Goodbye Francesca x Hunger Games. Goodbye Not Strong Enough x The Archer x Percy Jackson. Goodbye Boygenius x Diary of a Wimpy Kid. Like a security blanket, I visit my carefully curated TikTok folders, only to scroll through deafening silence. It is doomsday and I am grieving.
For those fortunate enough to be confused by that introduction, allow me to explain. There has been a horrendously chaotic update to the mediasphere. Universal Music Group has viciously yanked all of their music from the biggest social media platform in the world: TikTok. Whose music falls under this umbrella? Well, kind of everyone. Taylor Swift, Bad Bunny, Billie Eilish and basically every big name artist have all had their music deleted from the platform. Even Andrew Lloyd Webber and KidzBop got nuked for Lorde’s sake. While the loss of edits to my favorite tv shows and franchises might seem superficial, the repercussions of this one action are the beginnings of a domino effect that ends media as we know it. This is hugely detrimental to the music industry and individual artists alike. So much free advertising comes from TikTok, and it’s how many artists promote their music. Without TikTok, artists like Noah Kahan, Olivia Rodrigo, and Renee Rapp would essentially be obsolete. When I told my friends about what had happened, their immediate response was “but I only get my music from TikTok!” Additionally, TikTok influencers that make their living off of reviewing music or dedicating their accounts to specific artists will have to drastically switch gears with their content or they’re fresh out of luck.
When I heard the rumors, I was convinced they weren’t true. How can music, the very heart and soul of the app, just go away? I planted myself firmly into the wet cement of denial and was happy to let it dry around me. We are but fools running around the hamster wheel of content creation. But why does it kindle such a deep ache in my chest, with flames licking at the edges of my battered heart?
For the past several years, I have watched the impermanence of digital media worsen and megacorporations chip away at my very soul. I have fallen in love with tv shows, franchises, and books, only to have the rug swept out from under me as soon as I get attached. Almost every queer show that has come out in the past four years has gotten canceled after one or two seasons. It’s gotten to the point where I expect it now. When Our Flag Means Death, one of Max’s most highly watched and most beloved shows got canceled after two seasons (of three anticipated total), all I did was sigh and say “well I guess I’m glad the ending was somewhat resolved.” Entire shows like Willow and Grease: Rise of the Pink Ladies have been removed from streaming platforms to avoid paying residuals to the cast and crew, erasing them entirely and seriously trying to tamp down my obsession with Ruby Cruz.
It’s so disheartening to fall in love with something that makes you feel seen and understood, only for it to be yanked away as soon as a company tires of it. They leech our views and clicks and then laugh in our faces while they dangle, yet another shiny toy. I’m tired of caring and I’m tired of loving. Stories are my coping mechanism, must I really have to face the world’s increasingly depressing reality?
And older generations wonder why we’re so nihilistic? Growing up, we were taught that the internet is forever, so we need to watch our digital footprint. But that really isn’t the case is it? Things are lost forever, and there’s quite literally nothing we can do about it. No amount of begging or pleading will bring it back. I have a friend that claims she’s going to run away to the mountains to become a hermit everytime she is upset with society and/or technology. I used to laugh. Now? I’m packing my bags and going with her. I’m this close to investing in a DVD player and Bluerays. I’m going to learn to print and bind my own books so my favorite written media isn’t lost. Text conversations printed and voicemails burned on cds. Vinyls pressed and mixtapes made. Physical photo albums and scrapbooks jam packed with my experience. What measures will I have to take to preserve my own memory? Fire is catching in the Library of Alexandria, and I’m a historian running with my scrolls g*dd*mnit.
Words by Caroline Tetlow.
Graphic by Reem Hinedi.
Sounding Boards by Bailey Musnicki and Abby Hinson.