How the unhinged chaos of TikTok Live keeps us grounded during lockdown
OMG. Okay, so these are my OBSESSION CONFESSIONS. I know, maybe it’s a little embarrassing, but come on… Surely I can’t be the only one? This series is about all the things that we can’t take our eyes off, the latest viral TikTok trends, the secret infatuations with certain former boyband members…okay I’m only going to say this one more time, surely I can’t be the only one?
When Alice fell down the rabbithole and met a bunch of diverse, eccentric and some questionably drugged-up individuals, it was a memorable trip. I suppose that experience could be eerily similar to scrolling through TIKTOK livestreams; you find yourself lost in a space-time vacuum where sensibility doesn’t exist and the gossip-obsessed tea screaming “drink me!” has been freshly brewed. To the left there’s a Princess Peach cosplayer bitching about her ex, to the right a rosy-cheeked grandma decorating frog cakes while belting out the lyrics to UK Hun? It’s like you bumped your head and woke up in a randomly generated world from The Sims 3 (who the fuck are these people?!); no matter how hard you resist, these strangers and their unexpected storylines are addictive.
As we’ve bumbled through lockdown 3.0, it’s undeniable that we’ve had to deal with a distinct lacking in the social department: no mascara-running nightclub drama in the girls’ bathroom, no saucy office shenanigans to report in the group chat. TikTok Live fills the void right at our fingertips, as a window into the weirder, wider world out there. It culminates topical trends from sketchy candlelit tarot readings to a budget version of Tiger King, The Musical for a budding audience of ten anonymous accounts and someone’s enthusiastic mother. It feeds into the shortening digital attention span of Gen Z, a hyper-consumerist appetite for newness while satiating the craving to self-create. These are real people in real time, far away from the forced toxicity of influencers spewing out skinny latte sponsorship deals.
After a week of (totally productive) research, the consensus is that *literally anything* goes. Day one began charmingly, with an elderly boomer karaoke crooning to Elvis Presley, then – after a flick of the thumb – drastically ensued into mayhem as a Yorkshire drag queen bellowed “if ya can’t handle yer drink Jaz, then bugger off mah screen!” while applying a sickening neon cut-crease to the lid.
Confrontation is rife in the comments. It’s often a trivial battleground between over-inflated egos and moderators. So much so that it acts as a tacky spin-off in itself; young people don’t need Coronation Street when they’ve got an army of bickering Karens for late night entertainment. Just like the current climate, TikTok Live thrives on uncertainty, its lucky-dip-algorithm meaning you’ll never know what to expect next – perhaps a paranormal ghost hunt? E-girls spitting bars? Find out in the next episode. Behind its shitposting madness, though, the video service showcases liberal benefits; a girl walking alone at night, speaking to her followers for safety in light of the Sarah Everard disappearance.
Real life solidarity is what we all need right now, and livestreams are a coaxing portal into communal life. Akin to reality, not everything is perfect. Unlike regular videos that are reliant on filters and slick timed transitions, the unscripted, off-the-rails trajectory found in livestreams feels fresh. Following the footsteps of Vine (#rip) anybody from anywhere can shape the humble platform into a vessel of their own zany individualism. Whether that means reeling off alien conspiracies when you’re baked on the kitchen floor or rating Tesco jam donuts in a sloppy mukbang, spending a night with strangers has never been so appealing.