Hierarchies in girl world are fickle, but powerful. A spot at the top is typically reserved for the beautiful, relatable, and intelligent — ideally armed with an elusive main-character-cocktail of effortless style, undeniable kindness, and perfect, perfect hair. Having one of the above is great, but having all three is better, and Matilda Djerf has it all. Or at least… she had it.
This month, 11 former and current employees of Djerf Avenue, the 27-year-old Swedish influencer’s multimillion-dollar fashion and beauty brand, anonymously accused the founder of fostering a toxic workplace, including detailed accounts of alleged bullying, body-shaming and exclusionary tactics, allegations first reported in the Swedish publication Aftonbladet on Dec. 12.
Djerf has since addressed the accusations with a now-expired Instagram story-apology (she’s “so, so, so sorry”) and a text post that, notably, doesn’t outright deny any of the claims but apologizes again. In the same post, she does, however, acknowledge that she’d never led a team or built a company before, and wishes her growth “happened faster.” She also lists plans to improve her organization’s work culture, and said she’ll “keep learning and working to ensure Djerf Avenue is a safe, inclusive space for everyone.” When Refinery29 reached out to Djerf for comment, her team referred us back to this statement.
It’s certainly not the first time a fashion influencer hasn’t lived up to the picture-perfect image they present — and it won’t be the last. Still, the revelations have blindsided many of her loyal fans and customers, who have shared reactions online that range from being “very shocked” to “on the verge of tears.”
“In my mind there was just no way this sweet angel of a woman I’ve watched for so long could possibly act so terribly,” long-time Djerf fan Marianna Bollini tells Refinery29. Djerf was one of the first people that the 18-year-old, based in Sandusky, OH, followed on Instagram. Bollini has met Djerf on two separate occasions, at Djerf Avenue pop-ups, and says the creator has replied to her Instagram DMs in the past. “I just wish she knew how many young, aspiring girls like myself look up to her as a role model.” Another fan, posting on TikTok under the handle @elenatea_, says she used to look up to Djerf but that these allegations have taught her “to not put these people on such a high pedestal. Because more often than not, they’re not who we think they are.” She added in her video, which has almost 60,000 likes: “This isn’t about cancel culture, this is about treating people with respect.”
Like so many of us, these women feel a genuine connection to creators like Djerf who convincingly share authentic, intimate glimpses into their everyday lives — and content creators have been building businesses out of these parasocial relationships for years. We buy into their have-it-all lifestyles — whether that’s through follows, engagement, or our real, hard-earned money. (In the US alone, the influencer marketing business is reportedly worth a record $24 billion, and has more than tripled since 2019.) In return, we expect them to be reflections of the aspirational lifestyles we follow them for, even when the cameras are off. As humans we are wired for connection, but thanks to our increasingly online world, the lines between what’s real and what’s contrived continue to be blurred.
“These accusations tell us that what we see online doesn’t necessarily reflect reality, which is a lesson we keep having to re-learn,” pop-culture commentator and journalist Stacy Lee Kong tells Refinery29. “And I’m definitely not saying that to look down on anyone. It’s very human to feel connected to other people, especially those we admire, and the reality is, we are surrounded by technology that approximates connection very well.”
But, as the Instagram-to-reality gap continues to be revealed, how long can brands expect to bank on influencers’ glamorized lifestyles to churn out sales? As the internet continues to remind us that no one is perfect, are we the real fools for believing the facades to begin with? And what will it take for us to reduce the value we place on the influencers, celebrities, and public figures we follow?
If we scroll back just a few weeks — prior to the accusations — Djerf’s reputation was relatively spotless. She’s been on our Instagram feeds for less than a decade, and in that time has amassed three million followers (1.5m on TikTok) and a fanbase that hails her as a quasi god in delectably oversized, neutral suits. She parlayed her success into her brand, selling silky slip dresses, printed loungewear, and perhaps most importantly, her luxurious, “lagom” lifestyle of not too much, not too little. Add to this her aspirational personal life, which includes a close-knit group of (well-dressed) friends, her adorably-tiny dog Rufus, and boyfriend (and Djerf Avenue co-founder) Rasmus Johansson, to her unmistakable nice-girl vibes, the creator seemingly had the Insta It Girl formula down pat.
At Djerf Avenue pop-ups (the most recent one was in London earlier this month, to celebrate the brand’s fifth anniversary) Djerf made an effort to personally meet her customers. In September, the brand launched a campaign that featured a diverse range of fans (who were mostly content creators) to foster a deeper sense of community. She has spoken out about mental health, shared messages of body positivity, and fronts a community-minded, slow-fashion brand. Djerf’s image has largely been one of goodness. And a few million people bought in.
@mari.bollini Im so torn. I’ve been the biggest fan of hers since 2019 & everytime i’ve met her she’s been nothing short of an angel. Part of me wants to believe that the person conveyed in those videos isnt who she truly is but either way i know its wrong. I just love her so much ðŸ˜❤️#matildadjerf ♬ original sound – MARIANNA BOLLINI
“It is interesting to me that we seemingly come to this realization over and over again, every time someone we admire disappoints us,” Lee Kong says. We’ve seen the pattern with a number of fashion influencers before Djerf. When a handful of former employees of Leandra Medine Cohen’s fashion blog Man Repeller accused the influencer and founder of discriminatory leadership in June 2020 amid protests against George Floyd’s murder, fans expressed deep disappointment while demanding accountability. Medine Cohen stepped down from her leadership role weeks later. At the time she said she had “a lot of listening and learning and growing to do.” She shut the brand down months later, as a result of “financial constraints.” (Refinery29 is no stranger to this; also in 2020, multiple former employees shared accounts of racist and toxic management under previous leadership.)
Danielle Bernstein, influencer and founder of the blog WeWoreWhat, has never been accused of toxic management, but has faced several allegations against her brand’s creative ethics. Like Djerf and Medine Cohen, Bernstein turned her social media success into various collaborations and eventually her own fashion brand. The creator has been repeatedly accused of copying designs from indie brands, by well-known fashion accounts and the creators themselves, as far back as 2018 and as recently as 2021. Bernstein has consistently denied these allegations.
Both Medine Cohen and Bernstein have since bounced back from the backlash, still maintaining millions of followers and businesses. These are just two examples among countless influencers who survived “cancellation.”
In the eye of the Djerf storm, fan reactions and comments on the creator’s feed suggest that this set of accusations — with Djerf herself at the heart of her brand — will be harder to recover from. The original Aftonbladet report referred to her workplace behaviour as “psychological terror,” detailing one incident where the founder prohibited certain staff from using the same bathroom as her, then allegedly ordering an employee to scrub the toilet after unauthorized use. Refinery29 reached out to Djerf for comment. Her team referred us to her Instagram statement.
So while sure, Djerf and her team will likely take some lessons from this, the prevention of future influencer brand reckonings would require a seismic shift in our expectations, as consumers, of social media figures. As a possible TikTok ban looms, and with shopping potentially about to get a lot more expensive thanks to Trump’s proposed tariffs, the future of influencer brands has more than just its founders’ off-camera actions at stake. Perhaps fashion and beauty companies will learn to expand their branding beyond said founders’ lifestyles (as Man Repeller aimed, but failed, to do). Or maybe more creators, Djerf included, will embrace less-curated content and the resurgence of ‘Casual Instagram’ (although this too can be curated).
Lee Kong, for her part, predicts this is far from the end for Djerf. “She’ll lose some fans for sure, but if she and Djerf Avenue invest in a solid PR strategy, continue releasing products that people want to buy and nothing else emerges, she’ll be totally fine.”
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