Not all of them. Some influencers simply want to persuade and perhaps help others better their lives or their community. Their subject could be politics, economics, music, health or fashion. But social media has become inundated with influencers who harm their devotees, some on purpose. Or make money off their trusting audience by endorsing so-so products.

Influencers are people who build followers on social media or other digital platforms. They use the attention to shape opinions, tastes, or get the audience to buy stuff. They post comments, videos, reviews, or endorsements, often for pay or to get freebies.

Those who post outrageous, socially harmful things for clicks, for attention, deserve to be ignored. But often outraged readers only amplify the influencer's wicked intent by reposting the rot while condemning it. They too get clicks. It's the nature of the game. And that back-and-forth is why so many of us are so angry.

An army of would-be influencers have turned Lindsay Clancy, the Massachusetts mother who killed her three children, into some kind of heroine. One can honestly believe she's evil or that mental illness made her do it. But she is no hero.

A battalion of counter-influencers is now going after Clancy's apparent fan club. They too are hoping for attention and with it, clicks. One especially grievous example is a weepy woman holding her baby: She's describing Clancy's anguish while listing all the medical problems her own child was allegedly suffering.

The baby looked bouncy, leading one to ask whether the mother was engaged in Munchausen syndrome by proxy. That is a mental disorder whereby a guardian fabricates illnesses or symptoms in a person under his or her care to draw attention and sympathy from doctors and others. When the exploited victim is young, it is considered a form of child abuse.

One angry response on TikTok repeats her entire rant as he rants at it. Note that neither poster gets identified here.

But this hunger for "engagement," a nice word for attention, sometimes reaches tragic levels. In August, a pretty, young Japanese influencer killed herself on a TikTok livestream. Mina Chan had over 300,000 followers on TikTok and 150,000 on Instagram. Her posts revolved around a K-pop group, ENHYPEN. The story goes that she had handed a flower to one of the performers and was then hounded on social media for allegedly pretending to have a close relationship with the group. She apologized on the scene. Chan's family confirmed her death on Instagram.

Celebrity blogger Perez Hilton reportedly livestreamed 15 minutes of self-harm, that is, cutting himself on TikTok. Videos of women sharing intimate details of their romantic problems are rampant. Some announce their impending divorce before their spouse even knows.

On a very different subject, many social media addicts are getting fleeced by financial advisers on TikTok. Some of the advice could be good, but a lot of it is claptrap. The Wall Street Journal reported on a study finding "those who use social media for investment advice rated their investment knowledge higher than those who don't, but perform worse on an objective knowledge test."

These followers were also more susceptible to investment fraud. Many such videos showcase the adviser sitting in their Mercedes or otherwise flaunting their wealth. Their audience tends to be young, much of it Gen Z.

YouTube is chock-full of very useful videos offering fashion, computing, or other guidance. Trouble is, many include links to buy the things they are praising. That's OK, one supposes, if they label the content as sponsored.

Look, most of us want attention, and social media offers some very clever entertainment, commentary and how-to. But it's getting wild out there. Clicker beware.

Froma Harrop is an award winning journalist who covers politics, economics and culture. She has worked on the Reuters business desk, edited economics reports for The New York Times News Service and served on the Providence Journal editorial board.