Fur-Ever Famous

If you ask lead singer Gene Simmons, KISS isn’t just a band — it’s a powerful brand. One that should live forever. In 2027, the next generation of the KISS Army will have the chance to catch the legends — not on tour, but as holograms.

Yes, the band invested in technology to launch a global roadshow while Simmons and his face-painted crew rake in paychecks from the comfort of their mansions.

But are fans okay with the KISS "brand" being more about makeup and spectacle than the actual musicians themselves? Some might argue it’s the band’s right to monetize their personas, keeping their families flush with “Rock and Roll All Night” royalties. But are fans ready to embrace a brand that lives on without the original members?

That brings us back to social media, where things got greasy fast. What happens when creators apply the same logic to, say, animals? Look at Mr. Pokee, the Internet-famous hedgehog. Unlike KISS, a group of adults consciously building a brand, Mr. Pokee was, well, a hedgehog.

When Pokee died in 2019 — suddenly, from a blood infection apparently — he had almost two million followers. So, what did his owner, Litha Girnus, do? She replaced him with a new hedgehog. After Pokee’s death, Girnus posted a cryptic message: “Energy can neither be created nor destroyed. It can only change form.” A month later, an African Pygmy hedgehog named Herbee debuted on the same account. “I thought I was looking straight into Pokee’s eyes,” Girnus wrote.

With Herbee, the focus shifted from a single hedgehog to a branded “symbol” of cuteness. 

The question becomes: When a pet dies but its account is still profitable, should creators keep it going with a new animal? It’s actually not the first time this conversation happened.

Consider Lassie. Over the show’s 19-year run, 12 dogs played various roles, starting with Pal in Lassie Come Home (1943). What’s the real difference between that and Mr. Pokee’s account continuing under Herbee? As with KISS, it’s about delivering what people want. Branded entertainment works, whether it’s a rock star or a fur baby.

What does it mean when Herbee now fills the same photoshoots once taken by Pokee? In November, Girnus will release a book called Mr. Pokee: A Handful of Sunshine – How a Hedgehog Created Small Miracles. A True Story of Joy, Loss, and Hope. According to GoBankRates, each Mr. Pokee post pulled in around $6,000 as of 2023 — so it’s safe to assume the account, and the new hedgehog, are making money.

Girnus is open about Pokee’s death, but what does this mean for followers? Five years later, the feed is still going strong, full of curated photos that rack up thousands of likes and comments. Merch, calendars, and anything else they can stick a hedgehog on are still selling.

Another example? Marnie the Dog, famous throughout the 2010s for her signature tongue, passed away in 2020. By then, Marnie even had her own app. Her owner, Shirley Braha, didn’t take the loss well. “I was so deeply in love with her — she was special and phenomenal. It was the relationship of a lifetime,” Braha told The Hollywood Reporter. But how does a creator balance being a pet owner with managing a massive following hooked on funny hats and wagging tongues?

Caitlin Slavens, of MamaPsychologists, believes that keeping an animal’s social media presence alive is valid. “The continued presence of Mr. Pokee’s Instagram page, even five years after his passing, shows the emotional connection between the owner, the community she built, and the original hedgehog. Introducing a new hedgehog while keeping the same page active gives followers a sense of continuity and familiarity.”

For some creators, the solution is to diversify. They introduce multiple animals, turning the feed into a “pack” rather than relying on a single pet. This strategy ensures the brand can survive the loss of any one animal. Are these creators monetizing love, even after the heart of it is gone?

Psychologist Veronica West told us she sees value in keeping accounts going. “It’s not about ‘robbing joy’ — it’s about keeping the good vibes going. Pets, especially internet-famous ones, become part of our emotional landscape. If people want to keep getting their daily dose of cute — whether from new furballs or nostalgic photos — why not let them? In a chaotic world, who would say no to more hedgehog content?”

West argues that continuing these accounts is a way to preserve happiness. “It’s like when a beloved TV character dies, but the show goes on. Mr. Fluffy might not be posing anymore, but the joy he brought stays. Keeping that account alive offers a little piece of happiness — for both the owner, who still needs to pay for kibble or a vacation, and the fans, who followed the journey.”

West believes there’s psychological value in continuity. “The decision to keep Mr. Pokee’s Instagram going offers emotional stability in a constantly shifting world. For the owner, it’s a way to process loss while keeping the legacy alive. For followers, it’s a reminder that even though life changes, some sources of happiness — like tiny paws and adorable hedgehog smiles — remain constant.”

Does continuing these accounts make us bad people?

Most creators can’t afford to turn down income, especially when starting over would be even harder. There’s always an avatar of the original self within the content — Mr. Pokee lives on, even through the new hedgehog. Once a brand is established, it becomes more about the idealism of the “thing” than the individual behind it.

In the future this will be a regular problem with the emergence of AI and its ability to keep the spirit of someone alive. Does a creator want the persona they’ve created to live beyond their lifetime online or would they want it to end with them and what stands as their authentic creation as a body of work? The moral line? That’s yours to draw. Grief takes many forms — and if a paycheck makes it easier to buy Kleenex, who’s to say that’s wrong?