Turbulence on a plane. A dancing woman letting her not inconsiderable bare belly jump to the beat. Someone demonstrating how to roll a guest towel really neatly. Celebs ‘speed-ageing’ before your eyes. Surgically gloved hands popping a spot. A patient in palliative care sharing her thoughts and fears.
A hamster running with a knife. Prince Harry coming through a door. That’s just a smattering of the videos I scrolled through when I recently signed up to TikTok, around the same time Boris Johnson launched @10downingstreet on the video-sharing social-media platform.
Why did Johnson do it? Presumably to engage with the youth. Why did I do it given I’m 60 and not the target market? Well, as a writer I felt I should check it out – especially after a friend remarked that, as an indicator of what other generations were up to, it was an eye-opener. I then stumbled upon new research that declared the over-60s are getting in on the TikTok act too in an attempt to defy ageist stereotypes. Hence I figured I would scan the app and give any vaguely interested or bemused mature types a quick rundown of how it works and what they weren’t missing. After all, while the metaverse might be beyond me, how hard could it be to cast my eye over a few cute cockapoos and gyrating nurses?
Turns out quite hard because a) I found myself in a digital landscape I could neither understand nor navigate and b) it felt akin to slowing down to gawp at a collision or reach for another sweet, even though I hadn’t finished chewing the first. Because as soon as I joined, I could swipe endless, seemingly random videos. The effect resembled a sequence in a sci-fi movie where someone’s brain is being drained and the director stitches together a speeded-up montage of the character’s most meaningful/ meaningless memories. And make no mistake, when you start watching TikTok, life can pass you by.
It has more than a billion monthly active users spending an average of 52 minutes a day on the platform, six per cent devoting more than 10 hours a week, another 11 per cent, five to 10, according to Statista. I mean. You can read Orwell’s 1984 in just under six. Even War and Peace can only take about 37. Still, I guess if you did that, you wouldn’t learn about life-changing salads, the viral dance moves to Tainted Love or how people interpreted the challenge of pretending to be tumbleweed.
As a late adopter of social media and a non-techy person (I’ve only ever used Instagram and I avoided that for nigh on a decade), the first thing I gleaned about TikTok is that your feed isn’t solely anchored in who you follow. Instead, it uses sophisticated AI jiggery-pokery that interprets subtle clues when you scroll (how long you watch and what you share) to offer you content it thinks you’ll like. Have I got that right? (Answers on a postcard.) I’m guessing it’s a bit like a digital mixologist, tailoring your dopamine cocktail the more frequently you sit at the bar.
As with all social media, there lurks many a psychological trip hazard, which is why TikTok recalibrated its algorithm to help avoid leading viewers too far down rabbit holes – subjects such as extreme diets or loneliness – adding videos that diversified what is served up. My general concern is how the Everests of ‘stuff’ that hit us every day, from the super-serious to the superficial, are affecting us collectively? Seems to me evolution hasn’t had time to limber up the human brain to sensibly process, prioritise and evaluate it all. And when I think of the kinds of material children get to see these days, I’m bloody glad when I was a kid I mainly played Kick the Can and watched The Waltons.
Of course, there’s interesting content on there. I started following Steven Bartlett, the Royal Opera House and National Geographic. And there’s expert insight on everything from crafting to golf. And while some YouTubers don’t get to their main point for ages, here, info delivery is swifter. Another draw is the ease of video creation. You can add sound, captions and transitions, allowing you to star, direct, write the feem toon and sing the feem toon.
So am I a geriatric TikTok convert? Not really. It’s basically one more thing about the modern world that makes me want to lie in a darkened room and listen to Chopin’s Berceuse in D-flat major. But to complete my personal foray, I felt honour-bound to stick my head above the voyeurs’ parapet and upload my first – and probably last – video. It’s on @janmasters11 and it’s entitled ‘60 year old woman has a turn…’ Numbers of likes at the last count? A mere 20. Cue tumbleweed.
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