Motorcycle Influencers & Content Creators. Who the Hell Should You Listen To?

Motorcycle influencers have never had more reach, manufacturers have never had more ways to bypass traditional media, and everyone with a GoPro seems to have become an expert. But when popularity, expertise, advertising and entertainment all start looking the same, who the hell should riders actually listen to?

The usual suspects. Any likeness is purely coincidental.

There was a time when becoming an authority on motorcycles took a while. Journalists generally spent years riding and testing bikes, talking to engineers and mechanics and, in many cases, racing them. Mechanics served apprenticeships, instructors gained qualifications and racers had results sheets to back up their claims.

You didn't necessarily agree with them, but there was normally something behind the opinion.

Social media has completely dismantled that hierarchy. Buy a motorcycle, buy a GoPro and start a TikTok account and, with the right combination of personality, luck and understanding of the algorithm, you can have an audience of hundreds of thousands within a remarkably short space of time.

That isn't necessarily a bad thing. In fact, social media has probably been one of the best things to happen to motorcycle media in decades. It has broken the monopoly once held by a handful of magazines and created space for some genuinely brilliant independent creators. There are racers, mechanics, adventurers, engineers, instructors and incredibly knowledgeable enthusiasts producing content today who might never have been given a voice under the old system.

The problem is that social media hasn't just democratised opinion.

It has democratised authority.

And somewhere along the way, we've started confusing the size of someone's audience with the value of what they're saying.

The algorithm doesn't know you're a bellend

Perhaps we've misunderstood what an influencer actually is. We tend to imagine somebody posing next to a motorcycle holding whatever product they've just been paid to promote, but influence isn't really a profession. It's an outcome.

If 300,000 people regularly watch you, you have influence. It doesn't matter whether they're watching because you're an exceptional rider, incredibly knowledgeable, attractive, funny, controversial or because you're an absolute liability who keeps doing stupid things on public roads.

The algorithm doesn't understand the difference.

TikTok, Instagram and YouTube are designed to identify content that generates a reaction and show it to more people. Something outrageous therefore has an enormous advantage because the people who love it interact with it, while the people who absolutely hate it do exactly the same thing.

One person comments, "Legend 😂🔥."

Another comments, "You absolute fucking idiot."

As far as the algorithm is concerned, both worked.

That creates a slightly perverse situation where some of the least responsible people in motorcycling can become some of its most influential figures. I've seen accounts featuring riding that would make most experienced motorcyclists wince attracting hundreds of thousands of followers.

And unfortunately, their influence doesn't stop with the people who enjoy watching them.

Their views. Our reputation.

Motorcyclists have always suffered from a fairly complicated relationship with the wider public. Noise, speeding, antisocial riding and road safety are hardly new arguments, but social media has given the worst examples an enormous amplifier.

A bloke riding sensibly to work on his NC750X isn't going viral.

Someone doing three-figure speeds between cars while filming it probably is.

The problem is that the general public, politicians and newspapers don't necessarily distinguish between motorcycle subcultures. Someone already irritated by motorcycles doesn't watch a video of a burnout in a residential street and think, "What an irresponsible individual content creator."

They think, "Fucking bikers."

Governments and politicians are already scrutinising social-media platforms over dangerous driving content. And while motorcycles are certainly not alone in this — cars are just as capable of generating spectacularly stupid content — we shouldn't pretend that repeatedly broadcasting our worst behaviour to millions of people has no consequences.

The creator gets the followers, engagement and potentially the money.

The rest of us inherit the reputation.

There is an uncomfortable irony in motorcyclists complaining about increased scrutiny while sections of motorcycle social media are effectively producing the prosecution's highlight reel for them.

When entertainment becomes education

I'd be less concerned if all of this remained entertainment. Unfortunately, once someone develops a sizeable following, something else often happens.

They start giving advice.

We all know one of these guys...

This is where follower count becoming synonymous with authority becomes considerably more troubling.

I've watched people with enormous audiences dispensing riding advice to new motorcyclists while apparently struggling with fairly basic motorcycle control themselves. I've watched tutorials teaching riders how to get their knee down while demonstrating body positioning and technique that I certainly wouldn't teach anyone.

An experienced rider can watch that and think, that's bollocks.

A 19-year-old who passed their test three weeks ago might see 400,000 followers and reasonably assume the person knows exactly what they're talking about.

There was no exam required to become an online motorcycle instructor. No qualification. No assessment of riding ability. Nobody checked how long you've actually been riding.

The algorithm simply handed you a classroom.

That doesn't mean somebody without decades of experience isn't entitled to share what they've learned. Of course they are. Some of the most useful content for new riders can actually come from people who recently went through the same process.

But there's an enormous difference between sharing your experience and presenting yourself as an authority.

Social media increasingly blurs the two.

"But it's AAA rated"

Protective clothing is a perfect example.

I've seen countless videos of riders wearing clothing that visually looks closer to gym wear than traditional motorcycle kit. Predictably somebody questions it in the comments and equally predictably comes the response:

"It's AAA rated."

Fair enough.

It might be AAA rated but cow hide tends to do well for 200mph racers...

AAA is meaningful. Modern technical riding clothing can provide levels of protection that would have seemed impossible years ago, and judging protective equipment purely by how thick and cumbersome it looks would be ridiculous.

But certification isn't invincibility, and this is where a little knowledge can quickly become dangerous when condensed into social-media soundbites.

A laboratory test tells us that a garment has met particular requirements under defined conditions. A real motorcycle accident isn't a laboratory. Road surface, speed, impact, tumbling, garment fit, armour position, obstacles and how the accident actually unfolds all matter.

Personally, if I'm travelling quickly on a motorcycle, I want as much protection as I can reasonably wear. That's based partly on the available evidence and partly on having spent a reasonable amount of my life racing motorcycles and occasionally discovering the limits of grip in a rather more physical manner than intended.

I've crashed in proper motorcycle kit.

Quite a few times, actually.

I'm therefore slightly reluctant to take safety lectures from someone dancing around next to a Panigale in leggings simply because they've read the certification label.

That doesn't mean their clothing is unsafe. It means that if you're advising inexperienced riders about safety equipment, saying "it's AAA" shouldn't necessarily be the beginning and end of your expertise.

Explain what the rating means. Explain armour. Explain fit. Explain the compromise between protection, comfort and practicality.

That's useful advice.

Repeating the marketing claim isn't.

Sex sells. Stupidity does pretty well too.

There is another uncomfortable part of modern motorcycle social media that is difficult to ignore.

Female motorcycle content has exploded over recent years and, broadly speaking, that's brilliant for motorcycling. There are some genuinely exceptional female racers, journalists, mechanics, travellers and creators producing fantastic work.

But there is also a very obvious corner of social media where the motorcycle appears to be playing a supporting role.

Perfect makeup, skin-tight base layers, carefully positioned superbike, suggestive pose, photograph, repeat.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. If you've got it and want to flaunt it, crack on.

The interesting bit is what happens next.

Attractiveness generates engagement. Engagement generates followers. Followers attract brands. Brands provide products. Products create reviews and recommendations. Before long, someone whose audience may originally have arrived because they look fantastic in Lycra has acquired perceived authority on motorcycles.

That isn't really a female problem.

It's an algorithm problem.

Male creators have simply found different ways of feeding the same machine. Wheelies through traffic, rev-limiters, ridiculous speeds, confrontation, road rage, police encounters and thumbnails informing you that YOU'VE BEEN RIDING YOUR MOTORCYCLE WRONG YOUR ENTIRE LIFE all achieve much the same thing.

One uses sex appeal.

Another uses stupidity.

Both generate attention, and attention is the currency social media understands.

Meanwhile, a suspension technician with 25 years' experience uploads a detailed explanation of rebound damping and gets 1,700 views.

Welcome to the internet.

The world's most predictable product review

Then there is the commercial side.

A box arrives containing the latest piece of must-have motorcycle equipment from a brand nobody had heard of six months ago.

The creator received it for free.

There's an affiliate link underneath the video.

There's a discount code.

And would you believe it?

It's amazing.

None of this automatically makes somebody dishonest. Affiliate marketing is a perfectly legitimate way of funding content and free products allow independent creators to test equipment they might otherwise never encounter.

But pretending the incentive doesn't exist is equally ridiculous.

If I give you something for free, you make money every time somebody buys one using your link and you'd quite like me to continue sending you free products, that relationship is relevant to the person watching your review.

There's also a wider consequence that gets remarkably little attention.

British motorcycle importers and distributors employ people. They hold stock, supply replacement parts, process warranties, train dealers, provide technical support, attend shows, pay taxes and answer the phone when something you've bought stops working.

Then somebody on TikTok holds up a visually similar product shipped directly from a factory thousands of miles away for half the money and announces that it's "basically exactly the same."

Perhaps it is.

Perhaps it isn't.

Cheap doesn't automatically mean bad and expensive certainly doesn't automatically mean good. But quality control, warranty support, product liability, development, replacement parts and long-term durability are rather more difficult to demonstrate in a 45-second Reel than price.

Especially when there's a discount code waiting underneath it.

When access becomes currency

This is where things become uncomfortable for traditional motorcycle journalism too, because none of this is exclusively an influencer problem.

Manufacturers control access.

They own the motorcycles, organise the launches, provide press fleets and decide who gets invited to ride the latest machinery.

Nobody needs to hand a journalist an envelope stuffed with cash for a potential conflict to exist.

Access itself has value.

If your livelihood depends upon reviewing motorcycles, you need motorcycles to review. If manufacturers stop lending them to you, you've got a fairly significant problem.

How most of us imagine new bike launches.

That doesn't mean motorcycle journalists are dishonest. Most aren't. Nor is there anything inherently wrong with manufacturers flying journalists and creators to launches. That's how the industry has operated for decades.

But it does create a relationship that audiences should understand.

If a manufacturer flies you somewhere sunny, pays for the hotel, feeds you and gives you its latest £20,000 motorcycle to ride, you're obviously capable of forming an independent opinion.

But if your resulting video says their pride and joy is an absolute bag of shit, it would be naive to pretend you aren't at least wondering whether you'll be invited back next year.

Which perhaps explains one of my favourite peculiarities of motorcycle journalism:

There don't seem to be many genuinely bad motorcycles anymore.

Instead they're "not quite as accomplished as their rivals."

They have "a distinctive character."

They're "perhaps aimed at a different type of rider."

Or there are "areas we'd like to see addressed in the next generation."

Sometimes you finish reading a review and think:

So… it's shit, then?

The motorcycle nobody wants to call bad

I've had this feeling recently with the new range from a well known brand we will call 'Wellington'.

I've had the opportunity to ride the bikes myself, albeit relatively briefly, and I came away considerably less impressed than much of the coverage I've subsequently read.

This is, obviously, my opinion.

But to me there are elements that feel badly resolved. Some of the technology and engineering solutions don't feel remotely cutting-edge considering the price, some of the design decisions left me scratching my head and the bikes occupy a part of the market containing some extraordinarily accomplished machinery.

I keep reading reviews that seem desperate to find diplomatic ways of describing them.

Perhaps those reviewers genuinely loved them.

That's completely possible.

But I didn't.

And if outright performance were the deciding factor, I'd fancy the chances of someone on a decade-old Panigale 1299 disappearing up the road from some very expensive modern machinery.

That's precisely why independent opinion matters.

I'm not suggesting a journalist should dislike a motorcycle because I dislike it. That would make me guilty of exactly the arrogance I'm criticising.

What I want to know is the context.

Who supplied the motorcycle? Was this a launch? Who paid for the trip? How long did they actually ride it? Was it a road test, track test or 45-minute procession behind a manufacturer guide? I can tell you - if I paid for my flights to a launch and the bike was garbage I'd make more money saying so than replicating every other politically correct review from those worried about never being invited back.

None of those things invalidate the review.

They help me understand it.

So why the hell should you listen to me?

This is where the whole argument becomes slightly awkward, because I'm also a motorcycle content creator.

I have a YouTube channel. I run this website. Manufacturers lend me motorcycles. Companies occasionally send me products.

So why should my opinion be worth any more than the people I've just spent several thousand words criticising?

Maybe it isn't.

I've ridden motorcycles for a long time. I've raced them. I've worked professionally in the motorcycle industry, owned a motorcycle business and continue to work around bikes every day. I've ridden a lot of motorcycles and, occasionally, launched myself off them.

That experience informs my opinion.

It doesn't turn my opinion into fact.

When I tell you what I think about a motorcycle, a product or riding technique, I'm giving you my opinion based upon my personal experience and the facts as I understand them.

I think that distinction matters.

I can be wrong.

Michael Neeves can be wrong.

Your favourite YouTuber can be wrong.

A racer can be wrong.

A mechanic can be wrong.

Someone with two million followers can definitely be wrong.

What matters is understanding why somebody holds an opinion and what experience, evidence or commercial relationship sits behind it.

What Get Ben Riding can actually offer

I'm probably never going to become one of the biggest motorcycle reviewers in Britain.

I have a full-time job. I can't disappear to every international launch and I don't have enough hours in the week to review every motorcycle I'd like to. I don't have a production team following me around and I'm certainly not going to become rich from motorcycle reviews.

I'm fine with that.

Because what I can offer is something I increasingly think has value:

My actual opinion.

If a motorcycle is brilliant, I'll tell you.

If it's average, I'll tell you.

If I think it's crap, I'll tell you that too.

The same applies to products.

Companies sometimes send me things to test. If they're good and I think they're worth talking about, you'll probably see them here or on the channel.

If they're crap, they generally don't make it that far.

Could I fill this website with affiliate links and produce breathless videos about every piece of free tat that arrives through the door?

Probably.

It might even make more money.

But ultimately the only genuinely valuable thing I own in this entire operation is my credibility.

Once that's gone, Get Ben Riding becomes another bloke shouting into a GoPro.

And now AI has joined the party

As though separating expertise, entertainment and advertising wasn't already difficult enough, we now have artificial intelligence.

No - this is not the next Fireblade!

I've personally spoken to people who genuinely believed a new motorcycle had been launched because they'd seen images and specifications online.

There was only one problem.

The motorcycle didn't exist.

It was AI-generated clickbait.

We're going to see considerably more of this. Fake spy shots, invented motorcycles, fictional specifications, artificial voices and increasingly convincing video.

Eventually, seeing somebody apparently standing next to a motorcycle may not even prove that either the motorcycle or the person was ever there.

And yes, I use AI.

I'd be a hypocrite if I wrote an article about transparency and pretended otherwise.

I use it to help research subjects, interrogate ideas, organise information and sometimes create imagery. It's another tool in the box.

But it doesn't ride motorcycles for me.

It doesn't decide whether I like them.

It doesn't manufacture the experience behind what I'm telling you.

If I tell you a motorcycle handles beautifully, it's because I've ridden it and thought it handled beautifully.

If I tell you something is crap, that's because I think it's crap.

You're entirely welcome to disagree.

Influence isn't expertise

None of this is an argument against motorcycle content creators.

Quite the opposite.

Some of the best motorcycle media being produced today comes from independent creators. Male and female. Racers, mechanics, engineers, adventurers, instructors, journalists, photographers and occasionally some bloke sitting in a shed who knows an absolutely terrifying amount about one obscure Japanese motorcycle.

Those people deserve an audience.

The problem isn't influence.

The problem is unearned authority.

Social media has given everybody a voice, and overall I think that's a good thing. What it hasn't done is magically given everybody expertise.

Unfortunately, the algorithm can't tell the difference.

It doesn't know whether you're knowledgeable. It knows whether you're interesting.

It doesn't know whether your riding advice is safe. It knows whether people shared it.

It doesn't know whether the product you're recommending is rubbish. It knows whether people clicked the affiliate link.

And it certainly doesn't know whether someone riding like a complete arsehole for views is damaging the reputation of every other motorcyclist.

It just knows everybody is watching.

So perhaps the responsibility increasingly falls on us.

Question what you're watching. Look beyond the follower count. Ask what experience sits behind the advice. Find out who supplied the motorcycle or product. Understand the difference between somebody sharing their personal experience and somebody presenting themselves as an expert.

And do exactly the same with my content.

Because a blue tick doesn't make you an expert. A press launch doesn't make you impartial. An AAA label doesn't make you invincible. A million views doesn't make dangerous riding clever.

And 500,000 followers don't make bad advice good.

Sometimes they just make it louder.