Can you truly believe every influencer or Key Opinion Leader (KOL) giving advice on serious topics? The recent controversial ‘Thai milk’ claims—that local pasteurized dairy is not genuine milk—suggest the answer is clearly “No.”
Guests in a popular online show recently sparked an online backlash after a guest claimed that “most milk in Thailand isn’t real milk, but powdered milk mixed with other things.”
While the program was removed and clarified, this debate serves as an alarming sign of the speed and scale at which unverified, potentially harmful information is amplified by unqualified KOLs, damaging both consumer trust and public welfare.
The modern social media landscape is a paradise for connectivity, but a wild west for expertise. With a single viral video, any individual can transition from an unknown user to a trusted authority on everything from complex investment strategies to nutrition and medical advice.
However, this democratization of information has an ugly side. It has allowed hoaxes, misinformation, and dangerous pseudoscience to flourish.
This escalating problem—where a lack of accountability poses a genuine threat to public welfare—is what makes China’s recent regulatory crackdown so relevant.
Effective October 25, the new law requires influencers, or KOLs, who discuss “serious” topics like finance, health, medicine, law, or education to hold verified, relevant professional credentials.
This move marks a paradigm shift, and while it will undoubtedly spark debate about digital freedom, it is a necessary, and arguably long overdue, step toward global accountability.
The urgency of this requirement is not confined to mainland China; it is a universal problem, as evidenced by recent events closer to home.
In Thailand, we witnessed the confusion and anxiety caused by a KOL making groundless claims about the quality of pasteurized milk—suggesting it wasn’t “real” milk, was simply powder, and could cause allergies—all without a shred of verifiable proof.
This incident isn’t just about milk or Thai dairy farmers; it’s about the inherent danger of monetized, high-reach platforms allowing unqualified individuals to dismantle public trust and spread unsubstantiated fear regarding basic consumer goods and public health.
The argument that credentialing restricts speech misses a critical point: this is not about stifling opinion; it is about protecting the public from authoritative misinformation on topics that have tangible and real consequences.
If you publish investment advice that leads thousands to bankruptcy, or health advice that causes people to avoid vaccines or to promote unnecessary food supplement consumption, the harm is present.
Society already requires licenses for architects, doctors, lawyers, and financial advisors operating in the physical world. Why should the digital realm, which wields infinitely greater reach, be exempt from these basic standards of due diligence?
By requiring a degree or license in relevant fields, the Chinese regulation establishes a crucial baseline: the speaker must, at the very least, understand the foundational principles of the topic they are discussing.
It shifts the burden of proof back onto the self-proclaimed expert. An influencer talking about fashion needs only taste; an influencer talking about cancer treatment needs verifiable medical training.
As Dr. Tany Thaniyavarn, a Thai U.S.-based pulmonologist, noted on his YouTube channel, “Not every doctor can comment on every disease. You have to be an expert in that field.”
This sentiment underscores the regulatory goal. Crucially, the new law only kicks in when the content shifts to “professional advice”—such as a non-doctor giving a diagnosis or a non-certified advisor selling specific investment schemes.
Content in the form of consumer vlogs, like “my favorite lipstick or restaurant,” remains unrestricted, provided no serious health or life claims are made.
While Western societies often recoil at such sweeping government mandates, the principle of certifying digital experts on critical topics should be embraced by platforms themselves.
Instead of total bans, mechanisms like verified professional badges for specific categories (e.g., “Certified Financial Advisor,” “Registered Dietitian,” “Licensed Lawyer”) could be implemented by social media companies globally.
This approach maintains the platform’s openness while allowing users to filter advice based on demonstrable, professional competence.
The age of “fake it till you make it” in digital expertise must end. The Thai milk controversy is just one of the mushrooming misinformations propagated online worldwide.
China’s bold, top-down move is a powerful signal that the integrity of information on serious matters is not a luxury, but a necessity. While waiting for regulators and platforms to act, the ultimate power—and responsibility—rests with the individual consumer.
The alarm bells are ringing, and the milk controversy proves that the social contract between the audience and the KOL has been shattered.
If global standards are not yet in place to protect you, you must protect yourself: Challenge the Authority, Demand the Receipt.
Before you follow any advice concerning your health, finances, or legal standing, commit to these three steps: First, stop scrolling and immediately question the source.
Second, actively search for the speaker’s specific, verifiable professional credentials in the field they are speaking on. Finally, cross-reference any claims with at least two established, non-monetized sources (like peer-reviewed journals or government health sites).
Your right to be informed demands you verify the qualifications and cited references before following advice that could lead to financial or health-related harm.
By Veena Thoopkrajae
