Main Street Magazine Spring '23

go to the comments to see what jokes other users are making about
the videos, and many of the first comments we see will have tens of
thousands of likes. The comments are also presented in the same
format and space as the creator’s actual caption of the video, aligning
high-ranked comments to essentially appear as alternate video
captions, as if a comment with lots of likes is just as popular as a viral
video itself.
Similarly to delicious food, sex, or addictive drugs,
social media likes tend to prompt a dopamine release
in our brains, triggering our inner reward system.
The excessive focus on commenting gives TikTok viewers an area
to feel as though they are also receiving attention, without even
having to show their faces. As you can imagine and have probably
witnessed, this can lead to some dangerously ruthless comments
from users desperate to get attention. The commenting structure is
perhaps the most divergent feature of TikTok–as well as the ability for
creators to respond to comments in video form, further encouraging
posting content and commenting. Creators will produce more videos
responding to especially notable hateful or extreme comments,
reinforcing the interaction with videos further, regardless of the
negativity that it produces.
74
More than its addictive quality — which I’m sure we are all ridiculously
aware of by now — TikTok holds a remarkably strong influence over
current trends. The sales of certain products, the streams on new
music, and the culture of our generation at large are all being shifted
at the hand of this app’s mysteriously curated algorithm. Positive
interactions with content — including likes, comments, and follows —
contribute to your unique “for you page”. These interactions are what
make your feed so appealing, because the app knows exactly what
will keep you scrolling. Even watch time factors in — which explains
why you’re seeing videos that may upset you or make you feel bad
about yourself if you’re watching them more than once.
With the growing popularity of short-form video platforms like TikTok,
as well as social media in general, there is also the consideration of
attention span. The amount of content, art, music, and information
we are seeing online has exponentially increased in recent years due
to this design. Not only is this damaging our ability to stay engaged
through longer things like movies, concerts, instructional lectures
from teachers or supervisors, and even longer conversations, but
we’re also becoming sensitized to the content we’re exposed to.
The more we watch, the more it takes for us to really
be engaged, to really laugh, or to keep watching to
see what happens.
In addition to the facets of the app that make it so addicting,
the content also plays a part in the intimate ways we are being
influenced. While most other social media apps have been originally
marketed for being a “social network”, a way to communicate with
your friends and post things online to connect with those who
share similar interests, TikTok has been engineered from the start
to draw you in with personalized content. Their website’s tagline
is: “TikTok: Trends start here. On a device or on the web, viewers
can watch and discover millions of personalized short videos.”
The purpose was never to foster community or connections but to
entertain with millions of personalized short videos. It’s a new form
of media altogether. Emma Chamberlain touches on these ideas
of overproduction in media in her podcast episode “is creativity
dead?”, commenting on the effect that social media is having on
the production of content. When we are exposed to things over and
over, the thrill of seeing something funny or shocking or interesting
is diminished over time. With an app that promises mass volumes of
short content, it is catering directly to those who may have already
experienced an attention deficit from social media use in the past.
Some of the most popular video styles among regular TikTok users
showcase excessive material wealth and an attitude of productivity
and “hustle” culture, an idea that can easily appeal to young adults
and college students gaining experience of what it means to enter the
adult world. “Day in my life” content consisting of artistically edited
short videos illustrating a person’s daily routine in various careers or
lifestyles is a popular niche. One recently trending example of this - as
everchanging as they are - is the idea of creators showing their “5-9
before/after my 9-5”, where young adults will show their morning or
night routine in addition to working a full-time job, accomplishing an
absurd amount of tasks composed perfectly with quick shots of a
spotless marble countertop, finished with a 23-step skincare process
with $80 products.
These perfectly composed videos are giving viewers a false sense of
inadequacy, showcasing clips of only productive tasks, rarely showing
any lounging or relaxing without a perfectly aesthetically appealing
shot. This puts viewers in a type of catch-22: feeling guilty for not
being as motivated and productive, or feeling inferior for having a less
perfected space for doing nothing. What this feeling grasps at, while
also letting the creators receive unending — and most likely selfdeprecating
— compliments on their perfect lifestyle, is something
much uglier.
Jeff Guenther is a licensed therapist that posts highly viewed content
on TikTok regarding mental health and media association with selfworth.
In one of his videos, he notes something important related to
the endless wormhole of hustle culture: