Navigating the Rise of Viral Kidfluencers

Many of us celebrated when a preschooler danced her way into virality with her rendition of the “Boots on the Ground” line dance.

With a miniature fan in her hand, perfect timing, and the kind of adorable charm that lights up a screen, LaR’iyah (affectionately nicknamed “Miss Shirley”) became a household name across timelines. Riding the wave of her popularity, the toddler has made appearances at various trail rides and even the music video for “Boots on the Ground.” 

Recently, she danced alongside Niecy Nash-Betts on The Jennifer Hudson Show. As her popularity has soared, so have questions—some well-meaning, some loaded—about consent, safety, and the ethics of turning toddlers into digital celebrities.  

TikTok creator Synetra Jones (@synetra99) captured the mixed feelings many people have about Miss Shirley’s rise, noting:

“The ones who say she’s doing too much for her age, the ones who say she’s being overworked, no matter what your opinion is, it does not matter because all her mom can see is the bag. The way her mom has this little girl in music videos, doing trail rides and interviews, she is very aware of the exposure she is giving her child. Everything you guys are saying, I’m sure she already thought of. I don’t think that woman cares. I don’t know if she’s living through her child. I don’t know if she really needs the money. I don’t know the reason behind it. She might, you know, believe her little girl just really loves doing it. So even though you guys are very valid in your opinions about how this child is being exposed, it really doesn’t matter.”

Miss Shirley’s mom took to social media to respond to all of the commentary, posting a video of her daughter singing “Where Them Haters At?” and writing:

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“Y’all gotta use my baby to get your likes and followers up…If you go on [anyone’s] page that has discussed my child, and I notice on their page that those are the videos with the most views…That’s how the internet works. They [have to] use whatever is trending the most and talk about it…And of course, right now, it’s Smoochez by Ms. Shirley, duhhh. So do whatever floats y’all boat.

Y’all [too] focused on her dancing…Put that focus on your household and make sure it stays perfect—’cause I never knew it was this many perfect people in the world. Don’t let what we do worry y’all lil tink-tinks.

This stuff really be for social media likes, [because] one lady that has made a video about my child was just asking for her child to be a backup dancer. So don’t let this stuff these folks [are] talking about her fool y’all…”

Her frustration is understandable. However, there’s a difference between hating and holding space for concern. If we’re going to keep invoking “the village,” we have to remember it doesn’t just show up to celebrate. It shows up when something feels off, too.

Safety, Consent, And “Ms. Shirley”

Miss Shirley’s videos have sparked deeper discussions about where kids perform and who they’re performing for. In a separate post, Ali highlights the uncomfortable dynamics:

“…Y’all record that and just put that on the internet. Y’all have this tiny person come out here, pop her hip with her fan, be missing steps during the actual dance, and then give her that little fee she asked for, give her a hot dog, and send her on her way.”

As Ali explains through humor, for the adult-centered events where Miss Shirley performs, she’s the entertainment. She’s the draw. As Anwar put it:

“We do want to have a celebrity…but who are we kidding? Ain’t no celebrity about to actually come to our party…but you know who we can afford? Miss Shirley.”

Her virality has made her a stand-in for celebrity—a low-cost, high-return special guest who can be booked, recorded, and reposted with ease. It’s a way for people to feel like they’re brushing up against fame. When that becomes the norm, we have to ask what we’re really celebrating: her joy, or our access to it? Not because adorable little Black girls shouldn’t dance, but because context matters. Who’s watching? Who’s recording? Who’s protecting?

Free Black Girlhood in the Crossfire

As a ’90s kid, I sang lyrics to songs I had no business understanding (hey, Next’s “Too Close”), but there were boundaries. Certain dance moves were off-limits. Some songs were reserved for grown folks. My mom’s face when she found out I’d be performing a routine to Beenie Man’s “Dude” at a high school event is burned into my memory. I told her, “It’s the beat, not the words.” She ultimately let me perform it for an audience of my peers and a few parents, but honestly, she was right to question it.

The conversation around Miss Shirley isn’t about dancing alone. It’s not just about the environment or the music or the audience. It’s about what happens when all of those elements collide—when a child is performing suggestive moves, in a space meant for adults, to lyrics they might not understand, while being filmed for the internet. That combination can open the door to harm, even when no one involved intends it. Sometimes, we do have to think about the lyrics when there’s a certain audience watching. Sometimes, we do have to consider the movement in the context of the moment. No child is “fast” enough to catch an adult who preys on them, but there’s nothing wrong with reminding children—and ourselves—when something isn’t age-appropriate.

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Protecting Black Girl Joy Is the Assignment

As Black women, we know Black girls and women don’t always get the same protection and grace. We are seeing this in real-time, as people comment on various domestic violence headlines. We feel it when we wonder what happened to Relisha Rudd—more than a decade later.

When people ask questions about where Miss Shirley is performing, how often, and who’s getting paid—those aren’t hate-fueled inquiries. They’re community ones. They’re rooted in a desire to make sure we don’t fail another little Black girl by applauding her into burnout, overexposure, or danger. It’s about challenging the system that turns preschoolers into public figures before they even start kindergarten. It’s about rethinking what we post, what we promote, and what we protect.

Not everyone who pulls you to the side and says, “Hey sis, whatchu doing?” is a hater. Sometimes, we’re the last line of defense.

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