Ah, TikTok. The glittering colosseum of modern discourse. A place where people go to dance, cook, cry, trauma – dump, and then viciously insult each other – all before breakfast. If Instagram is the curated brunch table, TikTok is the dive bar bathroom at 2 a.m. where someone is weeping and someone else is shouting about gaslighting, while a third person is filming it all for content.
Once marketed as a creative utopia for lip – syncs and DIY hacks, TikTok has evolved – or maybe devolved – into a swirling vortex of rage, pettiness, and unsolicited opinions. It’s like Twitter with video and worse lighting.
Want to know what humanity thinks about anything? Open the app. Within moments, you’ll encounter a 23 – year – old life coach aggressively explaining why your boundaries are toxic, a visibly unhinged man debunking climate change with a can of Monster Energy, and a video essay on why liking blueberries is problematic.
And the comments? Oh, the comments. It’s like the Roman Forum, if the Roman Forum was filled with people yelling, “WHO ASKED?” and accusing each other of emotional manipulation over sandwich preferences.
There’s a special genre of TikTok known as “I’m not mad, I’m just passionate,” which usually involves a person screaming into their front – facing camera about how their ex is a narcissist and their coworkers are gaslighting them into doing their jobs. It’s unclear if they’re seeking justice, validation, or a brand deal with BetterHelp.
And yet – millions scroll on. Why? Because watching people combust in real time is oddly soothing. It’s comforting to know that somewhere, someone is more publicly unhinged than you. It’s community, in a way. A deeply dysfunctional one, like if a support group met in a shark tank, but still – community.
So, if you’re looking for a digital space to witness humanity at its most creatively bitter, congratulations. TikTok is your theatre, your therapist, and your battlefield.
Scroll on. Yell into the void. The algorithm is listening.
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