From hashtags to hardcovers
Social media is reshaping who gets to be a writer and what counts as literature
Writers have long shared an unspoken agreement—almost a literary social contract—that you must first read, learn from the past, before adding your own voice. Publishing houses once upheld this with reading committees—trusted groups who carefully reviewed manuscripts to judge their quality and promise.
But in the age of influencers, that process seems to be fading. Popularity now often outruns literary grounding.
Has social media changed the rules of writing and publishing, replacing reflection and craft with reach and momentum?
SM celebrities in the literary scene
In recent years, several social media stars have made their way into the literary world. Notable among them are Ali Ghozlan and Kenzy Madbouly. While Ghozlan made a deliberate decision to enter the world of writing, Kenzy was approached by a publishing house to write her first novel, as she explained in a podcast hosted by the popular online book platform Abjjad.
Kenzy, a content creator and graduate of the Faculty of Mass Communication at the Arab Academy for Science, Technology and Maritime Transport, produces awareness content about mental health issues and challenges faced by teenage girls.
Her online presence often includes personal anecdotes about her relationship with her fiancé Firas and typical couple problems. Her debut novel “Forsa Min Dahab” was so popular that its launch event was canceled due to overcrowding.
Then there's Joo Mosa, known on TikTok as the “King of Positive Energy.” He produces a mix of comedic, culinary, and lifestyle content. He has published two books, both were well-received by his sizable online following of 12 million across platforms.
Mosa, who showcased his book at the 2023 Cairo International Book Fair, insists his writing aims to encourage younger audiences to read. Ali Ghozlan echoes this sentiment, claiming that financial gain is not his motive. “I have a message to share,” he stated in an interview.
Ghozlan wears many hats—doctor, content creator, and stand-up comedian. His content spans health and self-development. He also runs a digital marketing agency, an educational platform, and a medical center in Alexandria.
He briefly ventured into the restaurant business in Cairo and Alexandria. His first book, Modmen Nagah/Addicted to Success, didn’t meet expectations, prompting him to release a follow-up in response to the criticism.
What makes good writing?
To some, the literary ventures of social media influencers represent a flattening of literary standards in favor of mass appeal. To others, they mark a welcome shift, a fresh gateway drawing younger generations back to the habit of reading, even if through more accessible or commercial fare.
The true challenge lies in navigating the tension between reach and resonance. After all, literature has never been about follower counts. Its value lies in endurance, its lasting impact and power to resonate over time.
“The problem with most celebrities who write novels is that they don’t read enough. They view creativity as an outpouring of emotions, which leads to works that lack the very foundations of literary craft,” poet and critic Ibrahim Mousa El-Nahhas of the Egyptian Writers Union, tells Al Manassa.
“True writing requires the creator to have the necessary technical tools,” he adds.
El-Nahhas outlines the key criteria for judging literary quality and authenticity. A good literary work, he argues, depends on “linguistic accuracy and a grasp of the distinct mechanics of each form—whether it’s an article, a short story, a novel, or poetry.”
He considers confessional writing to be neither literature nor creative. “Some so-called novels are nothing but fragmented confessions with inserted advice, as if the writer is preaching from a pulpit,” he says.
El-Nahhas also rejects invoking “the freedom to write” as a defense for influencer-authored books.
“We can talk about creative freedom when the writer is first and foremost educated, has mastered their craft, possesses command of language, and is aware of various literary schools,” he argues.
On the other hand, Dr. Hussein Hammouda, professor of Arabic literature at Cairo University, takes a different stance. He believes that the criteria for evaluating literary merit vary over time and across societies, shaped by changing cultural tastes.
Hammouda defends the right of everyone, including influencers, to write. “Everyone has the right to write, and readers have the right to judge and form opinions,” he tells Al Manassa.
Author and novelist Saad Elkersh, meanwhile, draws a clearer distinction. “The line between ephemeral writing that’s read once and literature that endures for generations,” he says, “lies in depth and beauty.” Most influencer-authored content, he notes, is better suited as short social media posts than as bound books.
Still, the author of “2067” respects influencer books and considers them “writing,” but he questions their longevity.
“True literature has depth—multiple levels of meaning that even the same reader can discover over time. That’s the kind of writing that constantly renews itself,” he explains.
What does Gen Z read?
Writer and novelist Ahmed Amer believes today’s youth are non-selective in their media consumption. Reading no longer holds the same place it once did, and social media creates the illusion of omniscience through short videos.
In a society that urgently needs culture, something Amer says is rooted in books, the rise of influencers has led some to claim a mantle of intellectualism.
Speaking to Al Manassa, Amer argues that the audience drawn to influencer-authors often lacks a strong literary foundation. Many followers perceive influencers as friends, thanks to the direct nature of social media. This illusion of intimacy, combined with a general unfamiliarity with classic or quality literature, leads some readers to equate emotional expression or anecdotal storytelling with literary talent.
“Praise on social media often fuels this illusion,” he adds, “leading influencer-authors to believe they’ve created something profound, when in reality it may just be undeveloped musings or structurally weak stories.”
Despite this sharp critique, fans often flood influencer book posts with supportive comments encouraging them to write more.
Opinions among young readers vary. Roya Abdelrazek, 22, enjoyed “Al Maana Fi Tariqi/The Meaning in My Journey” by Hossam Heikal, describing it as “inspiring.”
She also bought “Modmen Nagah” by Ali Ghozlan because of the hype, however, she “couldn’t get through more than 5 pages. It was boring.”
Abdelrahman Ashraf, 21, says he’s never considered buying a book by someone “whose only achievement is having thousands of followers.” He tried reading excerpts from Ghozlan and Kenzy's books but wasn’t impressed.
“Influencers can spread their message through other means. I don’t think books are their true medium,”he argues.
Meanwhile, Begad Abdelraheem, 24, believes most influencer books are a form of business “What matters is the name on the cover, not the content”. Still, he points to exceptions like Ahmad Younes, whose “Nader Fouda” horror series gained both popularity and critical praise.
Lower quality, higher fame
Zaki Mohamed, director of Eshraqa Publishing, explained that his publishing house exempts some celebrity authors from the rules set for content, but insists on rewriting the manuscript if the content is poorly executed. “Many celebrities agree,” he says.
“We have a reading committee that evaluates each manuscript regardless of the author’s follower count,” he asserts.
However, Zaki concedes that many publishers focus solely on high sales, regardless of quality. “Over time, readers realize the book lacks substance, and these titles quietly disappear from the market.” He adds that some publishers function more like printing services.
Yehia Fikry, director of El Maraya Publishing, tells Al Manassa he has never worked with influencers. His company has “strict publishing criteria with no exceptions, relying on reading committees”.
The only difference between books lies in sales rights, depending on their writers’ prominence.
(*) A version of this article first appeared in Arabic on March 30, 2025.