Tinx

Christina Najjar is better known as 'Tinx' and an influencer in the truest sense of the word, advising an expanse of impressionable teens and 20-somethings on topics ranging from restaurants to romance. While most pseudonyms are deployed to keep fans at arm's length, 'Tinx' has become a four-letter synonym for inexorable—often inadvisable—candor. Now, it also serves as shorthand: Tinx, 'TikTok's big sister.'

D.C. born and London raised, Najjar's journalistic ambitions steered her from Stanford to Parsons and towards experiential features for digital outlets that "wouldn't hold up" a near-decade later. By the time she reached her late '20s, the steam had begun to subside. Propelled, as many of us are, to source sustainable income, Najjar relocated from New York to Los Angeles and found herself accepting a consulting job at a weed company. A 10-second scroll of her Instagram feed revealed former college classmates' wedding plans or property purchases, and here was Najjar, BT (before Tinx), pushing 30, and deciphering the difference between indica and sativa.

When work dried up in the early weeks of lockdown, Najjar embraced the opportunity to regress. Her teenagehood had been spent writing poetry and other creative pursuits that had been deprioritized when time began to mean money. Najjar was restless. On a walk with a friend, Najjar pondered her purpose. "If money were no object," he asked, "What would you do?"

In May of 2020, @itsmetinx and her plug-in microphone arrived. She brought the 'starter-pack' meme to life in a series of acerbic analyses, and categorized each of us by our most-frequented coffee shops. She unraveled her personal life afore her front camera, each revelation more personal than the last. The numbers crept up. Gwyneyth Paltrow materialized in the comment section. By January 2021, Najjar was content creating full-time. Her personalized Chipotle order, Erewhon smoothie and vegan ice-cream sundae at Craig's prompted attempts from Vogue and The New York Times to "unpack her appeal." Key adjectives emerged. The "'G' word" (genuine) and "'R' word" (relatable), considered "dirty" by Najjar herself, were readily recycled. For Najjar, the welcome reception was testament to the fact that our appetite for the "the perfect body in the perfect bikini on a perfect vacation with the perfect boyfriend" had waned.