You’ve probably heard the classic adage, “Money can’t buy happiness.” However, this proverb could not be further removed from actuality, in which economic success ultimately dictates satisfaction. Within America, a longstanding traditional path has encapsulated the key to a lifetime of meaning and prosperity. As Gallup News found in a 2023 poll, U.S. adults reporting maximal levels of happiness contained college degrees, spouses, and $100,000+ in household income—all factors boosting personal wealth and assets. For the average individual, higher education leads to nuclear suburban life: a picket–fenced house, a conjugal family, and a respectable occupation. Additionally, the workforce’s most talented, intelligent, and devoted employees (theoretically) receive fulfillment through internal mobility and public recognition.
But a considerable portion of Gen–Z is choosing a different path: turning their personal style into content. Despite its superficial appeal, this track has proven a fast–pass to opulence. In 2024, TikToker Charli D'Amelio's earnings exceeded the NFL’s highest–paid kickers. Teens are turning vlogs, dance trends, and viral content into full–time careers. The vlogger genre typically showcases an idealized, utopian lens of youthfulness—lavish vacations, parties, and romantic adventures 24/7.
Over the past decade, content houses have fueled the rise of influencer profiles. These homes have promoted symbiotic relationships among creators: When social media personalities collaborate on projects, their followers and hype mutually rise. For instance, Disney Channel actor Jake Paul formed 2016’s Team 10 home with six other teens. Chase Hudson and Thomas Petrou’s succeeded in creating the Hype House, which included dance trendsetters such as Dixie D’Amelio and Addison Rae. Finally, TikTok stars based in Los Angeles established the 7,800–square–foot Sway Mansion in 2020.
Shortly after a collab house’s inception, drama inevitably follows. While involvement in a scandal can appear superfluous for a newly emerging 20–year–old star, the extent of an influencer’s life sensations determines their capital: sharing the hottest lore allows influencers to secure their fan bases. For instance, the Sway House’s members created weekly “Teatoks” upon achieving peak stardom: These ten–15–minute segments reacted to relationship updates and calumnious rumors circulating both about the mansion’s own members and neighboring TikToker circles. Additionally, residing together allowed these stars to establish a joint brand—visible in Bryce Hall and Josh Richards’ single “Still Softish.”
Last December, a new content house arrived: Fort Lauderdale’s Bop House. With eight other girls, the group’s founders—Sophie Rain and Aishah Sofey—have pursued a standard approach to TikTok virality: familiarizing viewers with each member’s personality, attempting relevant challenges, and roasting the rival Bruzz House. Yet, one significant feature encompassing this group has sparked major backlash since its debut. Rain and Sofey’s crew exclusively consists of OnlyFans models—reflecting Gen Z’s repurposing of the term “Bop” to denote “somebody who posts their body on the internet … or just be getting around with everybody.”
Frankly, a TikTok presence is not off–brand for OnlyFans creators. Both platforms have evolved to promote adult content. However, contrasting TikTok’s public domain, users must purchase a subscription to access OF posts. A typical OF model’s earnings only constitute about $2,000 per year. At the bracket’s other end, the highest–earning OF models distribute nude material. In fact, last year, a single fan paid Sophie Rain almost $5 million for access to sexually explicit photographs. As a now influential organization, the Bops promote this concerning, yet undeniable truth of pornographic labor.
Additionally, commentators have denounced the Bop House’s recruitment efforts—extending their label’s appeal to audiences under 18. Over the past two months, auditioning for the home has emerged as a new TikTok challenge, with hundreds of teenage girls copying the Bops’ posted dance routines. YouTube commentators have quickly classified this trend as a detrimental influence, condemning its immersion of underage users within OF culture. With 13–14–year–olds comprising a considerable portion of TikTok users, this audience may not realize the security implications of online sex work. In today’s progressionist workforce, a woman’s ability to enter meritorious, productive white–collar occupations is ever–expanding: Why should young girls sacrifice personal privacy for profit?
Nonetheless, these models offer female audiences a message of empowerment. While the male gaze has mostly funded this house’s existence, its creators outwardly assert confidence towards their lifestyle. Despite receiving myriads of slanderous comments, each Bop continues to validate her career choice. One video, captioned “Hard Day of Work at the Bop House,” overviewed the intricate thought and dedication precursing each Tiktok’s upload: While composing shorts may not require much dedication from an ordinary user, these girls spend considerable time perfecting their craft. Finally, when shooting content, these models embrace body positivity, healthy friendship dynamics, and unbounded creativity—blatantly, as Mark Manson describes, “the subtle art of not giving a fuck.”
Truly, Sophie Rain’s utopic mansion is liberating: an epitome of inspiration and self-autonomy among creators. Yet, this content home’s future success and relationship with the broader influencer landscape remain unforeseeable. Will the Bops ultimately prove themselves as role models? Can critics learn to find resonance in this house’s values? Even if just a fad, time still remains for this house to avoid becoming a flop.
