In Defense of TikTok

Don’t tell Congress (or Cal Newport), but I like TikTok.

This is an awkward confession, like admitting I unironically enjoy candy corn or that I think the McRib is a legitimate meal. Most people agree that TikTok is bad, and most people have a point. There are many (many) reasons to delete the app, throw your phone into the sea, and retreat into an off-grid life of reading leather-bound books by candlelight.

And yet, I keep coming back to it.

Is it an addiction or a super cool new way to discover things I like?

TikTok’s algorithm is obsessed with showing you content you like to keep you on the app, which makes it a great recommendation machine.^[1]

I discover my favorite songs on TikTok. Artists I will listen to for years enter my life because some stranger uploaded a clip of their song as the soundtrack to a video about an extremely popular restaurant with the caption, “NO ONE IS TALKING ABOUT THIS.”

It’s the same way for books and articles. A significant percentage of my recent reads were pushed into my hands by TikTok’s eerie, all-knowing algorithm.

Same for TV shows. Same for scenic views around Austin. I’m writing this in a coffee shop I first heard about in a TikTok.

If you aren’t on TikTok, you might not realize just how influential it is. Most of Spotify’s top-charting songs are first pushed by TikTok. Entire careers have been built on a 15-second soundbite looping in the background of a “day in my life” vlog.

And if TikTok weren’t around, the book industry might be running on fumes.

People find an audience on TikTok, they grow companies on TikTok, and they connect with like-minded people on TikTok.

One of my favorite musicians, Lizzy McAlpine, first gained an audience on TikTok. If not for that, would she still be playing in tiny coffee shops, unnoticed? What a dark, joyless world that would be (for me).

But that’s just the mainstream stuff. The real joy of TikTok is the unfiltered energy of its micro-communities.

Anyone can create, so you get all these fun little niches that Hollywood studios would never greenlight. And better yet, they don’t have to worry about their creations being profitable. They can create for fun.

Where else am I going to watch an anesthesiology professor casually throw a football into a basketball hoop from 50 feet away every day?

Is it worth the cost?

Defending TikTok is a bit like arguing that Fruit Gushers are healthy because, hey, there’s technically some fruit in them. There’s also plenty of garbage. The mindless scrolling. The rage-bait. The same five podcast clips repeated ad nauseam, like some kind of brainrot Groundhog Day.

So, where does that leave me? Should I give it up?

How much good does something need to provide before you accept the bad that comes with it?

It’s tempting to make a pros-and-cons list, but that feels… simplistic. Okay, TikTok has three positives and four negatives, so into the digital trash it goes. But wait, shouldn’t we weigh those factors? Shouldn’t new music discovery count for more than yet another AI-generated Family Guy clip running next to Subway Surfers gameplay?

And if I start questioning TikTok like this, don’t I have to apply the same logic to everything else? YouTube? Football? Donuts?

I don’t normally do that kind of calculation for a 12-count plus fries plus lemonade at Chick-fil-A, something that has its own negative repercussions, so why does TikTok get this kind of special investigative treatment?

I don’t think it’s black and white. I don’t have to use TikTok or completely avoid it. It’s probably best in the gray area, where I use it here and there, with guardrails to help me stick to a reasonable amount of time on the app.

I can’t run a double-blind study on my choices. I can’t measure joy in milligrams.

So until I figure out how to quantify “wasting 30 minutes scrolling” versus “discovering an artist who will soundtrack my next decade,” I’ll just enjoy TikTok.

Safe scrolling,
Alex