The Transition from the Cinema to the TV: How the Internet of Moving Images Affected our Understanding of the Media, and its Implications for Apps and Mobile Computing

Just as our relationship with media shifted when it entered our homes, it has continued shifting as it invades our smartphones. These devices have allowed TikTok to be integrated into our way of thinking and our way of looking at information. If we want to extricate ourselves from the app’s grasp, we must first understand how the mind works in the age of the technologized self.

Take, for example, the transition from the cinema to TV that occurred in the mid-20th century and enabled moving images to enter our homes. We watched it as we prepared for the day and spent time with family, after being constrained to the theater. Theorists like Marshall McLuhan noticed that as moving pictures were taken out of the dark, anonymous communes of the theater and placed within our domestic spaces, the foundational mechanics of how we received, processed, and related to them changed. As newly engrained features of our dwellings—which Heidegger recognizes as deeply intertwined with our sense of being in the world—they took on a familiar casualness. Viewers increasingly developed “parasocial” relationships with the people they saw through these screens, as Donald Horton and R. Richard Wohl note in the foundational paper in which they coin the term. Home audiences became more aware of mass media personas as friends, which allowed broadcasters to manipulate them in a more personal way.

Once, platforms sought to be device-agnostic, universal purveyors of content that would be accessible to anyone who might want it. This allowed companies to promise users that if they choose to use any device, they would be free to use their preferred identities, as long as they followed anything they wanted on the site. The logic behind the mission to make information universally accessible is shown in many ways by this mission. The details of our encounter with these platforms are rarely the focus of discussions.

Fashion influencer Lydia Millen didn’t check into the Savoy when she had a cold room: Why women shouldn’t spend so much money on clothes?

Lydia Millen checked into Britain’s oldest luxury hotel the Savoy after her heating went out, and the room cost up to $5,500 a night. “I’m going to make full use of their wonderful hot water,” the British influencer told her 797,000 TikTok followers.

The response was vehement after it had received four million views. A number of commenters compared Millen to another woman, and others joked about using a private plane to fly them to watch a football game. One comment with more than 14,000 likes summed up the sentiment best: “The room (a very cold one) has not been read.”

Millions of Britons are currently experiencing “fuel poverty” as energy prices soar; six days before Millen checked into the Savoy, UK inflation reached a 41-year high. Many British families are currently choosing between heating and eating, while rail workers, nurses, and firefighters are planning to strike for livable wages.

While the term “influencer” conjures up images of thin women who are wealthy, the reality is that it is a broad industry, and they could find themselves in demand as brands try to relate to consumers. Okay, sure, what about Millen, a luxury lifestyle commentator?

Sophie Wood, a 25-year-old New Yorker who has more than 59,000 followers across her two social media accounts, didn’t post any sales when Black Friday happened. “I think it’s kind of silly to be encouraging frivolous spending at a time like this, when so many people are getting laid off. And it seems really insensitive for me to be spending and showing items that I’m buying.”

Wood, who has previously done campaigns for Urban Outfitters, Crocs, HBO Max, and Google, says she has recently begun working with sustainable and ethical fashion brands who produce clothing that’s “built to last.” She also now posts fewer pictures of gifts and PR packages that she receives, “just because it feels like bragging,” and has even asked some companies to take her off their gifting lists.

Amy Zwirn, head of agencies at London-based marketing company Influencer, states that brands are choosing trusted voices over talent in order to work with.

“Speaking to your favorite creator during a really uncertain time is very different than if you’re spoken to directly by brands,” she says. If the UK goes into a recession, companies will look to certain people to be long-term ambassadors and won’t be doing ad hoc campaigns with lots of creators.

How a Mom Influenced Urban Living has Changed its Online Vibrations: The Case of Fox, a Toy Model

The tour is easy to understand and relate to apartment dwellers like me. The actress put up her bedroom in the living room so that her son could have a playroom. There are toys scattered here and there, shoe boxes in the kitchen and, she said, a “small mouse problem.” Evie Ebert was writing for Romper and explained that what Fox showed us was not a typical influencer video that would have a lot of messiness in it. Instead, Ebert mused, Fox would appreciate the “trash box” in Ebert’s own apartment, because Fox has curated “a cozy nest, where a single mom and her toddler have all they need and the whole city at their doorstep.”

The video that Fox put out made me think of Emily Feret, the creator of the TikTok toy, who talks about her diet and how she gets ready daily while showing off her non aesthetic playroom. I’ve written before about Feret, who serves as a corrective to how the perfection (or performance thereof) of certain momfluencers can worm into your brain, even if you strongly suspect that their online lives are something of a put-on.

While those glossy moms of social media are still very influential and attractive to advertisers, I think that we are seeing a shift in their online vibe, instead of just moving away from the ideal.

“I have a graveyard of products just staring at me in my bathroom and I reach for the same five every night,” she says. Palermino is hopeful that de-influencing will stop people from tying their identity to what they buy, but like many online, she has already noticed something strange: “De-influencing is already morphing to influencing.”

De-influencing has been a trend at TikTok since January. De-influencers convince you that you don’t need a product. “Do not get the UGG Minis. Do not buy the Airwrap from Dyson. Don’t get the Charlotte Tilbury wand. Do not get the cup. Do not get Colleen Hoover books. One creator made a comment on TikTok on January 23, where they said, Do not get the AirPods Max.

“The same way there was backlash to photoshopped ads in magazines or the facetuning of selfies, people are burnt out,” says Charlotte Palermino, the 35-year-old, Brooklyn-based CEO of skincare brand Dieux. The rise of de-influencing is not surprising. “Constantly being sold to is tiring. Being told everything is a miracle product is tiring.”

TikTok used to feel like it was real a few years ago. “Brands weren’t investing heavily into creators. It was a fun space where there wasn’t pressure. The pressure is now boiling. In November 2022, TikTok launched its TikTok Shop in the US, allowing users to make purchases directly on the app without being sent to a third-party retailer. The creators of the videos earn a commission by linking to Shop products. All of the must-have products are on the app.

Defining the De-Influence: An Empirical Look at a Successful Influencer’s #Recommendation System

Because influencers make their money by recommending purchases—and because many enjoy elaborate #gifted PR packages filled to the brim with new products—you might imagine they are fearful of the de-influencing trend. This is not really the case. She has over 257,000 followers on her eponymous social media platform.

She has shot from 30,000 to 123,000 TikTok followers after making regular de-influencing clips.