Off the Feed: Saudi Arabia Bans Children from Influencer Content

For years, Saudi Instagram and Snapchat stories were filled with toddlers at play, birthday parties, and family dinners. Overnight, they have disappeared. A new set of rules announced in September bans influencers from featuring children in lifestyle or promotional content.

The justification is couched in the language of protection. Officials say minors should not be commercialised or turned into props for their parents’ brands. But the law goes further than most: the ban is absolute. In France, “sharenting” rules give children the right to erase their online presence later. In America, the debate revolves around child labour on YouTube. Saudi Arabia has opted for a blunter solution: no children at all.

For the country’s family vloggers, the effect is jarring. Hanan Al-Mutairi, once known for cheerful clips of her two toddlers, has switched to recipes and home décor. Lama Alakeel, a lifestyle influencer in Riyadh, announced she would “step back” from family scenes and focus on fashion. Smaller parenting accounts are left adrift. “We can’t even show our kids playing in the background,” complained one Dammam creator. “It’s like erasing a part of who we are.”

The market is not trivial. Saudi Arabia’s influencer economy was valued at more than $1.3bn in 2024, according to Statista, with family and lifestyle content accounting for a sizeable slice. Yet the new guidelines not only reshape what is permissible, they also reflect deeper instincts. For decades, family life in the Kingdom was considered sacrosanct, kept firmly behind closed doors. Social media unsettled that boundary. The ban is less a rupture than a restoration—a reminder that the home, and especially children, belong to the private sphere.

The public reaction is divided. Some applaud the move. “It prevents the grey area where kids are still monetised under the guise of parental consent,” says a sociologist in Jeddah. Parents who disliked the spread of children’s images online have welcomed the clarity. Others think it heavy-handed. “Not everything online is exploitation,” said a father in Khobar. “Family moments are part of life.”

Foreigners in Saudi Arabia, too, are adjusting. A British lifestyle blogger in Riyadh admitted that “half my content vanished overnight,” but conceded that Saudis see children as off-limits in ways outsiders often do not. An American fitness coach in Jeddah welcomed the move, arguing that “even adults struggle with internet comments—why expose children?”

The sharper question is whether the rules are about protection or control. By spelling out not only the absence of children but also restrictions on clothing, luxury displays, and online disputes, the guidelines extend well beyond child welfare. They are part of a broader pattern: the state is determined to manage the social fallout of modernisation.

For influencers, the adjustment has been swift. Feeds that once brimmed with birthday balloons and school uniforms now feature travel reels, gym routines, beauty tutorials, and comedy skits. Yet something has gone missing: the unscripted warmth of family life. As one young Saudi mother put it, “Maybe it is better for the kids. But for us, it feels like silence.”

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