TikTok may flicker back on, but has social media's authenticity gone dark forever?
The apps may still have our eyeballs, but trust? That now feels dangerously scarce.
“I don’t think we’re at the start of an oligarchy, I think we’re fully here,” says Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. I’m writing this from London, and AOC—as she’s informally known—is the star of the fourth video on my TikTok For You Page after three ads. She’s leaning back on her couch, delivering the prototypical this-is-just-totally-authentically-me energy that epitomises successful TikTok videos.
Here’s the twist: along with 170 million other TikTok users in America, AOC has been unable to access TikTok for most of today, Sunday, January 19th.
TikTok went dark, but the ban is still not clear
On Friday, the Supreme Court upheld a ban on TikTok in the U.S. Then late Saturday, just 90 minutes before the ban officially took effect, TikTok went offline. Users were greeted with a message that might as well have said, “BRB, President Trump is going to restore us to normal service soon.”
Sure enough, later this morning, President-Elect Trump posted on Truth Social, promising an executive order to give TikTok more time to “make a deal.” More importantly, he assured service providers they’d face no penalties for restoring and maintaining service. So, TikTok has begun to flicker back to life. However, the app is still unavailable on either the Google or Apple stores.
Trump, who officially begins his second presidency tomorrow, added that he wanted to “protect our national security”—a statement that not for the first time, directly contradicts his action. The Supreme Court unanimously concurred that a complete ban is the only way to protect U.S. interests unless TikTok is sold to an American entity, which ByteDance (TikTok’s Chinese parent company) has resisted. It’s worth noting that the U.S. accounts for just 20% of ByteDance’s global revenues—a significant market but far from an existential threat.
Following Zuckerberg, Chew bows to Trump
Two years ago, TikTok CEO Shou Zi Chew exposed just how out of touch U.S. government officials were, fielding questions on everything from data storage to how Wi-Fi works. Today, Chew is singing a different tune, posting a video thanking Trump for helping to “find a solution.” He must be boarding a plane anytime now as he reportedly has a front-row seat at Trump’s inauguration ceremony tomorrow.
What’s next—Chew on Joe Rogan in a baggy T-shirt and gold chain?
TikTok’s fate was always a bargaining chip in the broader U.S.-China game. Trump could ban it entirely, posing as the defender of national security, or he could save it, positioning himself as a champion of free enterprise. Either way, the app isn’t central to U.S. interests or ByteDance’s survival. It’s leverage. Even if the war America is waging is with itself.
Chew has some sucking up to do. Mark Zuckerberg hasn’t been wasting the moment, letting Trump know in no uncertain terms that Meta is ready for TikTok’s demise. Zuckerberg’s message is clear: ‘Don’t worry about TikTok, I’m your boy’. It’s easy to see why. TikTok’s algorithm terrifies its competitors. It revolutionised video content, giving creators and brands magical levels of discovery.
The “For You Page,” which curates feeds based on interest rather than social connections, became the blueprint for every major platform, from YouTube to Netflix. TikTok rewarded unfiltered, authentic content in ways Instagram never could. It redefined brand and creative strategies globally.
And yes, U.S. Senators have been buying up shares in Meta. Coincidence? Possibly. Vested interest? For sure.
No matter what happens, TikTok will never be the same
TikTok has become significantly more saturated and commercial since a ban was first floated (ironically, by saviour Trump himself in 2020). Creators have complained about a rise in ads, a drop in creativity, and the dominance of mindless trends. Users, too, have begun reflecting on their addictions to what some call the ‘post-brain rot era’. The mood in 2025 feels more outwardly conscious, with people questioning their digital choices—though the algorithm is so addictive that a decline in viewing is unlikely any time soon, if ever.
But for a platform that once rewrote the rules of media—optimistic, wildly creative, and open to all—TikTok has now been reduced to a pawn in a political negotiation.
Platforms are funded by advertisers they could care less about
If platforms exploit users’ attention, they care even less about those footing the bill: Advertisers. It began with X (formerly Twitter): Musk openly antagonized brands, first telling them to “f*** themselves,” then suing them.
With his newfound curls and gold chain, Zuckerberg is openly aligning Meta’s content policies with X. His subsequent comments on masculinity in business hardly scream “advertiser-friendly.”
But here’s the kicker: Advertisers need these platforms far more than the platforms need them. TikTok’s U.S. ad revenue is $20 billion, compared to Meta’s $150 billion across Facebook and Instagram, all of which are set to shoot up again in 2025. Platforms monopolise attention at scale, and advertisers have no choice but to play along.
One outcome is that YouTube quietly emerges as the winner. The dominant TV streaming platform has avoided the pitfalls of political controversy and may, de facto, become the safer, more stable choice.
TikTok’s optimism and entertainment value, once a beacon of hope during lockdowns, now feels tainted by geopolitical agendas. Even if the platform recovers, it will carry the weight of compromise.
It’s become clear ahead of Trump's taking power tomorrow that social media platforms are no longer “by the people, for the people.” Media and politics have always been cosy, but algorithms are a more powerful weapon in the game of influence than traditional media ever was. 170 million people today opened their phones to find that the once-celebrated authenticity of these platforms has forever gone dark.
The apps may still have our eyeballs, but trust? That now feels dangerously scarce.