Always do the same thing or disappear: the TikTok trap that forces 'influencers' to repeat themselves ad infinitum

Any person active on social networks knows some basic notions so that their publications have visibility.

For example, upload content when everyone is watching (Sundays and Mondays around 9:00 p.m.).

Or that, in the photos and videos we choose, we can be seen: the algorithms of the main social networks prioritize human figures and forms.

The more we show of ourselves, the more the algorithm will show us to others.

But there is another, perhaps more unknown: the algorithm loves repetition.

Like human beings.

Maybe that's why reruns of classic comedies work so well on television, and maybe that's why there are so many content creators stuck in Groundhog Day, making the same type of video, or uploading the same type of images day after day, and another, and another.

In the spring of 2020, millions of citizens were locked up at home due to the covid-19 pandemic.

Many of them, for the first time in their lives, with nothing to do.

That was the trigger for the definitive arrival of TikTok into the lives of Spaniards.

The platform, once known as musica.ly and dedicated to hosting preteen choreographies and dances, had evolved and was now a network where any type of content had a place.

Born in China, TikTok became the window to the world for millions of citizens who could not go out and were hooked on a network that had perfected the algorithm and infinite

scrolling

.

Deep in our own domesticity, we found it especially fascinating and healing to see that of others.

It was the time of the new

influencers

, indebted to the algorithm as before those of Instagram had been to the filters.

TikTok logo at the company's offices in Singapore.ROSLAN RAHMAN (AFP via Getty Images)

“The main change in the algorithms is that before you saw who you followed and now you don't see who you follow,” explains Mariele Sánchez-Palencia, specialist in social networks and digital communication.

“This happened in 2016, when the number of accounts we followed began to be so high that we stopped being able to keep track of everything.

Instagram began to sort what you followed based on what you might like the most and TikTok took that to the maximum expression.

They only show you what you like the most, whether you know who uploads it beforehand or not.”

“I'm the Xinni, crazy!”

Andrea, a girl from a small town in Cantabria who had just turned 18, started using TikTok during confinement.

The name she chose for this new social adventure was La Xinni and it was one of the first viral outbreaks on TikTok Spain.

In just weeks he accumulated millions of followers.

A year after opening the account it had eight million and today there are more than ten;

although the majority joined in the first months of 2020. La that he ended up signing a record contract with Sony Music Spain, he sang and danced like thousands of people: neither good nor bad), but because of an iconic war cry, an advertising slogan, that he repeated over and over again in each of his videos. : “I'm La Xinni, crazy!”

Rarely has a single phrase been capitalized so much.

When mobility restrictions began to be lifted and society was able to begin to regain a normal rhythm, La Xinni began attending events, like another

influencer

.

She even recorded an EP,

Con la boca cerca,

and several singles.

What happened after?

The real interest in La Xinni disappeared when the meme (understood in this decade as the minimum unit of cultural content) was exhausted and hearing “I am La

every now and then it stopped having its effect.

La Xinni knew this and tried to diversify its content.

She started with dances and new

trends

, and promoting her new songs, but if she didn't say the phrase that had elevated her over and over again, the algorithm acted and penalized her.

And if she said it, it had less and less effect on her audience.

The algorithm turned La Xinni into a victim of her own famous phrase.

In videos from the fall of 2022, she appeared more serious and diffident about her.

In recent months, fan accounts have appeared where old La Xinni videos are reposted with titles like “please let the xinni of 2020 come back.”

The most successful ones accumulate millions of views.

On many occasions, more than the content that La Xinni continues to upload to her account today.

Oscar García is a young music journalist who has seen how, in the last year, his followers have multiplied by three on Instagram.

Now he has 33,000 on his Meta social network account and its content is a hybrid between a traditional media outlet, where he reviews albums, recommends weekly news and raffles off albums and tickets, and the content of these social networks (coffee, guitar and dog included), where the algorithm rules.

He has collaborated with labels, agencies and festivals.

However, the same has not happened to him on Tiktok: “In the first months of work, many of my videos went viral, I had quite a few visits and my followers grew organically,” he explains to ICON.

Suddenly TikTok, for no apparent reason and without having changed the type of content, stopped showing its usual audience and its numbers plummeted.

Then came the insecurities: “You are left a little isolated, thinking that maybe I am not as good as I was two days ago, that I bore people or that it is not worth continuing to work on this.

That's where the problems start and you think that you are not that good or that creative.

We are victims of the algorithm because we cannot depend on numbers for our personal well-being.

It is not healthy, natural, or logical: you cannot depend on an algorithm to know how good you are.”

The tension of the second attempt

“A victim of the algorithm is someone with a single trick that works very well, but then has nothing else to continue using,” says Mariele Sánchez-Palencia.

“It's like the

one hit wonders

[singers or groups known for a single hit] in music.”

Of course, there are cases in which the trick can last for years.

This is the case of Álvaro Casares, who has been repeating the same video format over and over again for years: lists of clichés about the Spanish middle class that culminate with another slogan:

“Cheeeeck!

”.

Anchored to an invariable format, it is a clear example of how to make a limited style profitable.

Burger or alcoholic beverage chains have collaborated with him and he offers monologues in theaters throughout Spain.

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There are other, more subtle types of victims of the algorithm.

Those who, despite continuing to maintain fresh and original content, put their lives at the service of their social networks.

Natalia Canoa, scriptwriter of entertainment programs for Playz and sole administrator of the Noticias Millenial account (with 987,000 followers on TikTok), points out that a victim of the algorithm is also “someone who plans a vacation trip with their partner thinking about the content they “You can record to the destination, rather than your own preferences.”

According to Sánchez-Palencia, “if you manage to be successful with one video, the next one will be widely distributed, which is why it is very important to do it well.”

The algorithms work based on the playback time of each video, which is pre-labeled by the platforms or by the creators themselves.

If you consume 80% of a video, the algorithm will consider it relevant.

If 20% of the next video from the same creator is consumed, you will be ostracized.

Success is what enslaves emerging creators to the algorithm: getting that second video right or not can mean earning or not earning tens of thousands of euros in the following months and years.

But is there really that much money at stake on TikTok?

Canoa points out that “there are agencies that, depending on which

influencers

, can ask for up to 10,000 euros for a single

story

.”

Taking advantage of the moment is also key.

A tweet that has gone viral in recent times states that if today you have to go to work from nine in the morning to five in the afternoon it is because in 2020 you were embarrassed to upload

TikToks

.

Canoa buys the theory, in part, and affirms that today it would be much more complicated to form such a large community: “My account started then, at the time of the boom.

Now there is a larger audience than before on TikTok but also many more creators.”

Last algorithm rule: Maybe the network you should pin all your hopes on is one that isn't famous yet.

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