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There was a time when I scoffed at ever getting onto TikTok. I was too old. It was just full of silly dances and viral memes. But then my daughter wanted to join. It was a dilemma, but I felt like I was fighting against a never-ceasing tide of technology, so I joined so that I could keep an eye on her.
I would just create a private account, I told myself, and follow her to make sure nefarious netizens didn’t start stalking her or that she didn’t start falling down conspiracy traps or have her self-esteem too damaged by unobtainable social media standards.
As I set up my account, the app asked me what topics I wanted to see videos about. Food, art, painting, music, writing, books, travel. It all seemed innocuous and not at all what I was expecting to find on the app. And after that, the deluge came. So many short videos that managed to grab hold of me and never let go. And, the more I watched, the more the algorithm learned exactly what to show me to keep me watching and scrolling. Well, except for those odd app-wide viral video trends that seem to sweep across everyone’s feeds regardless of your stated interests, like the recent scary North Sea trend.
I never thought that I would quickly become a TikTok addict. And, yes, actually TikTok addiction is a thing, as my post on sleep hygiene can attest to, as well as a study about Facebook and TikTok addiction. But, that, of course, is the topic of a future blog post.
No, this post is about the pitfalls of TikTok recommendations. The beauty of these recommendations is that they seem to come from “real,” authentic people. These aren’t fancy ads with blockbuster production values. These are just everyday people telling you to get ready with them as they check out the coolest new food trends, captivating book releases, or scary movie recommendations.
The first time I was burned by one of these recommendations was when I saw all of these videos of people enjoying Korean corn dogs. I love regular corn dogs, though I usually only partake of them once a year at the local county fair. Those savory hot dogs covered in a slightly sweet but also savory cornbread batter tasted like manna from heaven to me. So, when I saw all those people rolling their eyes back in ecstasy as they bit into these corn dogs that seemed so similar but were so different (they can be sweeter than their American counterparts, covered sometimes with brown sugar, fried potato squares, or even crunchy ramen), I thought, I simply must find one to try. How could a video with a regular person squealing with delight as they obtained a perfect, massive cheese pull video from biting into this new, trendy food show something wrong?
So, I found a place that sold Korean corn dogs where I lived and ordered one: hold the cinnamon sugar coating, split the inside half with mozzarella and half with hot dog, and give me the friend potato coating, please! When it arrived, it looked exactly like all of those videos. And it smelled like fried deliciousness. I bit into it—and was immediately shocked at the sweetness. Even though I didn’t get the sugar coating, the batter was much sweeter than the corn dogs I was used to. The hot dog also tasted slightly sweet. Oh no, no, no. This was not for me.
The second time I was burned by a TikTok recommendation was when I ordered an audiobook based off of one person’s recommendation. I was wonderfully enconsed in the BookTok algorithm, so thought I could trust this person’s recommendation. But, again, I was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I mean, the book was described as a dark rom-com about two serial killers, which had me intrigued, I guess, but the beginning of the book was just so offputting to me that I’m pretty tempted to just put it down for good. It turns out that I shouldn’t have scoffed at the long list of content warnings at the beginning of the book (which included accidental and not-so-accidental cannibalism). The book did get 4.24 on Goodreads, but I quickly discovered that gruesome serial killer/spicy romance was just not up my alley at all.
I think the lesson that I’ve learned is that although TikTok thrives on presenting seemingly authentic user-generated content, the hype machine is still in full effect, just as it would be if you watched a paid ad. I need to be much, much better at doing research before I allow all the enthusiasm from a video sway me into making silly purchases.
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