I think if you ask people why they watch me, there would be some

Hear now the words of Grace Helbig, who spoke with honesty and wonder: “I think if you ask people why they watch me, there would be some common thread among all of them that I’m somewhat of an awkward older sister. I have a teen, mostly female demographic. How that happened, I don’t know. But I think they see me as some sort of bizarre role model, and I’ll keep trying to do that for them.” Though playful in tone, these words shine with deep wisdom about identity, influence, and the mysterious ways one becomes a guide for others.

The meaning of her words begins with humility. She does not claim mastery or perfection, but identifies herself as an awkward older sister—a figure both familiar and flawed, approachable and human. For many teens, especially young women, the figure of the older sibling holds great power: one who has gone a little farther on the path, who knows some of the dangers, but is not so distant as to seem unreachable. In embracing her awkwardness, Helbig offers not polished superiority, but authenticity—and it is this that her audience cherishes.

The origin of her role lies in the digital age, where creators and audiences meet in intimate spaces across screens. Unlike traditional celebrities, internet figures are often admired not for unreachable perfection but for relatability, vulnerability, and honesty. Helbig’s confession—“How that happened, I don’t know”—reveals the strange alchemy of influence: that people may find in you what you never consciously offered. This is the mystery of the role model: one does not always choose the role; often, it chooses you.

History, too, offers parallels. Consider the philosopher Socrates, who did not set out to be revered as a teacher but simply asked questions of those around him. Yet his students, seeing in him a strange, honest wisdom, made him their guide. Or recall St. Francis of Assisi, who embraced humility and poverty not to gain followers, but to live authentically—and yet multitudes came to see him as a model of holiness. In each case, as with Helbig, influence arose not from perfection but from the courage to live openly.

Her words also reveal the power of representation. For a teen female demographic, finding a figure who feels like a sister rather than a distant idol provides comfort in a confusing age. Adolescence is often a time of isolation, when one feels misunderstood by parents yet unready for adulthood. The presence of a voice like Helbig’s—awkward, humorous, flawed—creates the reminder that imperfection is not failure but humanity. To be seen in such a way transforms loneliness into belonging.

The lesson here is profound: authenticity is more powerful than perfection. In a world full of polished images and curated lives, it is the willingness to admit awkwardness, uncertainty, and imperfection that makes a true role model. One does not need to be flawless to guide others; one must simply be honest and kind, willing to walk with others rather than above them.

Therefore, let us act. Let us embrace our own awkwardness rather than hide it, for in doing so we may unknowingly become a beacon for those who seek someone real. Let us live not as unreachable idols but as approachable companions, like the “older sister” figure Helbig describes. And let us remember that every word, every action, may be shaping someone unseen, who looks to us for strength. For to be a role model is not to be perfect, but to keep trying, with humility and love, for the sake of those who walk behind us.