Just as aging Americans and youth-obsessed brands finally sort of wrapped their heads around what is and what might not be brat this summer, a new viral descriptor also became household vernacular. In early August, Chicago-based creator Jools Lebron began using the phrase “very demure, very mindful” in a series of TikToks, which quickly exploded all over the internet.
“You see how I do my makeup at work?” Lebron asked in the original video before coining her viral catchphrase. It caught on immediately—both as a celebration of and an ironic commentary on the concept of presentability, before spawning a seemingly endless supply of other use cases. It was the kind of moment most creators dream of. Lebron had clearly captured lightning in a bottle. But the intensity of the lightning now appears to be straining the TikTok star as pressure mounts on her to wield it the right way before everyone potentially moves on. This is one of the hidden pitfalls of the creator economy: finding yourself suddenly on the verge of either a life-changing payday and a perch on pop culture or squandering both.
The latter possibility appeared to hit Lebron last week when she moved to trademark her catchphrase, only to discover that a Washington State man named Jefferson Bates had beaten her to the punch. She took the news understandably hard.
Before viral fame, and until recently, Lebron had worked as a cashier at Illinois grocery store chain Mariano’s, gradually cultivating an online presence in her off-hours. (She now has over 2.1 million followers on TikTok.) In a candid, tearful video, Lebron vented about her fears of blowing a golden opportunity to “do so much for [her] family.” The since-deleted video is a glaring indication that navigating the minefield of options that come with instant and perhaps fleeting fame has become a lot more difficult than it used to be.
“Things go viral at a faster pace today than ever,” says tech journalist Taylor Lorenz, author of Extremely Online: The Untold Story of Fame, Influence, and Power on the Internet. “You’re not gonna have three months of virality now and then get in a newspaper, and then, three months later, you’re on a talk show. All of that has been compressed to, like, 48 hours. Everything is faster and more intense than ever, and it’s just easier to get chewed up and spat out.”
The differences from earlier eras of the internet boil down to the fact that there are now too many creators, making too much content on platforms that are too self-contained. If you’re a TikTok consumer and your partner is more of an X (formerly Twitter) person, you probably each have a markedly different understanding of “what everyone is talking about” on any given day. So, when something like “Very demure, very mindful” comes along and breaks through the clutter to the point where it becomes equally unavoidable on just about all platforms, everyone wants a piece of it.
“We’re seeing brands gravitate toward virality more than ever before,” says Ali Wald, director of talent at influencer-management firm Digital Brand Architects. “We’re seeing digital talent land record deals from a viral song on TikTok, Super Bowl commercials, record-shattering podcast deals, and building multimillion-dollar companies. These are huge opportunities that used to be reserved for only traditional talent, but as I like to say: Digital talent are traditional talent.”
All of that potential for multidimensional demand only underscores the pressure on creators to already have a plan in place for striking while the iron is hot.
“For any content creator, it’s important to prepare yourself for the exciting possibility of going viral with the influx of new eyeballs and opportunities,” says Jonathan Chanti, president of talent at Viral Nation. “These moments come quickly, and given their advanced speeds and propensities to snowball overnight, it’s equally important to remember that any window is limited, and those first moments are critical.”
Some aspects of that early hurricane of attention seem almost objectively fun. Your phone becomes stuck in an infinite-vibrate glitch of constant notifications. You feel like a winner. You feel famous. But what is it really like to experience such a moment in the eye of the storm?
“Terrifying,” says Lorenz, who has forged close relationships with creators through her reporting, and who has become a viral creator in her own right. “Everybody wants to use you, and you can’t trust anyone. People have reached out to me after going viral and said their roommate started secretly recording them, or a random high school boyfriend did a Twitter thread about them just to glom off of that attention.”
Beyond the privacy violations, even the ostensibly positive aspects of virality come with baggage. Marquee podcasts might want to have you on as a guest, but is it for the right reasons? Big brands may want to sign you, but are they the right fit? Does signing a deal with one now foreclose the possibility of a more lucrative deal down the line with a competing brand? Do you need a lawyer? (Yes, you probably do.)
“Some of the most talked about brands on TikTok—ones that the platform itself points to as best in class—now use trending sounds and songs that likely require their legal teams to look the other way,” says Rachel Karten, a social media consultant and writer of the Link in Bio newsletter. “I can’t even count how many brands participated in the “very demure” trend. Plus, with the speed at which a TikTok sound turns into general internet speak, we’re seeing brands type out these quotes and sounds on platforms like X and even billboards with zero crediting.”
Legal counsel can also help creators arrive at a decision about whether to get representation—and if so, with whom.
“Once somebody goes viral, the scammiest people alive will try to capitalize on it and sign them into really restrictive management agreements,” Lorenz says. “They come out of the woodwork, promise the world, and then don’t deliver or they just want to use you for their own publicity.”
Lorenz once wrote an exposé for the New York Times about a talent manager who signed TikTok star Brittany Broski after her viral breakthrough: a much-memed first sip of kombucha. That manager eventually withheld tens of thousands in brand-deal fees before Broski caught on.
In the years since, more and more creators have come to understand the importance of doing the proper vetting on any prospective agent or manager before even so much as a handshake. Having reputable management, however, can be a big help for creators adjusting to their new reality after making a huge viral splash.
“It’s a massive change to their day-to-day lives, which is a lot to process so quickly,” says Wald. “We’re watching creators’ lives change in real time, and there are more logistics, conversations, and strategic decisions being made behind the scenes—and more quickly—than I think most audiences watching their content are aware of.”
Prior to getting the trademark rug pulled out from under her, Lebron seemed to be walking an enchanted path. Not only did the trend she ignite end up going all the way up to the White House, it led to spon-con for Southwest Airlines; a brand partnership with Netflix, through which the streamer recommends a Very Demure, Very Mindful category to viewers; and an appearance on an episode of Jimmy Kimmel Live! guest-hosted by RuPaul. Lebron also only signed with Chicago-based management service Social Café Agency weeks after her videos caught fire. She seemed to be making all the right moves for parlaying a moment into sustainability.
Someone who charted an even less likely path to viral fame than Lebron earlier this summer is Hailey Welch, better known as Hawk Tuah Girl. Welch came to the world’s attention with a memorably explicit response to an on-the-street interview on June 10. (“Hawk Tuah” is an onomatopoeic expression of spitting . . . and the rest is best left to the imagination.) Within two weeks of the phrase becoming embedded in the firmament of the internet, the one officially licensed Hawk Tuah merch vendor—Fathead Threads, whose owner has known Welch for years—had already sold roughly $65,000 worth of hats and shirts. A couple weeks later, that figure rose to $300,000, she found representation with management firm The Penthouse, and was lining up live appearances such as judging a bikini contest at the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel and Casino—reportedly for as much as $20,000.
Each viral creator’s path is their own, and Lebron will likely focus on an area other than live events, but the moment is still ripe for her to explore merch possibilities for her catchphrase. Demand for it is practically radiating off all platforms. While the trademark snafu has discouraged her from a big merch rollout like Welch’s, Lebron may catch up yet.
As publicist Tenille Clark pointed out last week on X, the Intellectual Property Office takes into account several variables when awarding trademarks, including which party popularized the term first. In this case, it couldn’t be more obvious. During the time it took to report this story, Lebron put out a video hinting that she’d acquired a legal team and that: “We got it handled.”
Unfortunately for anyone who charts a lucrative path through the early whirlwind of virality, finding the ideal way to leverage a funny schtick and a trademarked phrase for the long haul is where the real challenge begins.