Can Family Vlogging Ever Be Ethical?

A follow-up to: Is Family Vlogging on Its Way Out? The Ethical Dilemma of Monetising Childhood

This isn’t a personal attack on family vloggers. I’m not a parent, and I’m not in a position to judge anyone’s approach to parenting. I have a toy poodle and even that feels exhausting most days. I also know most people are doing the best they can in a culture that pushes visibility as the norm.

But through my work, I’ve been contacted by young people who grew up in family vlogs, and I’ve seen the emotional and reputational aftermath they’re now trying to navigate. I’ve also been approached by parents looking to grow their channels, and while some are genuinely sweet and pretty unaware of the risks, others have been far more interested in views, virality and monetisation than in long-term wellbeing.

This isn’t about attacking anyone. But it is about asking hard questions, especially when the ones being filmed can’t speak up for themselves.

Who’s contacted me - and why

Over the years, I’ve heard from both sides. Some parents reached out asking for help growing their channels… seeking PR, strategy or content support. Others were young people who had been featured in family vlogs, now old enough to want out.

They found me through the news and Googling - reading I do press removals. Most were hoping I could take their family’s YouTube channel down quietly, or find a way to get it banned. I had to explain, of course, that I don’t have that kind of authority, it’s not my content, and YouTube doesn’t permit third-party takedowns without formal legal grounds.

But the fact that they contacted me at all, shows how stuck they felt. They weren’t trying to start drama. They just wanted an exit from something they never chose.

Since publishing my last post on this topic, four more teens and young adults reached out. All with different circumstances, but the same undercurrent, they never had control without their parents finding out.

One said to me: “I didn’t get paid. I can’t even afford the therapy to cover the damage it caused.”

Why do families vlog in the first place?

Most family vloggers don’t begin with bad intentions. For many, it starts with a genuine urge to document their lives, preserve memories or feel connected during difficult parenting years. It can start out small, a few videos for friends or family and then gradually grow.

But then monetisation happens. YouTube only requires 1,000 subscribers and 4,000 hours of public watch time before a channel can start earning revenue.

To put it into perspective:

• Just 48 ten-minute videos, each getting 1,000 views, would meet the threshold.

• Or 96 five-minute videos with 500 views each.

• One viral video, or a short series that gains traction, can unlock monetisation within weeks.

Once those numbers are hit and the first payment drops, the thinking becomes: this is amazing, let’s do more.

That’s where the shift happens. What was once personal becomes performative. And children (especially babies and toddlers) often end up at the centre of it, because they drive the most engagement.

Some of the parents who contacted me clearly hadn’t thought about who might be watching their content. Others were extremely focused on audience growth and content performance and it felt like they were blocking out the obvious risks. They just wanted more information on using tracking tools, keyword optimisation, thumbnails and titles engineered to go viral.

I’ve seen both. There are many parents who are simply naive to how vulnerable this type of content can be. But there are also some who knew exactly how to grow, and didn’t seem concerned with who that growth attracted.

What’s a view really worth?

Most of the younger people who featured as kids in the vlogs who reached out to me said their family’s channel wasn’t even particularly big. A “successful” upload might reach 20,000 views. On average, their videos would get 3,000 to 4,000.

YouTube pays creators around £2 to £8 per 1,000 views depending on audience and topic. Family content usually sits around the lower middle. Using £5 as a benchmark:

• 4,000 views = £20

• 20,000 views = £100

So for the price of a decent Nando’s, some children had footage of their tantrums, close to nude in underwear only, injuries, toilet training, punishments and hospital visits uploaded for public consumption, often permanently.

When I was a child, people were deeply uncomfortable having their home phone number in the Yellow Pages. Now, we have children whose full names, birth stories, emotional breakdowns and daily routines are archived and monetised for a global audience. The key difference is this: adults back then could request to be excluded from a phone directory. Today, children have no say at all about their online presence, and the exposure is infinitely greater.

What they told me

The details varied, but the themes were consistent.

• One teen started deliberately sabotaging footage by acting out on camera, hoping his parents wouldn’t be able to use the clips. He was being bullied at school because of the channel and didn’t want to feature anymore. His parents shouted at him, telling him he was making the family struggle financially. When he refused to cooperate, they publicly told viewers he was mentally unwell… reframing it as a mental health issue to gain sympathy and have new content ideas.

• Another said they asked a teacher to speak with their parents and explain she feels the vlogging could be distacting her and causing bullying. The teacher agreed, but the parents were dismissive, saying “how dare you tell us how to raise our kids.”

• Several were bullied at school, with classmates sending around clips on phones, quoting their vlogs and laughing at them in corridors. “Half the views were just people from school watching and mocking me.”

One told me their birthday party felt special in a rare occasion because the camera wasn’t pointed at them. Later they discovered someone else had been asked to film discreetly so the parents could be in the footage. The video ended up getting over 10,000 views. They remembered their parents being particularly excited, not because of the celebration, but because of the comments. People gushed about how “amazing” they were as parents. That praise became the focus.

The power imbalance

This is one of the most overlooked elements. A child may smile, pose and perform, but that doesn’t mean they had a choice.

No child can truly give informed consent in this context, they don’t understand the long-term risks of filming, where the content could end up, or how it might affect their future. They trust their parents to make those decisions for them. And when that trust is tied to income, exposure or family identity, the line between participation and pressure disappears.

Some of the young people I spoke to said they felt responsible for keeping the content going. Others were guilted into staying involved. One even said their parents told them that if they refused to be filmed, “it would make life harder for everyone else.”

That isn’t consent. That’s coercion under the guise of family.

A fake upbringing

One of the most psychologically complicated themes that emerged was the sense that childhood felt staged.

Many described growing up in homes where happiness only seemed to exist when the camera was on. Their parents became more cheerful, affectionate or upbeat during filming, only to return to a neutral or cold tone as soon as it stopped.

One even admitted they would perform harder (smile more, laugh louder) because it extended those rare moments of warmth. It was the only time they felt their parents were fully present. They said looking back, they now realise how warped that dynamic was.

Others said family outings were only organised when content was needed. Moments were designed for audience appeal, not for actual connection.

This has a long tail. It distorts what affection looks like. It teaches children that attention and love are tied to performance. And that’s not something they easily unlearn.

The psychological impact

The emotional cost of growing up in content isn’t just anecdotal, it’s also evidenced.

A 2022 study by the University of Florida found that children whose lives are heavily documented online are more likely to experience identity confusion, boundary issues and trust problems in later life. Another paper published in Psychology of Popular Media found a strong correlation between public exposure in childhood and later social anxiety, self-worth issues and difficulties in personal relationships.

One girl told me she remembers reading crude comments about her body before she even hit puberty. She said she still carries that with her now, and proactively avoids being photographed entirely as a result.

These are not edge cases. These are young people dealing with the psychological consequences of something they never asked to be part of.

The Ruby Franke problem

The now-infamous case of Ruby Franke is a stark reminder that what looks wholesome on YouTube can be anything but behind closed doors.

Franke ran a family vlog once praised for its structure and faith-based approach. I don’t know how, her videos gave me the creeps. They were unnerving long before the headlines. I remember watching some and feeling deeply unsettled, the cold tone, the control, the emotional rigidity.

In 2023, she was arrested and charged with multiple counts of aggravated child abuse.

Her content had red flags everywhere, but was still widely viewed and praised. This wasn’t an outlier, it was a consequence of a system with no checks.

Who is watching?

This is the part no one wants to acknowledge.

I’ve seen analytics from multiple family channels, one for example with over a million subscribers and another with around 20,000 and in both of these cases, a significant share of viewers were adult men over 45. Some of the most consistently engaged videos featured the children in distress, in swimwear, or running around in their nappies/underwear. It’s so beyond grim.

One father approached me for growth support on his family vlog. When possible, I ask to review a channel’s analytics before advising, it just gives a clear picture of who’s watching and whether I can genuinely help.

In this case, the data was concerning. Seventy-five percent of the audience was male, with the majority over the age of 40. Most of the content featured his two children, both under the age of five.

I asked if he was aware of the audience breakdown. He shrugged and said, “Those stats aren’t really accurate.”

I replied, “But they are. Are you not concerned about who’s watching this? You do realise that people use YouTube to quietly access this type of content, especially when it involves children, and they do it without ever commenting or interacting?”

He said, “We can’t stress about things we can’t control.”

I remember sitting in silence. Because the answer was so obvious. You can control it, by not uploading it. But he didn’t want to hear it.

I declined the work. The analytics were disturbing enough. But what confirmed it for me was what I found in his blocked words, the list of words he had deliberately blocked from appearing in the comments.

Words like “sexy”, “so hot”, “gorgeous little”, “pretty girl”, “adorable body”, “knickers”. Terms that don’t belong anywhere near videos of children. And they didn’t appear by accident, he’d added them manually.

That told me everything. This wasn’t someone unaware of the risks. This was someone fully aware and cracking on.

Rumoured platform changes

There are growing rumours that YouTube is reviewing how child-focused content is treated, particularly around monetisation.

Proposed changes may include removing ad revenue from unregulated content featuring children, stricter consent processes, or even content takedown policies for channels with high-risk audience demographics.

The ethical ones are trying

There are some families trying to do this responsibly. They ask for their child’s input, even though they know a child can’t legally or ethically give full consent. They avoid emotional or private content. No underwear/nappy/swimming videos. They set earnings aside for their children’s future. They treat it as journalling, not marketing.

Of course, I’ve never been contacted by those families, only by the ones who don’t seem have the best intentions.

But I acknowledge they exist. I’m sure they do. And I can see that some are trying their best to strike the right balance. But even the most careful intentions don’t eliminate the core problem: once the footage is public, it’s no longer in your control.

So, can family vlogging ever be ethical?

Maybe. But only if strong systems are introduced, and not just left up to individual families.

1. Regular independent check-ins

Children should have scheduled access to a therapist, youth worker or advocate. If they say they no longer want to participate, filming must stop.

2. Consent that expires

At age 13 or 16, a child should be able to request content removal. This must be a legal right, not a parental decision. (I would hope a parent would remove it at any age of request, but can see that’s not happening)

3. Protected income

At least 50% of all earnings from content involving a child should go into a protected trust account, audited annually.

4. Clear boundaries

No uploads featuring emotional distress, punishments, nudity, swimming, gymnastics, underwear, nappies, toilet training or medical conversations.

5. Platform oversight

If a child-focused video is attracting predominantly adult male viewership, it should be flagged and reviewed. Monetisation should be removed where necessary.

6. Confidential takedown access

YouTube could introduce a way for featured individuals (particularly children) to privately flag content they no longer consent to. This request could then trigger an internal review or takedown, without it being traced back to the child, avoiding retaliation or emotional pressure at home.

Final thoughts

I’m not a parent. I don’t pretend to know the daily realities of raising a child. But I do know that when I was very young, even the idea of being the centre of attention made me wince, and that was in a living room usually with my parents friends.

I’m beyond grateful I had my childhood before social media existed. The worst I had to deal with was my mum getting some 6x4 blurred prints done at Boots and showing them to her friends when they popped over. And even that felt like too much at the time.

I wasn’t exactly the centre of the social universe at school… haha. I was a painfully shy kid who hated attention, dreaded opening presents in front of people in case I didn’t look grateful enough, and found the Happy Birthday song genuinely unbearable. I was picked on a bit, like a lot of kids and nothing dramatic. Honestly, if my childhood had been filmed and uploaded during school age? I’d have found a way to leave the country.

Some kids love being on stage. I remember my brother being the confident one… loud, funny, waving at strangers during hotel karaoke nights on our Thomson family packaged holiday in Mallorca. I was sat miles away, clutching a chocolate milk and sinking into my seat as low as possible, praying I wouldn’t be called on stage.

Of course personality is influenced by environment, but some of it is just built in. Your kids won’t all want the attention. They won’t all love the camera like the parents do. And to be honest, even my brother as confident and funny as he was, would’ve hated having our lives filmed and broadcasted. There’s a big difference between being lively in the moment and being part of a long-term content strategy.

The thing is, childhood is meant to be messy and unfiltered. It’s full of awkward stages, identity experiments, and small embarrassments. That’s how kids figure out who they are. But once those moments are uploaded, they stop being temporary. They become permanent. They don’t fade into distant memories… they’re searchable, reviewable, and often monetised.

And worst of all, the kids don’t even get the dopamine. They’re not the ones checking likes or soaking up praise in the comments. They just exist while their parents interpret and upload every emotion, every win, every mistake. The validation loop isn’t even theirs.

Would I ever share photos or videos of my own child online? No. But that’s only because I’ve seen the other side. I’ve seen the inboxes, the analytics, the creepy engagement stats, the muted keywords, the breakdowns, the takedown requests. I’ve spoken to teenagers who are still processing the humiliation of growing up as someone else’s content.

Of course I’m biased. I’ve only ever been exposed to the worst outcomes of family vlogging. That perspective colours everything I write. But sadly, it’s reality, and it’s growing.

Being a child is already hard enough. Nobody should have to grow up with an audience they didn’t choose.