If you’ve built an audience around documenting your 9-to-5 online, what happens after you hand in your notice?
That’s the conundrum facing Connor Hubbard, aka “hubs.life,” a creator who amassed a huge following by sharing the mundane details of his corporate life as a senior analyst at a Fortune 500 company. In April 2024, The Guardian dubbed him “the most boring man on the internet,” with some of his most popular videos showing viewers his lunch breaks and daily 9-to-5 routine.
The internet couldn’t get enough. “It just seemed to get a lot of traction,” he told GQ in an interview, “because I think most of the world is working. They have to work for a living. They can’t all be influencers.”
Then he quit. Not for another job, but to become a full-time influencer.
Clips from a recent livestream began circulating after Hubbard told viewers he wouldn’t answer questions unless they sent him a “Galaxy,” a TikTok gift that costs 1,000 coins, or about $13. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t go over well with fans. “We need studies on the downfall of Hubs Life,” one TikTok user posted. “Who did this guy become?”
Hubbard has fallen into the relatability trap—one that often trips up influencers who go viral by sharing their ordinary lives. As their follower count grows, their lifestyle—and content—inevitably shifts. Maybe it’s a bigger house, more lavish brand trips, or, in Hubbard’s case, quitting the job that made him famous in the first place.
Suddenly, the content no longer reflects what drew the audience in. “He left his 6 figure job FOR THIS,” one person commented. “This storyline would be a good black mirror episode,” another added. (Fast Company has reached out to Hubbard for comment.)
For audiences, watching their favorite influencers change in real time can feel disheartening—sometimes even like a betrayal. The backlash can be swift and harsh, or fans simply lose interest and move on. “Hubs Life assumed people loved him not the content,” another TikTok user observed.
The internet is rarely forgiving, especially when followers feel responsible for someone’s rise. It’s a lesson Hubbard is learning the hard way. As one particularly brutal comment put it: “We made the wrong person famous.”