Growing up, all of Rosalee Eichstedt’s childhood memories happened at “Rosalee’s Diner,” the family business.
Eichstedt learned to walk on the diner’s countertops and recalls every major life moment — birthdays, milestones, memories — taking place at the establishment.
Before social media existed, Eichstedt was raised like a child influencer. The diner was promoted in the local paper using a photo of little Rosalee’s face, and the family toured around state and county fairs to hawk T-shirts featuring similar snapshots.
“The diner became the stage. The diner was social media in this small town community,” says Eichstedt, who uses they/them pronouns. Eichstedt says being pushed into the spotlight at a young age resulted in post-traumatic stress disorder and estrangement from their family. Now, through their TikTok account @rosaleeonline, they’re sharing their story of exploitation and speaking out about the risks of child influencing.
“It shouldn’t be hard for people to see the differences between a child being exploited on social media, or a child like me exploited in the ’80s.”
“Now the work starts honey,” Rosalee’s parents wrote in a diary entry where they signed the papers to open Rosalee’s Diner. “We are counting on you.”
Growing up in the spotlight
When Eichstedt was 6-months-old, their mother wrote in a weathered baby book, “Now the work starts honey. We are counting on you.”
Much of the marketing for the family business played on Eichstedt’s childlike innocence. They were trained to repeat dirty jokes and limericks about Ed Gein and Jeffrey Dahmer to customers. The customers who came in were frequently grown men. Even years later as an adult, strangers approach Eichstedt and say things like “I held you when you were little.”
“It very much felt like a level of fame, a level of people thinking they knew who I was, even though I didn’t know them,” Eichstedt says.
They remember their mom placing a camera, which she nicknamed “cam,” in their face constantly and being forced to dance or sing on request.
Eichstedt’s mother put on a smiling face for customers. She would draw faces on pancakes with whipped cream and bacon hair, but behind closed doors, she frequently neglected to feed her child, who was often left to her own devices.
Rosalee’s Diner opened in 1984. It rebranded to “The Diner” in the 1990s and later switched ownership.
They felt helpless.
“I just knew that there was no one that was going to save me. No one was coming to help me because everybody else seemed like they were in on it,” Eichstedt says.
Ms. Shirley, 4, is a TikTok sensation. Some fans are worried, and her mom is speaking out.
TikTok as a way of healing
They moved away at 18 and became estranged from both sides of the family.
Now, Eichstedt uses TikTok as a way to process the experience and reclaim being in front of a camera.
“I really feel like I’m getting to be a person now, and not just be a product and a commodity and something that people are taking from, but something I’m getting to contribute to the world and to other people in a way that is really healing for me,” Eichstedt says.
Rosalee sits on top of the counter at the diner on their second birthday.
Commenters who went through similar childhoods say Eichstedt’s videos have helped them make sense of their own trauma and given them the courage to cut ties with abusive family members.
“It is astonishing to know I am not alone… it’s wild to see the experiences are similar to my own childhood,” one commenter says. “I started watching your videos today. I also have a complicated relationship with my parents and this has been weirdly cathartic,” another remarked.
The risks of child influencing
Now, Eichstedt has concerns online child influencers aren’t being protected by the hardships that come with being in the spotlight and contributing to family’s income at a young age. Child influencers are a growing phenomenon in the influencer economy, which the consulting firm McKinsey values at more than $21 billion.
In the modern digital age, where photos and videos leave a permanent trail, child influencers will come face to face with the digital footprint left in their childhood, says Stacey Steinberg, a law professor at the University of Florida’s Levin College of Law and the director of the school’s Center on Children and Families.
“You can’t put the genie back in the bottle,” Steinberg says. “We have a lot of kids whose relationship with society has been permanently altered by these decisions by parents.”
“We need to earn a living and it will be great to do something we can all work on together,” Rosalee’s parents wrote in a diary entry about the restaurant.
Child creators also risk being on the receiving end of fans and bad actors, which can result in incessant interactions that cross boundaries. Strangers also may use information posted online to find personal details, like where a child attends school.
Steinberg says some kids might appreciate the financial income or platform that comes with sharing, but others might come of age “embarrassed or self conscious” about information that was shared, especially if it doesn’t line up with the person they hope to be in adulthood.
That experience can impact a child’s relationship with the public, their family and their own body.
“It’s draining,” Eichstedt says. “When you get approval for being one specific thing, it’s natural that you want to keep getting that feeling, that love, that attention, so you’re going to keep doing what you need to do to get it, and it’s going to burn that star right up.”
Rachel Hale’s role covering Youth Mental Health at USA TODAY is supported by a partnership with Pivotal Ventures and Journalism Funding Partners. Funders do not provide editorial input. Reach her at rhale@usatoday.com and @rachelleighhale on X.
This article originally appeared on USA TODAY: Child influencer Rosalee shares story of exploitation, abuse