It was the kind of question that could have been plucked from a dinner table conversation, a medical waiting room, or a late-night scroll through a social media feed. When you type a symptom into a search engine or pause on a video about skincare, weight loss, or mental health, who are you more likely to trust: the quiet dermatologist who writes scientific papers, or the charismatic lifestyle creator with a glowing smile and a million followers? This tension between credentialed expertise and digital charisma was placed squarely in the spotlight at the Arab Social Media Pioneers Summit, during a session titled “The Doctor or the Influencer… Who Do We Believe?” The discussion could not have arrived at a more important moment. In an age where health advice spreads faster than the viruses it sometimes discusses, our feeds have become a crowded pharmacy of unregulated advice, miracle cures, and well-meaning guesses. The session sought not to dismiss the role of content creators, but to ask a deeper question: how do we as a society decide which voices should shape our most intimate decisions about our bodies, our children, and our mental well-being? And perhaps more importantly, how can medical professionals reclaim a space that was never supposed to belong to entertainment alone?
The Summit brought together a panel that represented both sides of the delicate equation. Dr. Anwar Al Hammadi, a consultant dermatologist, and Dr. Talal Al Muhaisen, also a consultant dermatologist, brought clinical expertise and the careful, evidence-based view of medicine. Opposite them sat Dr. Munther Al-Harini, a physician who has also become a content creator himself, offering a bridge between the two worlds. Guiding the conversation was media director Aya Khayat, whose professional experience in broadcasting allowed her to serve as the audience’s proxy, asking the kind of pointed questions that often trip up experts who are unused to talking in soundbites. Together, they unpacked a messy, layered problem: health information is no longer housed in medical journals and hospital brochures; it lives in dance challenges, hashtags, and sponsored posts. The panel did not waste time with simple condemnations. Instead, they acknowledged the seductive power of social media—the way a 60-second video can distill a complex illness into a hopeful, simplistic promise. They admitted that influencers have succeeded at doing what doctors historically failed to do: making health feel personal, immediate, and accessible. But at what cost? The discussion circled again and back to a central observation—a misleading health claim can be more dangerous than bad advice from a friend, because it is broadcast to millions with the sheen of viral authority.
Dr. Anwar Al Hammadi spoke with a refreshing clarity about the identity crisis facing many medical professionals today. He called for doctors to become “influential and effective” in the digital space, but insisted that this must not come at the cost of becoming mere marketers. His point cut deep. In the struggle to earn likes, followers, and algorithm approval, there is a temptation to sweeten the truth, to sell a product, to deliver entertainment rather than education. But a doctor’s relationship with social media, he argued, is not about building a personal brand—it is about building a public trust. The problem is that trust is fragile. A physician who makes a wild claim can lose credibility in minutes; an influencer who makes the same claim can gain a sponsor in the same time. Dr. Al Hammadi’s words reminded us that medicine speaks the language of nuance, while social media speaks the language of absolutes. “You should never take this pill,” fits in a caption. “This treatment works for some patients, under certain conditions, with these side effects,” does not. Yet he did not suggest retreating into the ivory tower. Instead, he encouraged his colleagues to step into the uncomfortable territory of content creation, to learn the algorithms, and to carry their scientific integrity with them into that arena. The goal was not to attract millions, but to be present, visible, and credible in a forum where absence too often means irrelevance.
Dr. Talal Al Muhaisen then sharpened the diagnosis of why non-health influencers have become more visible than actual doctors on health-related topics. He did not blame influencers themselves, but rather the environment they universally exploit. He pointed to a few obvious but often overlooked factors: volume, boldness, and theatrical showmanship. Influencers produce daily, sometimes hourly, content that is designed to catch your eye before you scroll past. They make dramatic before-and-after claims, promise overnight transformations, and use fear and hope to drive engagement. Doctors, in sharp contrast, operate under professional and ethical guidelines that prohibit them from causing panic, promising a cure before all evidence is in, or using high-pressure marketing tactics. A doctor cannot tell you that a certain cream will erase wrinkles forever, because that is a lie. An influencer can say it with hand to heart. Dr. Al Muhaisen’s critique was not about jealousy; it was about the structural asymmetry of the two camps. One side is bound by a duty of care, the other only by a duty to keep watching. When a social media platform rewards surprises, dramatic pauses, and extreme statements, the measured voice of medicine will always lose in raw reach. Yet he also reminded the audience that this asymmetry does not have to be permanent. By understanding how to package accurate information with compelling presentation, and by using platforms to demystify medical jargon, doctors could learn to play the game without selling their souls. The very guidelines that limit them can also become a mark of distinction—if and only if they show up consistently enough to be noticed.
Dr. Munther Al-Harini, as a doctor who already walks this tightrope, offered a more personal and pragmatic piece of advice. He told his fellow physicians to speak the language of their audiences. Too often, medical experts speak in an abstract, clinical tongue that leaves ordinary people feeling confused and intimidated. If a doctor cannot explain a healthy habit in the same simple vocabulary that a schoolteacher uses, then the influencer who can will win the audience every time. But Dr. Al-Harini insisted that simplification does not mean distortion. He gave examples from his own practice: instead of using the Latin name of a condition, he would describe it as what it feels like; instead of quoting statistical probabilities, he would tell a story about a patient with a similar experience. The goal is to make the information digestible without stripping away its scientific integrity. Aya Khayat, in her role as moderator, added a media professional’s perspective to this point. She observed that the same force that makes a message go viral—emotion—can be used for good. A video about the importance of vaccination can make you laugh or cry just as easily as a video about a miracle tea. The difference is intention. She reminded the panel that content creators are not the enemy; they are storytellers. If doctors refuse to become storytellers, they leave the narrative in the hands of someone who may not have the facts. The conversation in the room began to shift from a lament about misinformation to a call for collaboration—building bridges between medical institutions and social media creators, encouraging fact-checkers and platforms to work together, and teaching media literacy to audiences as a public health necessity in its own right.
The session concluded with a quiet but firm conviction: popularity does not equal proof. It is a phrase that sounds simple, but it carries the weight of a generation that has learned to measure truth in likes and shares. Hospitals, health ministries, and medical schools must understand that the digital space is not a side project; it is now the first place many people turn when they feel sick, scared, or unsure. The participants stressed that medical expertise and scientific evidence remain the only stable foundation for evaluating health information. No number of followers can change an uncomfortable fact, and no influencer’s charisma can replace a biopsy. But to uphold that standard, they argued, doctors must be willing to leave their clinics and podcasts, to post their explanations with grace and clarity, and to accept that they will sometimes be mocked for being boring—the one real force that can save lives. The final message was one of shared responsibility. Audiences, too, must learn to check sources, ask for credentials, and resist the comfort of a magical cure. Platforms must strengthen their moderation and label unverified medical claims. And doctors, in turn, must be patient enough to explain, honest enough to say “I don’t know,” and brave enough to stand beside the influencers, not in opposition, but as the grown-ups in the room. Because health is not just a topic; it is a life. And the more informed we become as a society—together, with doctors as our digital guides—the better we can care for ourselves and for one another.