Many cases reveal a fundamental risk when a government institution uses an influencer: it borrows their audience, history, reputation, and potential contradictions. Every privilege granted to the influencer will raise questions about cost, effectiveness, and the public's right to know spending details. Therefore, institutions need to become influencers themselves through mature institutional communication, their information, experts, and transparency.

Years ago, a government entity would look for a doctor to explain a health issue, an engineer to interpret a project, or an expert to contextualize a decision. Today, in some campaigns, the question has shifted to: who has the most followers and the highest reach? At this point, fame overtakes knowledge, and the public message enters the advertising market through its widest doors.

Influencers undoubtedly practice a legitimate business: they built their audience and offer their media space for a fee, and it is natural for them to accept a suitable offer. Therefore, in this article I am addressing the entity that chose them, and the communication and spending decision that placed them before the public as representatives of a health, social, or national issue.

Why were they chosen? What do they know about the issue? Was their image and general behavior checked for alignment with the campaign's values? What result did the entity actually purchase: new knowledge, or thousands of likes?

In Indonesia, a large-scale scientific experiment provided an answer worth considering. In 2015 and 2016, researchers collaborated with government agencies on a national Twitter campaign to encourage routine vaccinations under the hashtag "Let's Get Vaccinated." Forty-six celebrities and organizations participated, with a total of more than 7.8 million followers. The messages were approved by the Indonesian Ministry of Health and were distributed experimentally to measure the value of the celebrity's name itself.

The results showed a roughly 70% increase in likes and retweets when users knew the celebrity was behind the message. However, the results related to changes in beliefs and health behavior were more modest, with researchers describing them as only preliminary indicators. Fame achieved clear reach, but the actual shift in people's behavior remained an open question.

Here, a common flaw appears in communication campaign reports: millions of views, thousands of shares, and impressive charts. Then the most important questions vanish: What did the audience understand? Did they change their behavior? How much of the message remained after the celebrity's presence faded?

In Mexico City in 2014, authorities launched a campaign to encourage mothers to breastfeed, in a country where breastfeeding rates during the first six months were low. The campaign enlisted actresses Camila Sodi and Maribel Guardia, along with boxer Mariana Juárez. They appeared in posters with their upper bodies exposed, accompanied by a banner reading: "Don't turn your back on your child; give him your breast."

The images quickly attracted attention, then the campaign turned into a crisis. Specialists and activists accused it of commodifying women's bodies, making mothers feel inadequate and guilty, and ignoring real obstacles such as short maternity leave and difficulties breastfeeding in the workplace. The images also sparked objections for presenting ideal bodies and light skin far from the reality of mothers. The authority later announced a review of the slogan and considered involving ordinary mothers in the next phase. The faces overshadowed the issue, and the campaign itself became material for criticism.

The scenario repeated in a political context during the 2022 Beijing Winter Olympics, when the Chinese Consulate in New York paid $300,000 to an American company to manage a campaign involving influencers and public figures, including a Paralympic swimmer and a reality TV star. According to disclosures under the Foreign Agents Registration Act in the United States, the campaign achieved 3.8 million digital impressions, and the implementing agency said 72% of interactions were positive.

However, the disclosure of funding shifted the discussion from sports to propaganda, political influence, and sources of money. The campaign organizers faced harsh criticism, the contract became the news, and the Olympic message receded behind the controversy.

In recent weeks, we followed a media campaign for a company, with several influencers leading the praise for what was described as a qualitative shift in service levels. But the scene took a different turn when specialists and practitioners in the same field came out presenting experiences, observations, and complaints that contradicted the image presented by the campaign. The discussion then moved from service quality to message credibility, and the question became: Was the campaign conveying reality, or creating an impression of it? The influencer is not blamed nor responsible for the decision; the decision's responsibility lies with the entity that chose to rent an audience, when it would have been better to invest in building its own audience, trust, and institutional voice.

These cases reveal a fundamental risk, especially when a government institution uses an influencer: it borrows their audience, history, reputation, and potential contradictions. Every privilege granted to the influencer will raise questions about cost, effectiveness, and the public's right to know spending details.

Institutional communication for government entities carries public responsibility. A doctor is more capable of explaining health, a teacher is closer to education issues, an engineer speaks more authentically about safety, and a real beneficiary gives the service a human face. An influencer can be used as a channel for access when needed, within precise criteria and measurement that goes beyond platform numbers.

In conclusion, government entities need to become the influencer themselves through their mature institutional communication: their information, experts, transparency, responsiveness, and communication. When fame is a quick attraction, trust grows through long-term work. When fame becomes the criterion for decisions, the institution may pay the price of advertising twice: once from its budget, and once from its public credit.