren’t flinching as much because even they watch content online. Don’t be surprised if your parents start making Instagram Reels before you do. 

The Internet has not only changed how stories are told but also who gets to tell them. Influencers are making the most of the democracy the Internet offers. We are in an age where we can prop our phone on a tripod and shoot a video, instead of waiting to land a role in a movie or bag an audition. But not everyone should.

Fame in  2025 is tricky. You can go viral overnight and be forgotten in five days. The real success lies in turning that viral moment into something more—when people discover you, follow your work, and become part of your tribe. It’s about creating a lasting connection that goes beyond a single video and leads to consistent growth and recognition.

While influencers haven’t made Internet fame entirely achievable, they have made it seem accessible. When my peers and I became famous, it gave people the idea that this life, this career, was possible. It created a mindset of “I can do this too”. But it is actually the democratic nature of the Internet that has made fame within easier reach. The ability to pick up a phone, shoot a video, and upload it on a massive platform gives everyone a chance. And the best part? The Internet is forgiving too. If one video doesn’t work, you can always try again tomorrow. 

Being a creator looks glamorous and easy, filled with opportunities and great money. There are moments when you rub shoulders with celebrities or wear a fun outfit. But it’s also just like any other job, with its own set of challenges.

Seven years ago, it was about establishing the work content creators do. Today, people underestimate the amount of work it takes to make videos everyday or a couple of days a week according to what the algorithm suggests, what it takes to keep up with it, to be able to come up with fresh ideas even when you feel saturated, and to keep up with social media trends but also reinvent yourself in a way that you keep finding an audience for your work. It’s not easy to live in a world seeking continuous validation because you do begin to question yourself when you put yourself out there every day. 

For me, being on a public platform as an introvert was difficult; it has made me feel like a fraud, further fuelling my imposter syndrome. My introverted nature didn’t bother me much at the beginning—I’ve always been able to perform and had a strong voice. But as I became more visible, the comments from viewers began to sting. Comments like, “you look or sound different”, “you aren’t cracking jokes like you do on the Internet’, or “you don’t look as lively or entertaining”, all of which made me feel I was letting people down. It shook me because you’d think that people who love you online would naturally love you in person too. But when they point out that something feels “off”, it starts to mess with your head—you begin to question yourself and your insecurities only grow louder.

My imposter syndrome was one of the main reasons I started seeking therapy. It helped me see that my introverted nature wasn’t a disadvantage to my career—it actually sharpened my ability to observe the world, which became the foundation of my observational comedy. Therapy also made me realise that I’d been so focused on labelling myself as an introvert that I had forgotten I had a funny side to me as well.

It also taught me how to set boundaries, especially on Instagram. These days, I keep certain parts of my life private, or share them only after I’ve had time to process them, rather than do so in the heat of the moment. I’ve learned that when I’m feeling low and put something up online, people can sometimes say things that feed the demons that are in your head already. 

The Internet itself has changed so much with time. What once felt like a positive, supportive space has turned into one filled with trolling and hatred, which, as a woman, can be particularly unsafe. There are negative stereotypes creeping in too—that content creation is so easy a job that anyone can take it up. This is backed by the sheer number of people trying to make a career out of it. Content creation is considered to be fun, frivolous, and shallow, instead of being a stepping stone for talented individuals waiting for their big break. It is on the Internet that people land opportunities today across various fields—dancing, acting, singing, or even a painter wanting to showcase their work to an audience.  

I find it both amusing and weird when I see people online spewing hatred toward influencers for trying their hand at acting or other things. We’re already performing in front of the camera, so the acting ka keeda in us is natural. Yet, not all the opportunities that come our way are great—they are often based solely on our follower count. This becomes a sore point for the audience, who might, at times, question, “Kyun liya isko?” 

Acting in films is something I have always craved for—it’s longform content I miss because it gives the audience the opportunity to pause. Which is why for Best Worst Date, I went with a long script, packaged into short episodes. Ending every episode on a cliffhanger was the incentive audiences needed to remember to come back for more. A focus on making premium content for Instagram by investing in quality production, along with ease of navigation by starting a new Instagram page @dollywoodfilums (Dollywood Filums) for similar content were pivotal. Sure, studies may show that people are gravitating towards shorter, digestible content, but as long as your content is relevant and generates curiosity, people will invest their time to consume it. 

You don’t want to be a part of the audience’s doomscrolling patterns. Of course it is something even I indulge in, given our fast-paced, stressful lives. But when you doomscroll, you’re numb, you laugh at the content and move on to the next thing, unable to recall what you just watched.. So, there is a craving (and room) for content that makes a mark, sits with you, leaves an imprint on you, and makes you think. The only way that differentiates you from thousands of other creators? To have a unique defining factor—whether it’s the way you start your videos, the kind of stories you tell, or who you are as a person.

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