
No Influencers.
No Apology.
A two-word sign inside a 78-year-old Nantucket shop has sparked a national argument about feminism, commerce and who gets to define the island
Left: John Sylvia, owner of Sylvia Antiques and the Four Winds Craft Guild, stands with Jackie Gonnella beneath the shop’s “NO INFLUENCERS” sign. Above: Page Six brought the dispute to a national audience after reporting on Paige Lorenze’s criticism of the “No Influencers” sign.

Mark Gonnella
Don Costanzo • July 28, 2026
The sign inside Four Winds Craft Guild is blunt, intentionally provocative and difficult to misinterpret.
NO INFLUENCERS.
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It hangs in a Main Street business that has sold Nantucket baskets, carvings, sailor’s valentines, folk art and other handmade work since 1948. The Sylvia family acquired Four Winds in the 1980s, and third-generation owner John Sylvia has described its purpose as preserving traditional craftsmanship, representing artists and explaining the stories behind objects that are increasingly difficult to make, and sometimes impossible to appreciate through a screen.
The sign is also, plainly, a joke. It's fashioned in the quarterboard style associated with Nantucket boats, houses and businesses. It pokes at a modern occupation whose members have become increasingly visible around the island, often filming inside shops, posing in doorways, directing photo shoots on sidewalks and turning ordinary places into commercial content.
Paige Lorenze did not find it funny.
Lorenze, the social-media personality and founder of the lifestyle brand Dairy Boy, responded to an Instagram post featuring the sign with a lengthy criticism that was subsequently picked up by Page Six and other national outlets. She argued that because women make up much of the creator economy, dismissing influencers amounts to delegitimizing women who have built power in a new industry.
She questioned how someone could call themselves a feminist while displaying the sign and argued that it mocked women’s economic success. Four Winds later reposted the sign after saying its Instagram account had been reported.
The creator economy is unquestionably real. It is lucrative, expanding and increasingly important to modern advertising. The Interactive Advertising Bureau projected that American companies would spend approximately $37 billion on creator advertising in 2025, more than double the amount spent in 2021. Some industry datasets also show women comprising a substantial majority of the influencer-marketing marketplace.
Lorenze is therefore correct about one thing: women have used social media to build companies, audiences and independent sources of income on a scale that would have been difficult to imagine a generation ago.
But that does not make criticism of influencers an attack on women.
A Profession Is Not a Gender
The argument depends on replacing one category with another. “Influencer” describes a commercial activity. “Woman” describes a person’s sex or gender. The fact that many influencers are women does not make every criticism of influencer culture sexist any more than criticism of an occupation dominated by men automatically constitutes an attack on men.
Professional football is overwhelmingly male. If a restaurant prohibited football players after repeated disruptions, would that be an attack on men? Construction remains male-dominated. Is criticism of contractors an expression of hostility toward men? Nursing and elementary education remain heavily female. Does questioning the practices of a hospital or school amount to an attack on women?
The answer in every case depends upon what is being criticized. A statement can certainly become sexist when it relies on gender stereotypes, treats women differently or attacks behavior only when women engage in it. But nothing in the words “No Influencers” identifies women. Male influencers are included. So are couples, travel vloggers, food reviewers, podcasters, TikTok personalities and anyone else attempting to turn another person’s business into a stage for their own commercial production.
The Four Winds sign may be sarcastic. It may be inhospitable. It may even be calculated to generate publicity. But no evidence presented thus far establishes that it is directed at women.
Lorenze transformed criticism of a business model into a judgment about an entire sex. In doing so, she gave herself the moral advantage before addressing the actual complaint. That complaint is not that influencers earn money, it’s how some of them behave while earning it.
A Business Can Decline the “Exposure”
Small businesses in destination communities have been confronting the same problem for years: creators asking for free products, complimentary meals, discounted accommodations or access to private spaces in return for posts and “exposure.”
Sometimes those arrangements are useful. Sometimes they are formal, professional and mutually beneficial. Other times, a business never agreed to participate.
Customers are delayed while someone records several takes. Doorways become sets. Merchandise becomes scenery. Employees and other shoppers appear in videos without being asked. A café table intended for paying customers becomes a studio. A business owner is expected to tolerate the disruption because the person causing it possesses an audience.
That tension became national news on Nantucket last year when business owners accused another visiting influencer of seeking complimentary or discounted services for an island retreat. The influencer disputed some of those accounts, but acknowledged that requesting discounts in exchange for collaboration is normal within influencer culture.
Normal within one industry does not mean obligatory for everyone else.
Four Winds is entitled to decide that it does not want its store used that way. An influencer is still free to enter as an ordinary customer, look at the work, ask questions and purchase something. The sign rejects the assumption that every physical space must be available for content production.
One Reddit commenter captured the distinction: a shop owner may support women creators and still decline to have someone operate an uninvited business inside their business. Another noted that the sign does not necessarily mean influencers cannot shop there; it means the store does not want the performance that can accompany them.
That is a boundary, not a declaration of war.
Two Different Nantuckets
The episode also exposes the deeper tension explored in Below Deck’s recent story, “Behind the Perfect Post.” It should be noted that Mark Gonnella, who wrote that story, reached out to Lorenze and her team several times for comment, and received no response.
This is not simply a conflict between older people and younger people, or between residents and visitors. Nantucket has always changed. It has always attracted outsiders, entrepreneurs, artists, merchants, wealthy families and people convinced they understood the island shortly after arriving.
Nor is every traditional business virtuous simply because it is old. Nostalgia can be used to resist necessary change, protect privilege and exclude newcomers. But there is a meaningful difference between participating in a place and appropriating its appearance.
Four Winds represents artists who make physical objects. Basketmakers, woodcarvers and craftspeople spend years learning techniques passed from one person to another. Sylvia has said he represents roughly 40 artists and looks for people who continue to do the work “the old way.” The objects are not merely Nantucket-themed. Their materials, construction and history are part of Nantucket’s cultural record.
Influencer commerce operates differently. It converts attention into value. The product may be clothing, bedding, cosmetics or travel, but the underlying commodity is the creator’s identity and the audience’s desire to participate in it. Neither form of commerce is inherently illegitimate.
The conflict begins when the island itself becomes inventory.
A hydrangea wall becomes a backdrop. A shop becomes a filming location. A beach becomes a campaign. A historic lane becomes a fashion set. A decades-old business becomes material for a personal controversy, and then for Page Six.
The physical Nantucket becomes less important than the Nantucket presented to followers.



paigepaul/Instagram
A social-media post promoting Dairy Boy apparel; customers gathered outside the brand’s Nantucket storefront; and a fashion image posed against the island’s familiar gray-shingled streetscape. The images illustrate how Nantucket’s identity has become both the setting and the selling point for a new generation of lifestyle brands.
Dairy Boy Comes to Nantucket
Lorenze is not commenting from a distance. Dairy Boy opened its first permanent flagship store at 14 Federal Street this spring. The company describes itself as a lifestyle brand rooted in Lorenze’s New England upbringing, and Lorenze has said Nantucket holds many of her best childhood memories. She described the store as the physical expression of an online world she had created — a “summer home” for Dairy Boy.
The opening attracted lines of mostly young customers along Federal Street and demonstrated precisely the commercial influence Lorenze was describing. She has successfully turned a following into a brand and the brand into a physical retail operation. That success deserves recognition.
It also places her in the same category as every other Nantucket merchant: someone whose conduct, products, marketing and public statements may be praised, questioned or criticized.
Opening a business on Nantucket does not require surrendering one’s identity. But neither does it grant authority to explain Nantucket to the people and businesses already here.
Community is not measured only by audience size. It’s measured by reciprocity, restraint, conduct and respect for the people and places that existed before the camera arrived.
When a Community Symbol Becomes a Prop
A separate image supplied to Below Deck by a reader adds another layer to the controversy.
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The screenshot, circulated in several Facebook and Reddit discussions, appears to show a woman in bridal-party clothing posing astride a seated sculpture outside of the Dreamland. Reddit users identified the woman as Lorenze, and the screenshot displays her social-media account at the top, but Below Deck has not independently authenticated the original post or confirmed the identity of the person pictured.
The sculpture was installed at the Dreamland in 2021 to honor Fred Rogers, the longtime Nantucket summer resident whose television work emphasized decency, kindness and respect. It was the final bronze designed by artist and fellow summer resident Seward Johnson.
Commenters overwhelmingly described the pose as disrespectful, although some dismissed it as harmless bachelorette-party behavior and urged critics to lighten up. One photograph should not be used to condemn an entire profession. Nor does an offensive joke invalidate everything Lorenze has accomplished as an entrepreneur.
But the image illustrates why residents have become sensitive to influencer culture. A sculpture honoring a person with deep island connections becomes a prop. A private joke becomes public content. The meaning of the object is secondary to the image that can be created with it.
The question is not whether anyone was physically harmed. It’s whether every place, object and tradition must be available for someone else’s performance.
The Right to Say No
The Four Winds sign is not a referendum on women’s economic advancement. It’s a shopkeeper’s refusal — humorous, confrontational and perhaps strategically provocative — to participate in a particular culture of promotion.
Lorenze has the right to criticize it. She has the right to explain the value of creators, defend her profession and demonstrate through Dairy Boy that an online audience can become a successful company.
Four Winds has the right to remain unimpressed. That’s the part of the old Nantucket culture that the influencer economy has difficulty absorbing: the island does not automatically owe anyone cooperation, validation or content.
Influence may command attention. It does not give anyone the right to redefine a community or demand that the community applaud.


