Recently, Senators John Fetterman and Katie Britt proposed the “Stop the Scroll Act,” while Arkansas sued YouTube—two approaches with common goals but pretty different methods and scopes.

If passed, the Stop the Scroll Act would require social media platforms to implement warning labels about their detrimental effects on mental health. The law would apply to all social media platforms accessed from U.S. servers.

The mandatory warning labels would serve as a form of disclosure, like, Hey, if you keep doom-scrolling on TikTok, you might just spiral into a depressive episode. They’d probably be way more serious and evidence-based, of course, but that’s the general idea. 

Then, users would “acknowledge the potential mental health risks in order to proceed to use the platform,” according to a statement about the bipartisan bill. “The warning label could not be hidden or obscured, and its exact language would adhere to requirements established by the Surgeon General.” 

Meanwhile, the state of Arkansas just sued YouTube (and its parent company, Alphabet), alleging violations of state laws on deceptive trade practices and public nuisance—specifically, it claims, for how YouTube steers young people toward harmful content.  

According to the lawsuit filed by Attorney General Tim Griffin’s office in the state court, “YouTube amplifies harmful material, doses users with dopamine hits, and drives youth engagement and advertising revenue. As a result, youth mental health problems have advanced in lockstep with the growth of social media, and in particular, YouTube.”

It sounds weird, but perhaps a warning label would help?

The post Lawmakers Demand Mental Health Warning Labels on Social Media  appeared first on VICE.

On SocialAI, besides your posts, it’s 100% bots. On purpose. This would be a good time to read an article from Edward Ongweso Jr. titled “Social Media Is Dead.”

Developed by a guy named Michael Sayman, SocialAI looks a bit like X. You post brief messages, and each post will generate responses from AI-driven characters. The characters all fall into specific archetypes that you would encounter on social media, and you can choose which archetypes will follow you. You have some who are ass-kissers and others who are trolls. There’s “Liberals” and “Conservatives.” It’s more like an immersive video game than an actual attempt at creating a new type of social media. 

Altogether, SocialAI’s elements combine to create an online environment where the user is either being heaped with fake praise or being critiqued by fake trolls who wouldn’t be nearly as aggressive and cruel as they would be in real life. It’s the social media app for people who don’t actually want to be judged for anything they say, even if they absolutely should be for some of the things they believe. It’s all the window dressing of X without a shred of the brilliance and creativity you’d actually find on there, even today in its dilapidated state after a lot of its best and funniest minds have fled.

Sayman says SocialAI is a tool for reflection, a place where people can feel free to explore whatever wild thought they’ve got without fear of real-world repercussions. You won’t get canceled on SocialAI because no one outside of a few algorithms masquerading as people will ever see your insane views on race and gender or whatever. In that sense, it kind of sounds like Baby’s First Social Media Account—like a Playskool version of X that could come loaded onto a chunky plastic bright pink smartphone toy.

But maybe SocialAI is the exact social media app a lot of people are looking for nowadays. A place where they can get the exact social interaction they’ve been looking for because they’ve been shunned from every other corner of society. A place where even if they are told they are wrong, it’s what they wanted to happen, done with the caring hand of an algorithm that knows it can’t piss them off too much or they’ll flee this digital Truman Show, too.

The post Lonely? This AI App Lets You Post to an Audience That’s 100% Bots appeared first on VICE.

In 2021, VICE sat down with Nadya and Nabila Az Zahra, two Indonesian teenagers who’d discovered via TikTok that they were actually long-lost twins. Even after they reunited, there was still another twist that nobody saw coming.

“I’m the youngest child in my family, so I used to feel really lonely,” said Elvira, a student at the time. “All my siblings are at least 20 years older than me. So I turned to social media to make friends my age.”

Back then, she created vlogs on YouTube: her morning routine, pranks, footage from a Shawn Mendes tour. For the most part, she stayed off the then-growing TikTok. That is, until her friend tagged her in an eerie video.

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“It was in slow motion, and the girl was wearing a school uniform,” Elvira said. “My friend says that she looks exactly like me. At first, I was annoyed to be compared to a TikToker because, at that point, I wasn’t on TikTok yet. It didn’t occur to me at the time that I was about to discover my identical twin sister.”

Nabila Az Zahra was “pretty famous” on TikTok. Like her twin—whom she was completely unaware of at the time—she posted videos to feel less alone.

“I was bullied in school for years,” Zahra told VICE. “But thanks to TikTok, I could transform my frustrations into creating content. I felt safer being on social media than making friends in real life.”

“When I saw her, I was so shocked, I started crying.” –Nabila Az Zahra

When Elvira first reached out to her, she ignored it and didn’t think much of the situation.

“A lot of people have used my photos and tried to impersonate me before,” Zahra said.

However, once Elvira shared her story on Twitter, which went viral, Zahra considered the possibility more deeply. They did, in fact, look eerily similar.

The two finally hopped on a video call together.

“When I saw her, I was so shocked, I started crying,” Zahra said. “Never in my life did I think I would have a twin.”

Afterward, Elvira confronted her mom about her suspected twin. When she saw the panic on her mother’s face, the truth dawned on her. Elvira’s mom said she adopted her “straight out of the hospital incubator” after their biological parents gave them up. 

The twist? There weren’t just two of them—they were triplets.

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“But because I already had so many children, I only took you,” her mom confessed to her.

“She had no idea what happened to the other two babies,” Elvira said. 

While Elvira said that she was upset her mother kept this information from her, discovering the truth ultimately allowed her to get closer to her family—including her newfound sister. The two expressed that they shared a spiritual connection that helped them both feel less alone.

“She understands all my struggles,” Elvira said of Zahra. “She is my support system.”

Elvira lived in Depok while Zahra lived in Makassar, about 1,000 miles away. Once they met in person, the girls experienced a boost in their social media following as well, with many fans requesting the two create content together. However, with the distance between them and the fact they were both still students, it wasn’t exactly easy for them to deliver consistent twin content. 

“We’re still figuring out our future,” Zahra said at the time of the VICE documentary. “It’s not that we don’t want to live together, but the challenge is that I can’t leave my adoptive parents who raised me.”

“Even though we’re apart, we have learned to live in each other’s hearts,” Zahra added.

Elvira voiced gratitude for social media, noting that if it weren’t for TikTok, she never would’ve connected with her sister. “I would’ve been living my old boring life, alone, with no friends my age,” she said. “It would have been very lonely.” 

They still haven’t found their third sister, but in the film they said they had faith it would happen in time.

“It’s gonna be a blast when we’re all finally reunited,” they said.

The post I Accidentally Discovered My Identical Twin on TikTok appeared first on VICE.

Castor oil has long been infamous for its ability to leave people groaning on the toilet. It was used in small quantities to induce labour in Ancient Egypt and in far larger doses as a humiliating torture method by Benito Mussolini’s fascist blackshirts.

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In fairness, it does have some proven superficial benefits – for example, it can make your hair shiny and your skin look fresh. Increasingly, though, it’s being hailed on social media as a kind of miracle juice that can cure any number of ailments – news that is distressing experts.

Despite what the TikTok creators are saying, castor oil can’t be used to effectively battle psoriasis and eczema, or to reverse hair loss. There are even videos claiming it can be used topically to cure breast cancer.

“The most dangerous myths we see, time and again on platforms such as TikTok – not just from creators themselves but especially in the comments – are that one, castor oil is a cure-all for everything, including cancer, and that two, castor oil is a miracle for weight loss,” nurse Jane Clarke told Newsweek.

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“There is no scientific evidence that castor oil will have any impact whatsoever on serious illnesses such as cancer. This is simply untrue and these myths are harmful.”

Anyone following the advice of TikTok creators by drinking it as a “detox” method will simply be forced to endure an extended spell of “explosive diarrhoea,” followed by a heady cocktail of “malnutrition, dehydration, and electrolyte imbalance,” Clarke said.

The post TikTok Influencers Are Trying to Cure Baldness with Laxative appeared first on VICE.

The leader, or “Mother Hen,” of Step Chickens was a woman living in the US named Melissa Ong. The name of the group stemmed from a series of parody TikTok videos Ong made for an imaginary, chicken-based porn site called “CornHub,” in which she wore a chicken suit while lampooning the common sex-movie trope of step-siblings seducing one another.

What started as “a high idea that I had when I was stoned at 3 a.m.” quickly brought Ong a huge following. She began to issue commandments, ordering her loyal subjects to change their profile pictures to a selfie of her own face. She encouraged them to storm the comments sections of other users’ pages and spam them en masse. (One such user was Phil Swift, creator of Flex Tape and the inspiration for countless memes in certain corners of the internet.)

Soon, more than a million followers were pledging their allegiance to Ong by adopting her selfie. Highlighting just how messed up that period was, among them were the Washington Post, sports teams like the Houston Rockets and Kansas City Chiefs, and the state of Ohio. By May 25th, 2020, TikTok videos hashtagged #stepchickens had drawn 102 million views.

“I do feel like a real cult leader,” Ong confessed to VICE at the time, with a straight face and a tongue presumably wedged deep inside her cheek. “It feels like I actually have a real religion. People will do what I say. I feel like I do have influencer-power to craft this narrative a lot of people want to be a part of.”

Given her phenomenal success, it was only natural that she aspired to reach beyond TikTok.

“My end goal with the Step Chickens has always been total internet domination,” Ong said back in 2020. “When I saw that we completely took over and shook up TikTok, I was like, ‘Wow, with this kind of power, we could really take over the entire internet.’”

Spoiler alert: this never happened. Yet Ong can draw consolation from the fact she was once the leader of TikTok’s biggest personality cult, that the world eventually came out of lockdown, and that she inspired so many people. “I’m living proof that you don’t need to be good-looking or talented in order to get famous or successful,” she said.

The post I Was the Leader of the Biggest ‘Cult’ On TikTok appeared first on VICE.

The ~world wide web, for all its sins, has given the world some cracking content, and we’ve devoted ourselves to diving into every viral happening and mishap. Like that story of the supremely well-endowed guy from the COVID texts, or our ode to that unforgettable 00s “Badger, badger, mushroom” song, arguably the internet’s first meme?

We’ve had a hand in creating these moments too, like the time VICE reporter Oobah Butler made his garden shed the top rated restaurant on TripAdvisor. Or when a writer tried to join the Illuminati. We spend way too much time online, basically. Hydrate your eyeballs, grab your sippy cup and scroll through our best internet stories of the past three decades. Because let’s face it, your brain is already decaying – why not hasten along its demise?

The post Just 17 Very Good and Extremely Weird VICE Stories About the Internet appeared first on VICE.

I’ve always had a pretty high libido across a spectrum of longterm relationships and slut stints, but I’ve never, ever had or wanted this much sex in my life.

Maybe it’s hormone cycles, my saturn return or the fact we’re both hot and good communicators, but do phone habits also affect sex drive?

For the last decade, phones, social media and dating apps have opened up our worlds and helped us connect with (and get laid by) more people. But more partners doesn’t mean more sex. In fact, Australians are actually having less sex than ever.

A study by World Population Review published last week asserted Australia is the second sluttiest nation on Earth. It surveyed Australians between 25 and 44 and found we have an average of 13.3 sexual partners in our lifetimes (second only to Türkiye). We did it, literally.

In 2003, a study of 20,000 Australians in heterosexual relationships found they fucked 1.8 times a week on average. When the same study was conducted again 10 years later, that number was down to 1.4 times.

The results among young people are even starker. Yes, for a while we’d forged a trend of getting started earlier – about 20 per cent more 18 year olds are sexually active than 30 years ago – but that trend has started to reverse for the first time in a long time and, in 2020, 40 per cent of Australian 18-24-year-olds had never had a sexual encounter.

The frequency with which young people have sex is now plunging to the point of a global “sex recession”.

So what’s to blame?

“There are many reasons why people are having less sex,” Dr Lauren Rosewarne, a senior lecturer in the School of Social and Political Sciences at the University of Melbourne, said in one interview.

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“These include fear of disease, the rise of one-person households, people living with their parents for longer periods of time, more hook-ups and less relationships, masturbation, poor-quality sex — meaning people desire less of it — and the easy availability of porn.”

On top of those very reasonable factors, we’re all depressed and/or anxious about something at least some of the time. We have no money, our jobs are suffocating and meaningless, we’re not getting enough sleep, we don’t know how to interact with people IRL, dating is hard and often disappointing and what’s the point of it all anyway because the Earth will combust in 100 years anyway. All of those thoughts swirling in your head at night are sure-fire libido exterminators.

But depression, anxiety, low self-esteem or confidence and low motivation are all side effects of regular social media use, too, and plenty of research has demonstrated that logging off or doing “social media detoxes” can dramatically improve your mental health – and increase you sexual desire.

One 2022 study into the effect of smartphone and social media use on sexual function showed, for women, problematic use of social media (which the paper also referred to as “addictive-like”) correlated with lower sexual arousal, difficulties lubricating, difficulties having orgasms, sexual dissatisfaction, coital pain and greater sexual distress. In men, problematic use correlated with lower erectile function, lower desire, intercourse dissatisfaction, overall sexual dissatisfaction and more difficulties having orgasms. The full gamut, really.

And, with about 75 per cent of us admitting to being addicted to our phones, we increasingly (and subconsciously) prioritise our phones over most other forms of connection and relaxation.

“On the one hand, we use technological devices for distraction, but then we find ourselves back on them during the times of our lives where intimacy should be the priority. We end up in this messy, always distracted zone,” according to Dr Sharif Mowlabocus, an Associate Professor at Fordham University who researches the interaction between digital behaviour and sex.

“Phones are still the first thing [people who claim phone addictions] touch when they wake up and the last thing they touch before they go to sleep. That should really be their partner.”

Dr Mowlabocus said social media and phone use has meant we’re all terrible at living in the moment.

“We’ve been trained into continual engagement and mental stimulation. As a result, we’re worried about just ‘being’,” he said.

But he said reducing your phone time or setting rules to limit it at home or in bed can help, a lot.

So, I tried it. Accidentally, at first.

When I first started seeing my current partner, I immediately noticed his phone was never anywhere near his bed. He’d leave it in his pants pocket when he got undressed or put it on the other side of his bedroom.

Naturally, I felt embarrassed wanting to have mine so close. Placing it purposefully under my pillow? Humiliating. Checking Instagram while he’s just lying next to me? There’s no way.

Now, once we get into bed, there’s not much else to do but chat, cuddle and gaze at each other. A perfect environment for physical intimacy. We naturally come together and find that we can’t keep our hands off each other. Then, we fall asleep.

When I wake up, with nothing else interesting to look at or touch, I reach for him.

It took a month or two to notice his habits had started to rub off on me. I was on my phone less. I cared about checking social media less. Overall I felt a little more present, calm and… horny.

A couple more months passed before I realised my screen time average had plummeted, a trend that I traced back to roughly when we started seeing each other regularly.

All the scientific evidence aside, and regardless of your libido, if you make more time for sex, you will probably have more sex.

As my therapist who diagnosed my insomnia told me: bed should be for sex and sleep, not phones. And I hope to keep it that way, at least while my honey’s around.

The post I Swapped Phone Time for Sex Time to See if Scrolling Really Does Kill Libidos appeared first on VICE.

In one video, @cherryapricott moans while swishing a white substance around her mouth, before proclaiming to the camera, “I love the taste of Greek yogurt.” Another sees @oliviafleur_x, who has over 472,000 followers on the platform, talking suggestively while moving her hand, half off-camera, in an unequivocally sexual gesture. One popular trend sees creators accusing viewers of holding their phones in their left hand before counting them down with breathy encouragement. 

The internet is littered with free explicit porn, pandering to every preference and fantasy. So why are subtler forms of sexual content all over TikTok?

When sex content creators initially flooded TikTok, the app’s format and algorithm rewarded them: its #foryou page serves up content that’s aligned with a user’s interests, making it easier for creators to be discovered and grow than on Instagram or Snapchat, which are primarily friends and follower-based. “I believe many of my followers happened to stumble across my content whilst scrolling the FYP, and something about me or the style of my content caught their eye,” says Olivia Fleur.

Adult creator Grace Grey, who runs TikTok account @gracegreyasmr, believes there’s an audience on TikTok because “watching a creator there feels more personal, and you can engage with the creator more than traditional porn”.

Indeed, most creators fill requests and respond to comments from fevered followers, offering a coveted OnlyFans-like connection for free. “Viewers enjoy the GFE (girlfriend experience) feeling of personal attention and closeness,” explains Olivia Fleur. Fellow adult creator Madeline Miller agrees: “There’s something about seeing someone that you could maybe meet or be friends with and seeing them sexually.” 

The sexual content on TikTok likely benefits from the stigma attached to hardcore porn. “Traditional porn and the watching of it can come, for some people, with a huge amount of shame and guilt attached to it,” Fleur says. “Scrolling through TikTok or Instagram when you’re horny feels far more innocent than heading straight to a traditional porn site.” (The app’s sex-themed ASMR-themed erotic videos aren’t even primarily visual, so at first glance, they appear relatively innocent.) The sense of surreptitiousness that comes with clandestine sexual content on a supposedly safe-for-work app also likely plays a role, as does the knowledge that the videos could be taken down at any second.

TikTok uses both an algorithm and a real-life team of moderators to redact videos that violate their strict community guidelines, even if their rules are somewhat convoluted. The app prohibits “sex, sexual arousal, fetish, and kink behavior” and “the use of sexually explicit narratives”, but it does allow for “seductive performances or sexualized posing by adults, or allusions to sexual activity by adults”.

Where precisely they draw the line between “sexually explicit narratives” and “allusions to sexual activity” is unclear. Nevertheless, according to TikTok, the app removed 95 percent of sensitive and mature themed content found to violate its community guidelines in 2023’s third quarter. 

“I do the first level of my clothing, fully clothed, on TikTok, and then I’ll take a piece off, move to Instagram, take another piece off, move to Twitter, and then take it all off, and I’m on OnlyFans.” – Madeline Miller

Grey, Fleur, and Miller say that this volume of censorship lines up with their experiences. “Any videos where I explicitly say something sexual or moan gets taken down,” says Grey. She and Fleur have had their accounts removed in the past and have had to cultivate new followings. Grey has multiple strikes on her current accounts, explaining that it’s not just the platform that takes issue with her videos but fellow users. Both Grey and Fleur have sometimes had videos reinstated after they appeal—most likely, Fleur suspects, after real people have reviewed them.  

According to a TikTok spokesperson, “While technology is more advanced at detecting overt nudity, there will always be borderline content that is more challenging for our systems to identify. Our moderators work alongside our automated moderation systems and take into account additional context and nuance which may not always be picked up by technology.”

TikTok is particularly prolific at moderating nudity, which its guidelines strictly prohibit. “Any form of nudity, even sometimes bikini videos, will get taken down,” explains Grey, who maintains that Instagram is comparatively lax. Miller agrees: “It’s almost like I do the first level of my clothing, fully clothed, on TikTok, and then I’ll take a piece off, move to Instagram, take another piece off, move to Twitter, and then take it all off, and I’m on OnlyFans.”

For adult creators, like the proprietors of any other business, social media is a means of self-promotion, helping them draw followers to more lucrative subscription-based channels. Grey shares erotic content on TikTok to drive traffic to her OnlyFans, because on TikTok, “it is relatively easy to grow a following quickly”.

But TikTok strictly prohibits creators from hyperlinking X-rated subscription services in their bios. As such, most creators link to their Instagram accounts, which link to landing pages like Linktree that transport followers to more explicit channels. 

Both Fleur and Miller claim that the censorship of their content has amplified in recent months, with their formerly lucrative TikTok-to-OnlyFans pipelines drying up. “Six to nine months ago, at least 80 percent of my subscribers came from TikTok. However, as the platform has changed so drastically, it is now more like 15 percent,” says Fleur. “At this point, my TikTok is completely useless. I think they’ve shadow-banned me after taking down so many of my videos,” Miller says.

The most pressing concern when it comes to sex-themed content on TikTok is that its demographic skews young: over half of 3-to-17-year-olds in the UK use the app (its minimum age is 13). Unlike Instagram, TikTok lacks an age verification process at signup, meaning children can easily evade restrictions by entering a fake date of birth.

Beyond takedowns, TikTok has measures to prevent young people from happening across—or seeking out and finding—inappropriate content, such as its Content Levels system. “When we detect that a video contains mature or complex themes, a maturity level will be allocated to the video to help prevent those under 18 from viewing it,” says the spokesperson.

Evidently, TikTok is taking staunch measures to erase sexual content and prevent young users from finding it. But according to Miller, it would be more “appropriate” for her videos to be age-restricted, which they’ve never been, than deleted entirely. “Sex has a way of being around you from a very young age in movies and media,” she says, “and social media is a part of that. It’s not just an app; it’s society.”

And she has a point: In reality, where humans go, porn will follow. 

The post The Battle Between TikTok and Adult Content Creators appeared first on VICE.

You may not have heard this term before, but mark my words, you’ve seen some of it. Last October, there was the story about a TMZ reporter who, after seeing ASAP Rocky on a jog, decided to run after him. She chased him in her flip-flops, and then resorted to running barefoot, while asking questions about his forthcoming new album. At the end of the video, Rocky conveniently recommended that she cop some kicks from his Puma x F1 collection.

Then there was Charli XCX’s viral Instagram post about a supposed list of “marketing ideas” she’d sent by her record label, which included “Charli leaks a sex tape” and “Charli gets caught shoplifting”. Just days later, the popstar appeared to have been filmed by a fan – one with over 28k followers on X – driving in a convertible with the roof down, blasting her new single.

Can we 100% confirm that these seemingly spontaneous incidents were actually carefully considered marketing ploys? No. But does everything smell intensely fishy at the moment? Yes.

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Other examples of UGC soon reveal themselves to be fake. In January, Michael Cera was in the news headlines after he was pictured carrying plastic bags chock-full of CeraVe skincare lotion through the streets of New York. “Why is Michael Cera carrying that much lotion,” asked one Twitter user, posting the paparazzi-style photo to around 18,000 followers. The next day, influencer Haley Kalil posted a video on TikTok of a casual visit to her local pharmacy, where she witnessed Cera signing bottles of lotion – apparently unexpectedly. “Guys run to this pharmacy in BK, I just saw MICHAEL CERA signing bottles!!” she captioned her post. “I’m a #ceravepartner, and I’m asking @CeraVe what is going ON.”

Of course, what was going on was marketing, and the whole thing culminated in a halftime ad at the Super Bowl. The viral marketing partnership was heralded by some fans as “the best Super Bowl commercial in years.”

To some degree, all marketing is a game of smoke and mirrors. The entire point is to make people pay attention to what the advertisers want them to. And the CeraVe commercial did a great job of making a splash, while distracting consumers from the calls for boycott that its parent company, L’Oréal, is currently facing because of its ongoing investments in Israel.

The question is, why are marketers turning to fake UGC as their new trick? Is everyone sick of traditional marketing methods? And does it actually work, or does it run the risk of leaving people with a bitter taste in their mouths once they realise their favourite influencer or celebrity has played them for a fool?

”It feels more prominent at the moment, but ‘fake’ content has always been a part of advertising,” Chris Kubbernus, founder and CEO of social media agency Kubbco, tells VICE. “PR stunts, flash mobs, hidden camera stunts, candid cameras – all are faking content to create a reaction and to do something subversive.” But, he admits, things have stepped up a notch recently. “We’re seeing more ‘fake advertising’ now because people are allergic to traditional advertising, unless it’s during the Super Bowl or Christmas,” he says.

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Charlie Howes, CEO of digital marketing agency Klatch, seems to agree. “Social media platforms have become saturated with content, and users are bombarded with advertisements,” he says. “To cut through the noise, brands are resorting to more unconventional methods.” Enter, fake UGC. In Kubbernus’ opinion: “‘Faking it’ seems to be working better because it feeds into our desire for controversy, mystery and internet drama.” Basically, we might be more sceptical of traditional advertising than ever, but in our hearts we’re all messy bitches who can’t resist a good bit of stagecraft.

UGC, of the genuine variety, has always been a boon for advertisers in the 21st century. Take the 2009 Ford Fiesta campaign where the company gave away 100 cars and asked consumers to provide ongoing feedback about the vehicle on social media. It spurred a 37% increase in brand awareness. “Another remarkable example is Cancer Research UK’s no make-up selfie campaign, which raised over £2 million in a span of a few weeks,” says Jaya Kypuram, a senior lecturer in marketing at the University of East London. “The biggest contribution of UGC is that of authenticity,” she says. “It makes information being provided more credible as it is coming from customers, users and other publics.”

The problem now is all this authentic influencer marketing and UGC simply isn’t hitting the same anymore. As Georgia Branch, co-founder of marketing agency We Create Popular, puts it, “Authenticity has become the much-loathed catch-all for how brands, influencers and consumers should be showing up online and in real life. But in a world where everyone is trying to be authentic for profit, the commodification of the idea is diluted to almost nothing.”

So, what does go viral in this authenticity-saturated world? “Great stories,” Branch says. Indeed, she seems to welcome the rise of fake UGC, of the kind created by CeraVe. “Surrealism in marketing is kind of refreshing after years of very earnest, po-faced purpose ads,” she says.

TikTok seems to be the main influence behind the surrealist turn. Wackiness is the platform’s lifeblood, and sequential storylines – like the one played out by Cera – perform well. “The major change that’s happened since TikTok was introduced is that ‘social media’ is no longer social,” says Branch. “It’s primarily entertainment, so everything is ‘programmed’.” Just look at all those videos of influencers getting out of bed in the morning, with their hair done and the camera magically arranged at the perfect angle. “As a consumer it’s important to go in with an expectation that nothing is ‘off the cuff’,” Branch says.

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“The recent Charlie XCX video feels fake to me,” says Richard Michie, CEO of The Marketing Optimist. “The ‘leaked list’ of marketing ideas seems phoney as well,” he adds. “But the crucial point is that it got people talking, resharing and creating opinion posts in response, which is the key to marketing… Under the posts, there are haters, and there are people who love it. Everyone has a strong opinion, and this is probably the point of it all.”

Emotion is a key driver of consumer behaviour, according to Adam Brannon, senior content strategist at marketing agency Herd. “Content that can elicit strong feelings [is] more likely to be shared and remembered,” he says. Campaigns that blend reality and fiction often evoke these emotional reactions, he adds, “whether it’s amusement, surprise, or even outrage, leading to higher levels of engagement.”

But, Brannon also warns that fake UGC can be a double-edged sword. “This approach can create scepticism among consumers,” he says, “making it increasingly difficult to differentiate between what is real and what is fabricated.” He believes marketing professionals must navigate this delicate balance carefully, “prioritising transparency and ethical practices to maintain consumer trust”.

“Brands need to be careful how they engage with their audience if they want them to trust them and remain loyal fans,” says PR and media expert Natalie Trice. “Fake user generated content is not going away because everyone out there is fighting for golden virality,” she says. “But we must remember that people don’t want to be fed lies, they do not want to be exploited.”

At the end of the day, marketers and advertisers will use whatever’s in their toolbox to get their brand noticed. And, in this booming era of fakes, lies have never been so lucrative. “The feeling that evil marketers are trying to trick you is, in some respects, justified,” Michie admits. “It’s always been seen as an industry full of spin.” Ultimately, he says, a good rule of thumb for spotting fake content is to “trust your gut and use common sense… If something seems too good to be true or looks fake, it probably is.” That’s marketing, baby!

@EloiseHendy

The post We’ve Reached Peak Fakery in Celebrity Marketing Stunts appeared first on VICE.

This dystopian sponcon will be part of a £1 million advertising offensive to be introduced in the spring, which will accompany the controversial plan to send asylum seekers – many of whom are fleeing war and poverty – to Rwanda.

The Times reports that the TikTok campaign will communicate the hostile environment that awaits any migrants to the UK via the chirpy and relatable posts of online opinion-formers. The content won’t be UK government-branded but, as the article states, “they will need to confirm their affiliation to the Home Office in the interests of transparency”.

The focus will be on countries that account for a significant proportion of illegal migration to the UK, including Albania, Iraq, Egypt, and Vietnam, with future plans to do the same in Turkey and India. To pay the influencers, the Home Office has reportedly set aside an eye-watering budget of £570,000.

Explaining the questionable social media plan, a Home Office spokesperson says: “Smugglers frequently use social media to peddle lies and promote their criminal activities, and it is vital that we utilise the same platforms to inform migrants about the truths about crossing the Channel and coming to the UK illegally.

“The relentless action we have taken reduced crossings by 36 percent last year, which saw similar weather conditions to 2022. We make no apologies for using every means necessary to stop the boats and save lives.”

A document viewed by The Times showed that government has already contracted with a marketing agency called Multicultural Marketing Consultancy to draw up a shortlist of Albanian rappers, comedians and TV personalities it wishes to enlist. However, when The i newspaper contacted Fabio Daja, one of the shortlisted lifestyle TikTokers from Albania, he replied: “OMG … What the actual f**k. I haven’t been contacted by any government.”

The 20-year-old architecture student and influencer said he would reject such an offer should it arrive. “I find it a very sensitive issue when it comes to refugees trying to cross the border,” he says to The i. “My instant answer, off the top of my head, would be no.”

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