I’m a Gen Z Journalist. My Generation Doesn’t Know What That Means.

The issue isn't media mistrust, it's that no one knows what a journalist is

The “influencer-fication” of sports journalism.

Welcome to Formula Flash, where your local sports column meets Cosmo wrapped up in a newsletter delivered to your inbox via the cool girl next door (i.e. motorsport and enviro journo Olivia Hicks). It’s like “Drive to Survive” without the sensationalism!

It was a typical Midwest summer day — steamy in a suffocating way — and rather than cool down in an air-conditioned living room, I was hitting tennis balls across a mesh net with my cousin in the Chicago suburbs.

“So, you write for sports teams, right? Like they pay you?” She asked, echoed by the whack of her racket. I hit the ball back with a reply, “Well, no…that would be public relations.”

As any 23-year-old law student ought to be, my cousin is smart. But as we extended our serving streak, one thing became clear: She didn’t know what a journalist was.

As beloved and trusted publications close shop in favor of slim sports desks reporting hundreds of miles away from the field and branded TikTok-able news clips, her conflation of PR and journalism is a bleak, yet understandable, conclusion. What made my serve falter, however, wasn’t that she didn’t know what I did for a living, but that the blurry line between editorial independence and advertising didn’t strike her as strange, as something she should mistrust.

Over the last six months, I’ve discovered she isn’t alone. A second cousin, around the same age, was shocked to discover that working for the same people you write about would be a conflict of interest. I explained the split between PR and journalism while walking past the media school on Indiana University’s campus. Two friends I drove home from a soccer game this fall in Minneapolis assumed the worst with a cheery acceptance: Formula 1, teams or even drivers were cutting my checks. Stakeholders not paying me seemed to puzzle, and disturb, them more.

Illinois, Indiana, Minnesota: Maybe there is a Midwest media literacy crisis I wasn’t aware of. But if I had to guess, it’s a nationwide epidemic.

The 2004 Bahrain Grand Prix media center. (Rainer Schlegelmilch via Motorsport Images).

Journalism’s slow procession towards the grave has been the navel-gazing topic du jour for the last century: ad dollars seeping into editorial meetings, the advent of branded journalism and the emergence of artificial intelligence. Sports journalism, however, offers a peek into the future. The sub-genre is a few years ahead of the rest of the industry, with social media content creators infiltrating its ranks. It is a blaring warning siren for anyone who cares to listen.

In late October, I received an email ahead of the Formula 1 Las Vegas Grand Prix that hasn’t stopped cycling through my subconscious. Casino.org, “the world’s leading independent online gaming authority,” was giving one lucky fan the opportunity to be a journalist for the race weekend and, like most slightly sketchy-sounding press releases in my spam folder, wanted me to write about it. The “reporter” role had its obvious appeal: an all-expenses paid trip, VIP access encouraging the hope of brushing shoulders with the sport’s celebrities, a $1,000 paycheck and another $1,000 allowance in Vegas spending money. The only ask? Write daily updates, take a few photos and interview some fans — “No influencer status or fancy equipment needed.”

The role seemed to grab the concept of journalism by the jugular and step on it.

I’m not opposed to citizen journalism or influencer content creation. In fact, I think the current multimedia landscape and mediums to disseminate information are inspired: Elite Gen Z college students don’t have the capacity to read a sonnet, they aren’t going to pick up a newspaper and read a 1,500-word article. As I type this in a corner of the local library, a gaggle of elementary school-aged girls use the communal computers to scroll through TikToks at a dizzying pace that is both nausea-inducing and as effective a birth control pill as any. Thirty-second videos seem to be too much of a brain game for split-second attention spans. It is clear that content creators who can talk about news in engaging, short-form formats are the present and future of media.

Over the past four years, content creation and sport-specific influencers have surged in Formula 1. It has buoyed the racing series’ popularity after Netflix’s “Drive to Survive.” The online community is a special corner of the internet: a place where fangirls can exist without the sport’s traditional audience breathing down their necks. I’ve written at length about the positive impact of content creators in Formula 1, from breaking the traditional news mold (and telling the stories that often go unreported) to demanding a focus on women’s rights issues in the sport. These savvy social media specialists straddle a “reporting” and influencing role, acting both as informers and sellers. However, that vague boundary often leaves ethics up for debate. After being wined and dined, put up in hotels by sponsors and receiving exclusive access, what are creators expected to disclose? The Federal Trade Commission (FTC) requires creators and influencers to flag sponsored ads, but because of the sheer amount of content to regulate, undisclosed advertising often goes unnoticed. There is also a lack of consistency in broadcasting conflicts of interest. If Formula 1 content creators accept a gift bag or Hilton hotel room from McLaren once, are they required to disclose that payment each time they make content about Lando Norris or Oscar Piastri?

Journalist Alan Henry with Ferrari drivers Niki Lauda and Clay Regazzoni and a copy of Motoring News. 1976 Monaco Grand Prix. (Motorsport Images).

Formula 1, straddling both new and old media, offers a novel journalistic format where the term “reporter” is used for everyone from journalists to presenters to a conventionally attractive person holding a cell phone. Influencers and content creators congregate at the Miamis, Las Vegases and Monacos of the calendar, but are largely absent the rest of the year. News reporters still hold a kind of power content creators lack and fans continue to turn to the sport’s media for breaking news, often repackaging it for their own social media audiences. When four-time world champion Max Verstappen staged a protest in response to the ruling body’s swearing sanctions in September, he refused to answer press conference questions at length and held his own press session with journalists outside of the media center. There is a core group of journalists who continue to hold the sport and its sponsors accountable, but branded media is encroaching on those reporters’ territory. In November, Formula 1 announced it would partner with Condé Nast for “exclusive F1 stories, unique access to F1 talent, and brand-sponsored video content.” At recent U.S. races, Elle, Vogue, GQ and Cosmo filmed TikToks with Visa Cash App RB’s Yuki Tsunoda and Ferrari’s Charles Leclerc with various sponsors nonchalantly name-dropped.

Some argue that influencers are more transparent than journalists. Sports fans won’t know if journalists accept goodie bags or plane tickets unless they disclose it. Readers may not even know that a publication carves out ad space for the very companies they are covering, like the Financial Times partnering with Aston Martin F1 Team. If influencers accept perks, it is their job to show them off. Plus, Gen Z trusts influencers and celebrities over experts and journalists. While critics of the media can help encourage a more transparent industry, athletes and influencers with global platforms can chip away at trust. On Friday while accepting an award for his runner-up performance in the 2024 Formula 1 World Drivers’ Championship, McLaren’s Norris took the time to call out Formula 1 journalism: “You know how the media changes things.” Over the past two months, recurrent claims of British media bias resurfaced in the sport, spurred on by content creators and drivers.

The line separating journalists from content creators resembles a faint pencil mark when both occupy the same space. While most sports’ written media credentials, including Formula 1’s media access, outline that influencers and content creators are not permitted to apply for accreditation, broadcast media and other series’ requirements are more lax. When I reported at the Formula E Portland E-Prix in July 2023, content creators and journalists were grouped together and received the same access. An influencer told me in October that an IndyCar driver complained when content creators took up media pen time filming TikToks about drivers’ favorite Taylor Swift songs. At the Formula 1 United States Grand Prix, content creators and podcast hosts asked me why I received a press pass but they didn’t.

Swiss Formula 1 driver Clay Regazzoni attempts to leave the pit lane and drive back on track during qualifying at the Osterreichring in Austria, 1973. He is met with a blockade of journalists protesting the lack of press access and credentials. (David Phipps via Motorsport Images).

Ashley Kalita, a content creator and the top American motorsport streamer, posted a TikTok asking “Should sports content creators get media credentials?”

“Some people say no because we’re not real media and we don’t count,” She said. “I say that we get just as much viewership if not more than some of the local media. They get credentials, like why shouldn’t we? We also have different target audiences, we also have different reach, and I really think we can work together.”

WeatherTech Raceway Laguna Seca launched a content creator credential program this season and Kalita received a pass: “I don’t have to cold email teams. The raceway is behind me, the series is behind me, so I’m getting interviews lined up, getting to talk to drivers a lot more easily.”

But not all passes are created equal. As the public increasingly turns to influencers, celebrities and ordinary people for information, sports teams are prioritizing handing out credentials and exclusive interviews to content creators.

This election season, politics saw the same phenomenon. Over 200 credentialed content creators attended the Democratic National Convention (DNC) in August. Their passes served as golden tickets, offering glitzier access compared to credentialed journalists. Kristin Brey, a podcaster and newspaper columnist, elbowed her way through other journalists for a quote at the Republican National Convention (RNC) in July and was rarely afforded convention hall access with her standard-issue press pass. When she came as a content creator for the DNC, she was escorted to cocktail parties and VIP lounges. She was offered one-on-one interviews with the party’s biggest names. Other influencers had their flights and hotels paid for, reported The New York Times.

The cash flowing from each political party into hosting content creators wasn’t wasted. Donald Trump’s presidential victory came down to a select group of podcasters and influencers with large audiences, reportedly chosen by Trump’s Gen Z son. Conservative men are the largest growing influencer population in the U.S., according to Pew Research Center. Kamala Harris gained supporters in a similar fashion: Her social media team uploaded catchy TikTok edits and the current vice president was a guest on Call Her Daddy, one of the top podcasts among young women. Political analysts warned that Harris’ failure to sit down with similar podcast hosts and engage the same influencers as Trump cost her the election.

Like political parties, sports teams and sponsors know that a 10-second video will attract more eyes than a news article. It also helps that the influencer economy is predicted to reach $500 billion in valuation by 2027 while print media is hemorrhaging money.

Veteran journalists blame slashed sports desks and private equity acquisitions for this media evolution and a lack of accountability, which is, partially, true: “Their ranks are thinning, making it easier for athletes, owners and leagues to conceal hard truths from the public,” Keith O’Brien wrote for The Atlantic in February. Reporters are often required to take on second gigs, on occasion for the very teams they are covering. But it’s also because the sports industry is, intentionally or not, crafting the foundation for a journalism-free future, and making sure that the reporters who stick around are in its back pocket.

“Sports reporters these days struggle to get face time with athletes. Many can’t even get into the locker room.” O’Brien insisted. “The players and teams have complete control.”

Old photos show Formula 1 journalists arm-in-arm with race car drivers in Zandvoort, tanning by a pool together in Monte Carlo and rushing on track to ask a few questions after a crash. Access is depicted as unrestricted — often too close for comfort. Now, 10-minute group media sessions, reporters cutting each other off for an answer they can say was directed at their publication, paired with occasional one-on-ones are more typical. In contrast, influencers filmed lengthy sit-down interviews with top drivers at the 2024 Las Vegas Grand Prix.

Left to right: Johnny Herbert has fun with Mika Hakkinen and F1 journalist Christopher Hilton, 1992 Formula 1 testing. (Sutton Images via Motorsport Images); Jackie Stewart applies suncream to his wife Helen, as Stirling Moss and journalist Eoin Young chat, at the Hotel de Paris in Monte Carlo 1965. (Associated Newspapers via Motorsport Images); Jackie Stewart chats to journalist, Eoin Young in the pits, 1970 Dutch Grand Prix. (Motorsport Images); Ayrton Senna talks about his Rally car experience with Car and Car Conversions journalist Russell Bulgin, 1985. (Sutton Images via Motorsport Images).

Journalists have always been watchdogs. They make or break careers and cost businesses millions. An exposé is a fearsome fate for any stakeholder. But as content creators offer a more attractive way to engage sports fans, teams and sponsors can control the narrative — often scripting branded social content, drawing a red line through pre-approved questions and having final approval over the finished product. Their grip on the news cycle tightens when journalists are offered inferior access paired with swag bags.

I’m far from the best person to write this piece. I don’t have decades of experience in the pitlane, or even journalism, to speak for. When I began reporting on the sport, I accepted a (disclosed) trip to a rally race paid for by a team. I saw the impact almost immediately: I knew I would never be able to write about the series without that plane ticket or comped dinner hanging over my head. I would always need to disclose it. Although I vowed never to do it again — the monologue from “Almost Famous” pinging from one part of my brain to the next: “They're gonna buy you drinks. You're gonna meet girls, they're gonna fly you places for free, offer you drugs. I know, it sounds great, but these people are not your friends. These are people who want you to write sanctimonious stories about the genius of rock stars, and they will ruin rock 'n' roll.” — I knew that I likely wouldn’t have ended up where I am today without it and the people I met there. I’ve shamefully accepted drinks at rooftop parties and guiltily cut into steak dinners, largely because it is what everyone else does. The industry encourages it, disguised by the formality of limited interview access. And maybe it all evens out if every sports team gifts a journalist a goodie bag, but I doubt it.

The slow creep of ad dollars and conflicts of interest are in no way exclusive to Formula 1. But, they do seem exaggerated in an industry often described as sexy, fast and dangerous where a small group of media, team personnel and drivers travel to 21 countries across 10 months together. The sport, appearing to be as complex as 20 athletes driving in odd shapes on end, has real international economic and ethical implications. A veteran sports (non-racing) newspaper journalist I spoke to said he was baffled about both freebies and editorial ad oversight in Formula 1. A newbie newspaper journalist said he can’t even accept a bottle of water while reporting.

A journalist at work. 1970 Formula 1 French Grand Prix. (Motorsport Images).

Maybe there isn’t a media literacy — or, rather, ethics — crisis after all. Maybe I’m 30 years behind the times and typing in an old-school newsroom haze, one where I’m romantically taking a drag of a cigarette while cold-calling, preferring the people I cover an arm’s length away and standing on my soapbox reciting, “You have to make your reputation on being honest and, y'know...unmerciful.”

I often scoff when I see social media content creators call themselves journalists. But, despite routine claims that “print is back” and the threat of a TikTok ban in the U.S., it isn’t as if time and technology will move backward. I do think that sports media faces a dangerous present and future. But, exiling influencers as the “other” or the “enemy” won’t suddenly make my cousin(s) put down a tennis racket in favor of taking up arms in the name of journalistic integrity, nor will it make sports journalism ethics clearer. The newest generation of journalism students seems to understand striking a balance: They aren’t entirely pessimistic about journalism and understand its importance in sustaining democracy but are also leaning into the digital age of short attention spans.

Maybe the solution isn’t to push social media stars away at all, but to hold them closer and say, “Hey, maybe don’t send your questions in advance.”