Is the clock ticking for TikTok?

These days, you know it’s a big news story when Sens. Tom Cotton, R-AR, and Chuck Schumer, D-NY, agree on something. And the news last week was that legislators on both sides of the aisle are worried about TikTok.
Last month, a single issue of “The Bison” featured three different articles on the wildly popular video-sharing app used by a billion people worldwide. None of these articles mentioned concerns that the Chinese-owned platform could be a threat to national security, but that is the current buzz on Capitol Hill. More on that later.
I got a master class on TikTok this past summer as I witnessed my niece skyrocket to celebrity status on this app. For years, this talented elementary school teacher built a huge fan base with her six-second videos on Vine. It didn’t take her long to perfect the genre, and her signature blend of sarcasm, slapstick comedy and cheeky stunts made her internet-famous.
When Vine shut down in 2017, my niece moved her operation to Instagram and then to YouTube and TikTok. She’s funny and fearless and has gone to great lengths to amuse her fans. No longer limited to the six-second format, she has filmed herself eating hot chili peppers. She has covered her face with tattoos. She has taken the Gummy Food Challenge and chewed on a jelly-bean hamburger while the cameras were rolling. In fact, whatever challenge is the latest online craze, she puts her own spin on it.
There was a time in human history when the apex of artistic achievement was to write an epic poem or compose a symphony or sculpt a statue. We are now at a different time in human history. The short video is king.
The media theorist Clay Shirky coined the term “cognitive surplus” to describe the trillions of spare hours available to us all. Before the internet, he argued, people spent much of that leisure time in front of televisions. But now, content-sharing platforms have enabled us to become creators and have provided an audience for our talents.
My niece has not only captured this audience but has also learned how to make money from it. Like other social media apps, TikTok users can hold live streaming events after they have gained at least 1,000 followers. While I was home during the summer, I listened in on a few of her sessions and marveled at how well she could hold a crowd for over an hour.
Live streaming gives ordinary people a chance to hang out with influencers they admire. With a wide audience for her videos, my niece has a built-in fan base that wants to interact with her and encourage her creativity. It’s the same principle for readers who go to book signings or music buffs who go to concerts. Except you don’t have to leave the house to be near the celeb. You just sign in when she “goes live.”
And now you can hand over money, too. TikTok allows users to send cash gifts through the app — via direct bank transfer. Of course, they don’t call them cash gifts. I learned this when I overheard my niece thanking her fans for the “pandas,” “concerts” and “drama queens.” As it turns out, these are euphemisms for different monetary amounts. It helps streamers avoid the bluntness of having to thank a fan for sending 20 bucks.
My niece livestreams several times per week and usually makes between $50 and $400 per session — and sometimes considerably more. TikTok gets half the take.
Meanwhile, I only get 25% royalties on the book I wrote in 2014 and have 600 unsold copies left. Clearly, I picked the wrong way to cash in on the digital era.
Given the fact that many TikTok users are between the ages of 10 and 14, some critics frown on the practice of influencers whipping their young fans into a frenzy of online gifting. And my niece has discouraged some of her youngest fans from giving. Of course, these gifts are not all that different from donations to the guitar player on the sidewalk. They are ways of supporting an art form that is generally given away for free.
Back to the evening news. The fact that legislators fear TikTok could potentially be used as a medium for spying on Americans is a serious cause for concern. I saw one video on the site of a yak sticking his head into a car and wagging his tongue. The symbolism is ominous.
Just the same, I would start going live on TikTok myself, but I already do a dozen live events per week. In one of them I have 40 regular followers who listen in for an hour. It’s called 11 o’clock World Lit. No donations expected — they’ve given enough “drama queens” in tuition already.