Words: Stella Small (she/her)
The American Government’s ban of the social media platform TikTok was, like everything associated with the app, short-lived. Nonetheless, the hours where TikTok was unavailable for US citizens felt like the end of an era and, as a member of the generation whose adolescence was defined by the videos and creators on the app, I participated in the mourning. At its best, TikTok feels like being in on the best inside joke: a nonsense phrase can spark recognition in a room full of strangers, its trends transcend borders and languages. I have seen videos on TikTok that are more engaging than some content produced by paid professionals. As an artefact, the app feels like an incredible monument of human creativity. But despite all of this, I couldn’t help but feel like the ban would take a weight off my shoulders.
According to UKOM, in 2024, around 36 million people in the UK use TikTok. In comparison, 13 million UK residents watched the most viewed sporting event of 2024, England’s Euro semi-final. Over the holiday period, ITV and Channel 5 aired TikTok: Top 100 2024 and Celebs We Cancelled in 2024 in an apparent bid to grasp onto a dwindling audience of phone addicts. The rise of audience participation segments, reality TV shows encouraging social media voting, and interactive ad campaigns reflects the “TikTokification” of content delivery. Shows like Love Island rely on the immediacy of internet polls and discussions to maintain engagement, blurring the line between viewer and participant.
Despite this interactivity, the dominant mode of engagement remains passive consumption. Unlike traditional communal media experiences – sitting in a cinema, gathering around the television, or even debating a news story with friends – TikTok feeds an endless stream of algorithmically curated content. It is a platform that encourages sharing, but in a deeply isolating way. The platform rewards conformity, and discussions often devolve into echo chambers rather than meaningful exchanges of ideas.
Like all social media, the TikTok marketplace of ideas operates on the currency of virality. In such a saturated environment, the value of this exchange has become hyperinflated – a video with a million views today will become irrelevant tomorrow. Users chase sensationalism, often at the expense of accuracy and integrity. In 2022, it was reported that around 20% of TikTok videos include misinformation. This becomes particularly dangerous when you consider the number of young people who use TikTok as their main source of news. As complex ideas become condensed into easily consumable, hyper-engaging snippets, the stories between the lines receive little attention. As this form of superficial engagement blooms, we risk a flood of misinformation, reinforced biases, and decline of the democratic potential of a well-informed public. One media expert notes how the promotion of free speech on these platforms comes at the cost of meaningful dialogue, where people are vying to be heard, without truly listening to each other.
TikTok creates an illusion of democracy, but its success is built on the unpaid labour of creators. While users generate the content that powers the platform, the profits ultimately flow to its corporate owners. Unlike TikTok, traditional media operates under regulations like those enforced by Ofcom, which ensure a level of transparency. Television viewers are aware of the rules and limits broadcasters must follow, but TikTok’s algorithm – controlled by billionaires – shapes the content we see with little accountability. This fosters self-censorship, as users unconsciously tailor their behaviour to fit the echo chambers.
Despite this, TikTok’s golden age had uncharacteristic longevity compared to some other social media platforms. From 2018-2025, its popularity thrived on the communal experience it appeared to offer. In 2025 however, the abundance of streaming platforms provides an overwhelming choice. Sitting down to watch something often feels overstimulating and disjointed. By contrast, TikTok’s endless scroll feels paradoxically connected, feeding users a curated illusion of shared cultural touchstones. Your For You Page becomes the new prime-time TV slot; comment sections the new watercooler. This veneer of togetherness masks a deeper alienation. TikTok blinds us to the reality that while it feels as though everyone in the world is sharing the moment, we are ultimately alone in the experience.
TikTok owes its popularity to the human longing for community. While it satisfies this craving in the short term, the unity it provides is illusionary. The future of media is unpredictable, but the need for shared experiences, reliable storytelling, and trustworthy information will persevere. If anything, the more chaotic and individualised digital spaces become, the more people will seek out traditional media as a source of connection and credibility. The landscape will diversify, but people will always return to the places where they feel seen – not just by an algorithm, but by each other. Traditional media will not be obsolete but rather a necessary reprieve from the noise.
