In today’s digital age, education apparently is no longer just a public institution or a university system. It has become a commercial product designed, packaged, marketed, and sold like any other commodity. But unlike physical goods, education in its digital form online courses does not need factories, logistics, or materials. It only needs an audience, a narrative, and a promise.
That promise, increasingly, is not about knowledge but about escape. Escape from a job, from financial uncertainty, from the ordinary. The course industry has turned education into aspiration, selling the idea that success can be learned and bought with a link, a login, and a credit card.
The reason this business model exploded is simple: information, once created, can be sold infinitely. Unlike traditional businesses, there are no production costs, no inventory limits, no shipping, and no physical constraints. A single individual can earn hundreds of thousands, sometimes millions, teaching thousands of strangers around the world, regardless of whether the information is original, proven, or even accurate. And that is precisely where the problem begins.
Over the last few years, a new breed of digital entrepreneurs has emerged young influencers and self proclaimed experts who sell not education, but the illusion of expertise. Their courses do not necessarily teach valuable skills. Instead, they use persuasive storytelling, emotional triggers, and most effectively lifestyle marketing. They do not showcase knowledge; they showcase lifestyles: Lamborghinis, penthouses, luxury watches, and sunsets from Dubai rooftops. They sell not the lesson, but the life that supposedly comes after it.
Short form content on platforms like TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube Shorts has accelerated this phenomenon. In 30 second clips, these digital “gurus” bypass critical thinking and go straight to emotional persuasion. They sell urgency, exclusivity, and hope: the idea that anyone, regardless of background, can become wealthy if they simply follow the right “blueprint.” It is a modern version of the rags to riches story only this time, sold through swipe up links and countdown timers.
Of course, not all online educators fall into this category. Many deliver real value teaching marketable skills, offering mentorship, and shaping careers. They understand education as transformation, not performance. They build communities, not fanbases. But in the current landscape, their voices are often overshadowed by louder, flashier, and more seductive marketing.
The problem is not that people are selling courses. The problem is that the line between education and performance has become dangerously thin. Selling knowledge is legitimate. Selling hope without substance is manipulation. The booming digital course economy has made it easy for anyone to position themselves as a teacher even if they have never truly learned.
Education has always been powerful. But when it is used not to inform, but to persuade; not to build understanding, but to sell a dream it becomes something else entirely. It becomes a mirror reflecting not what we know, but what we desperately want to believe.
That promise, increasingly, is not about knowledge but about escape. Escape from a job, from financial uncertainty, from the ordinary. The course industry has turned education into aspiration, selling the idea that success can be learned and bought with a link, a login, and a credit card.
The reason this business model exploded is simple: information, once created, can be sold infinitely. Unlike traditional businesses, there are no production costs, no inventory limits, no shipping, and no physical constraints. A single individual can earn hundreds of thousands, sometimes millions, teaching thousands of strangers around the world, regardless of whether the information is original, proven, or even accurate. And that is precisely where the problem begins.
Over the last few years, a new breed of digital entrepreneurs has emerged young influencers and self proclaimed experts who sell not education, but the illusion of expertise. Their courses do not necessarily teach valuable skills. Instead, they use persuasive storytelling, emotional triggers, and most effectively lifestyle marketing. They do not showcase knowledge; they showcase lifestyles: Lamborghinis, penthouses, luxury watches, and sunsets from Dubai rooftops. They sell not the lesson, but the life that supposedly comes after it.
Short form content on platforms like TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube Shorts has accelerated this phenomenon. In 30 second clips, these digital “gurus” bypass critical thinking and go straight to emotional persuasion. They sell urgency, exclusivity, and hope: the idea that anyone, regardless of background, can become wealthy if they simply follow the right “blueprint.” It is a modern version of the rags to riches story only this time, sold through swipe up links and countdown timers.
Of course, not all online educators fall into this category. Many deliver real value teaching marketable skills, offering mentorship, and shaping careers. They understand education as transformation, not performance. They build communities, not fanbases. But in the current landscape, their voices are often overshadowed by louder, flashier, and more seductive marketing.
The problem is not that people are selling courses. The problem is that the line between education and performance has become dangerously thin. Selling knowledge is legitimate. Selling hope without substance is manipulation. The booming digital course economy has made it easy for anyone to position themselves as a teacher even if they have never truly learned.
Education has always been powerful. But when it is used not to inform, but to persuade; not to build understanding, but to sell a dream it becomes something else entirely. It becomes a mirror reflecting not what we know, but what we desperately want to believe.
