From Abbie Chatfield and Hannah Ferguson to Ozzy Man, influencers have never been more central to an Australian election campaign.

Much has been made of the increasingly common site of politicians on TikTok or Instagram reels. Some political groups don't like it, as don't some in traditional media.

But in the first election in which Millennials and Gen Z voters will outnumber Baby Boomers, it's an inevitable, politically necessary change - though not without its pitfalls.

Politics in the social media sphere is already starting to get messy.

A few weeks ago, the Australian Electoral Commission (AEC) investigated whether influencer content promoting political messages constitutes electoral advertising.

The findings suggest it does not, but the AEC has proceeded to ask that this content is accompanied with authorisations.

Late last week, Independent MP Allegra Spender admitted to commissioning influencer content through a talent agency.

This doesn't seem to breach electoral rules, but the lines are being blurred, particularly given the content included glowing remarks about Spender and only suggested they were created "in collaboration", not as a paid advertisement. This has since been fixed.

The scrutiny reveals growing discomfort around this emerging form of political communication - including from politicians themselves.

As influencer Chatfield said:

there's this like moral panic about influencers in politics as well, this whole idea influencers can't be trusted with something as serious and as high brow as politics.

But is that the case, especially if money has changed hands?

In what is perhaps a sign of the globally uncertain times, influencing is more political than ever.

Look at the recent clash involving Holly MacAlpine, who is mounting a legal challenge to the Liberal Party's social media strategy. She accused them of deliberately editing a clip of her supporting The Greens to make it look like she was instead criticising the party. Last night she launched a crowdfunding campaign for legal representation that reached its goal amount within hours.

Influencers are becoming more than messengers. They are political actors in their own right.

In response, TikTok has adjusted its algorithm to recognise political content at the point of upload. The content is now being held for review prior to going live.

It's also running an election safety campaign alongside the AEC.

However, at the time of writing, these guidelines don't appear on all content that discusses politics or elections. It doesn't appear to be attached to Australian political content in the same way this style of guideline was used during other events, like COVID.

All this matters because younger generations don't get their political information from newspapers or nightly news bulletins.

Instead, they turn to short-form video platforms like TikTok and Instagram Reels, where politics is often delivered with humour, personality, and authenticity (real or perceived).

The algorithms that drive these platforms reward familiarity and engagement. When a well-known face appears on screen, users linger, boosting the reach of that post. Political messages, even subtle ones, can travel far beyond the original audience.

Influencers have a lot to contribute to political discourse, particularly in podcasts, but the way they formulate and deliver messages varies widely.

Some are not explicitly aligned with a political party, while others are transparent about where their preferences sit. How much they affect the election campaign heavily depends on their specific niche and how that relates to broader election commentary.

Glenn James, host of the Money Money Money podcast and a figure in the personal finance space was recently invited to the budget lock-up. He asked questions about student debt.

His content sits at the intersection of finance and policy, making it particularly powerful in an election where cost-of-living pressures and education debt are key issues for younger voters.

It's an example that not all political influence on social media is overtly partisan. Sometimes, it's about asking the right questions.

Perhaps influencers' most significant contribution is not just persuasive power, but reach.

Their ability to cut through and capture attention is unmatched in today's fragmented media landscape. In the past, audiences followed specific news outlets aligned with their values.

Now, thanks to TikTok's "For You" Page and Instagram Reels' algorithmic curation, users are increasingly exposed to political content from creators they don't necessarily follow and would not otherwise encounter.

Another example is Prime Minister Anthony Albanese's recent use of "delulu with no solulu" (delusional with no solution) in parliament following a dare from podcast Happy Hour with Lucy and Nikki.

Even though it made no sense to a portion of the population, it gained significant momentum and was trending across platforms.

Influencers aren't journalists, and most aren't claiming to be. They're generally upfront about the fact they're not wedded to journalistic standards of impartiality, objectivity and holding the powerful to account.

So in an attempt to ensure traditional media reporting is also noticed by social media users, media outlets are using similar techniques, albeit through a journalistic lens.

From playing to the algorithm to providing behind the scenes content from the campaign trail, traditional media are solidifying their place in this election commentary and getting noticed.

It's a new playing field in political campaigning. But whether it meaningfully shifts voter behaviour, or just adds to the already overwhelmed digital chatter, remains to be seen.