The Digital Gold Rush: How Golf’s New Influencers Are Cashing In Big

Used to be, if you wanted to make it big in golf, you needed a killer swing and a passport to the PGA Tour. Or maybe you were a suit in a boardroom, pulling the strings. Not anymore. The game’s gone digital, and a whole new breed of celebrity is popping up like mushrooms after a spring rain. We’re talking about guys and gals who make their living with a phone, a personality, and a serious knack for what plays online. And yeah, they’re making bank. Seriously.

From Accountant to Accidental Icon: The Fat Perez Phenomenon

Take Nick Stubbe, for example. Dude was an accountant. Seriously. Clocked in, crunched numbers, the whole nine yards. Weekends? Smacked it around with his buddies in Virginia. Played to scratch, had a decent swing, and a belly that made him look like he’d just rolled out of a tailgate party. He wasn’t unhappy. He loved his job, loved his golf. The idea of being a social media star? Never crossed his mind. Sponsorships, celeb pro-ams, going viral with Bryson DeChambeau? Nah. There was no plan. It just… happened.

Now? He’s Fat Perez. And he’s everywhere. Moved to Florida, got an assistant (yeah, an assistant!), and his phone is blowing up constantly. DMs flooding in from strangers inviting him to their fancy private clubs. “Only my mom still calls me Nick,” he says, and you can tell it’s still a bit surreal. He’s the accidental star of “Bob Does Sports,” a YouTube juggernaut that’s brought golf to millions of new fans and created a whole new kind of golf celebrity. It’s weird, he admits. He feels like the same guy, but then he gets recognized in an airport. Classic.

A New Era of Golf Stardom

Golf’s always had its big names. Hogan. Palmer. Nicklaus. Woods. Those guys were brands. But this new wave? It didn’t start on the Tour or in some stuffy club office. It started on YouTube and Instagram. Golfers of all kinds, armed with cameras and a gut feeling for what works online. Younger folks know Grant Horvat and Gabby Golf Girl the way their parents knew the legends. It’s changed the whole damn industry.

Brands that used to pour money into sponsoring pros are now writing checks to creators with zero Tour status but millions of followers. Courses that used to keep cameras at arm’s length are now hosting shoots. When did it start? Debatable. Some say Rick Shiels in the UK. Others point to Mark Crossfield way back in 2007. Blair O’Neal made waves on “Big Break” and built her own digital platform. Then came Paige Spiranac, the Bryan Bros, and a whole damn army. It was building, sure, but the pandemic? That kicked the floodgates wide open. Suddenly, everyone was stuck at home, and the golf world online exploded.

From Instruction to Shenanigans: The Content Spectrum

What are people watching? Everything. Serious instruction, mind-blowing trick shots, insane challenge matches, golf cart stunts, and yeah, the occasional “thirst trap” snippet. Let’s be real, on the internet, a little skin sells. But on the women’s side, there’s tons of substance too – real instruction, travel vlogs, the works. The guys? Many have gone the other direction. Think more beer bongs than beefcake. It’s like being a fly on the wall during a wild college buddies’ trip. Pranks, late nights, the whole messy package. You ever see four guys trying to inhale 60 tacos while playing nine holes? It’s entertainment now. And Jon Rahm was in one of those videos, stuffing his face alongside Fat Perez. Wild.

That cameo from Rahm says it all. The intersection of traditional golf and this creator golf world is happening, and it’s happening fast. The PGA Tour is staging “Creator Classics.” They signed “Good Good,” a YouTube group with over two million followers, as a title sponsor for a Tour event. And these creators? They’ve built their own competitive circuits, culminating in events like the “Internet Invitational,” which pulled in a staggering 25 million views. Even the big boys are getting involved. Bryson DeChambeau talks about going full-time YouTuber. But it’s not all smooth sailing. Wesley Bryan got suspended by the Tour for appearing in a LIV-backed influencer event. Augusta National even had to admit that letting Dude Perfect fling frisbees around Amen Corner might have been a mistake. Still, the partnerships keep coming.

An agent named Zach Long, who reps a bunch of these creators, puts it simply: “Traditional golf and creator golf are complements, not competitors. They feed off each other.” Whether everyone benefits equally? That’s another story. Some wonder if young, broke audiences actually turn into paying customers. Courses scratch their heads about whether it’s worth giving away free rounds for a few posts. But the money and the momentum? They’re not slowing down.

The Money Trail: High Seven Figures and Lifestyle Perks

The sums involved are insane. Top creators are pulling in high seven figures a year. Others, further down the ladder, are still making a damn good living, plus all the perks: free gear, comped rounds, fancy hotel stays. It’s no wonder everyone and their dog wants to be an influencer now.

Robbie Wooten, who runs a golf marketing agency, calls it “the Wild West.” Looks sexy, he says, but most people don’t realize the sheer amount of work and constant grind it takes to keep innovating and creating. “I WANT TO GO VIRAL in people’s souls,” says Leo Herrera, and that’s the ambition driving a lot of these folks.

Leo Herrera: The Hustle and the Brand

Fifteen minutes south of Fat Perez’s place, you’ve got Leo Herrera. He’s in his apartment, custom putting mat, laptop open, forehead shiny with sweat. He’s just finished a live-stream class on golf fundamentals for 17 paying students. Sixty-seven bucks a head for an hour. This is just one of the revenue streams for his brand, “The Connected Golfer.” It’s all about mind-body, blending instruction, fitness, philosophy, and mental health. “I’m starting to figure out how to make a living at this fully,” he says. “But it has taken a while.”

Unlike Stubbe, who kind of stumbled into fame, Herrera is all business. Type-A focus. At 24, he talks about audience growth and storytelling like a seasoned marketing exec. He’s been fluent in golf since he was a kid. Grew up in Miami, a standout junior, dreamed of being the best golfer in the world. Got a scholarship to college, but dropped out, disillusioned. Two weeks later, he and a friend won the U.S. Amateur Four-Ball. Complicated things even more. “I knew I wanted to make a life in golf,” he says. “I just didn’t know how.”

This was 2021. Lockdowns were in full swing, and YouTube golf was blowing up. Herrera watched guys like Horvat and Good Good and saw a different path. “I decided to go all in on myself as a brand,” he says. He started by copying what worked: challenge matches, swing tips, comedy bits. Some flopped, some blew up. One video where he showed how to “brush” the grass on chip shots, repeating the Spanish word for brush, went viral. His follower count surged. Nearly 140,000 people follow him on Instagram. But followers aren’t a business. “They are useless if you can’t capitalize on them,” Herrera states.

Monetization meant investment. His parents helped buy cameras, editing software, and inventory for his merch. He took business seminars, consulted marketing strategists. Mapped out a plan to make it profitable. The blueprint is on a whiteboard in his apartment. After lean years, it’s finally self-sustaining, with projected revenues over $100,000 this year. That covers costs, not the sweat equity. On a single weekday, Herrera’s schedule includes a 6 a.m. meditation and gym workout (filmed for Instagram stories, naturally), a video shoot, a podcast recording, and a call with a brand strategist. By evening, he hits The Park West Palm, a municipal course that’s become a hub for South Florida’s creator scene. It’s practice ground, social club, and content incubator all rolled into one. Young golfers are everywhere, filming swings, iPhones on selfie sticks.

This is where Herrera’s crew hangs out. Jared Civin, aka The Headband Golfer, is there. Jordan Douglas, JTD Golf, recently left a full-time job to do this. He’s living with family, no backup plan. “My feeling is that if you have a plan B, you’re not really committed to your plan A,” he says. When everything is potential content, can you ever put the phone down? Some creators don’t want to. “My goal,” Herrera says, “is to get to the point where I’m live streaming 24-7, and people are with me all day.”

Fat Perez, Take Two: The Laid-Back Approach

Fat Perez operates on a different frequency. While Herrera attacks his schedule with intensity, Stubbe has this laid-back, Jimmy Buffett vibe. But don’t be fooled, his reality is pretty structured. Two weeks a month, he’s on the road with his “Bob Does Sports” co-stars, Robby Berger and Joey “Cold Cuts” Demare. They film six YouTube videos in tightly scheduled bursts of golf, gambling, booze, and banter. Long days. Early call times. Flights, sponsor obligations, meetings, and three full-time producers wrangling it all. His “off” weeks in Palm Beach aren’t exactly lazy, though. He works out, part of a health kick that’s helped him drop nearly 100 pounds. New nicknames: Fit Perez. Flat Perez. Eating challenges are still part of the job, but now they’re pretty disgusting for him. “A dozen doughnuts in nine holes is just disgusting,” he said about a recent stunt.

Still, his lifestyle isn’t exactly ascetic. Afternoons often find him on a friend’s boat. He’s a regular at Ralph’s, a dive bar he likes for its dartboard and the “Have a Day” tequila cocktails they serve. And he plays golf. A lot of golf. Even when the cameras aren’t rolling. “I can’t get enough,” he says.

That’s what he was doing during Covid back in Virginia. Beating up on an opponent so bad, the guy started calling him Fat Perez. A nod to his skill, his build, and his mullet, which looked a bit like Tour pro Pat Perez’s. Not long after, Stubbe signed on as Fat Perez for a Zoom happy hour with Berger and Demare, who’d just launched the channel that became “Bob Does Sports.” They dug the name and his chill demeanor. One thing led to another, a chance meeting at Pinehurst, a beer, a round of golf. The chemistry was electric. Berger and Demare invited “FP” to be their ringer in a challenge match against Barstool Sports. A cult hero was born.

“There was some impostor syndrome in the beginning,” Stubbe admits about his rise. “I thought, Why me? I don’t deserve this. It’s just luck. But over time, I’ve allowed myself to take some credit for getting to where I am.” Sometimes, it still hits him – like when he’s playing with DeChambeau or hanging with LeBron James in a YouTube video that nearly broke the internet. In those moments, he thinks, “Whoa, I’m a long way from my normal.” The fact that nobody watching would ever know it points to the real power of Fat Perez: He and Nick Stubbe are the same.

The Power of Parasocial Connection

If his followers are drawn to that authenticity, they’re also hooked by the sense of access. There’s a term for this. Coined decades ago for TV, “parasocial” describes the one-sided relationships audiences form with public figures. It’s a dominant dynamic online now. In Palm Beach, it’s everywhere. Walk into a restaurant with Stubbe and heads turn. Show up at a golf course and the bag drop guys abandon their posts. He tries to pay his green fees, but they wave him through. Young people want photos, and Stubbe is always accommodating. Real or imagined, that intimacy is key to the brand. “Bob Does Sports” is even building out a warehouse into “Bob HQ” with a basketball hoop, pickleball, Ping-Pong, and giant TVs – a place for fans to “hang out” with them.

The course is where Stubbe really wants to be, though. Like Herrera, he’s a regular at The Park. Tonight, he’s up for a quick loop on the par-3. He takes his time, chatting with fans and aspiring influencers. He’s encouraging, telling people there’s still room, even if it feels saturated. It’s been a day since Herrera was here, and The Park isn’t as packed. But as Stubbe steps up to the first tee, a mom sidles up, tries to Face-Time her son to show him who she’s met. No answer. “It would have blown his mind,” she says.

The night goes on. On the practice green, Jared Civin, smiling in his headband, is working on his putts but thinking about his next post. You never know what might go viral, when a lucky break in the ether could change everything. “I’ve got an idea for a funny interview I want to do with people on the range,” he says. Out on the par-3, Fat Perez keeps playing.

Want to dive deeper into the world of golf content creation? Check out resources on how to become a golf influencer and understand the strategies they employ.