I tried to become a TikTokker in lockdown three

In lockdown one, I sneered at my 19-year-old sister’s request to teach me the viral dance to Doja Cat’s ‘Say So’. By lockdown two, I realised that TikTok’s ‘For You Page’ (FYP) uses algorithms to cater content to your personal taste. I developed a soft spot for the app as my feed filled with ‘Best Big Brother Moments’ and odes to the sesh (gone but never forgotten). Now, completely submerged in lockdown three, my desire to maintain any level of dignity has been lost. I want to be a TikTok star.

How hard can it be? Unlike the pristine influencers of Instagram who live in their little beige squares and drink Starbucks’ almond lattes all day (#ad), TikTok is a place where relatable content made by your Average Joe thrives. With one swift scroll down my FYP, I stumble upon a 5 second video of a Liverpudlian mum berating her son with the caption: ‘My mum when I run over her foot with the trolley in Asda’. This has 2.5m likes.

When I ask my humble Instagram following if anyone has advice on how to get TikTok views, the main response is ‘lol’. My friend Heather privately messages me, ‘Are you ok? I’m worried.’ Back to the drawing board. I furiously bash ‘How to become TikTok famous’ into Google. The general consensus is: 1) post videos daily; 2) capitalise on trends; 3) show something people haven’t seen before.

I decide my first TikTok should participate in a trend. My thumb keeps lingering over the ‘Teleport’ videos in which users stand in full shot then swipe their hand down, only to see their celebrity lookalike revealed. Nifty! I stand in front of the camera, somewhat pouting in the hope it will immediately clock my lookalike is Beyoncé. Sadly, in the immortal words of Tiffany Pollard to Gemma Collins in CBBUK 17: I am nothing of the sort.

Smugness is wiped off my face when the only thing that changes is the backdrop of my bedroom into a Spanish town. Maybe it’s a compliment – maybe they’re saying I look Spanish? After a few attempts and the consistent morphing of my boudoir into Seville, I decide to upload the video of me getting genuinely frustrated with the app. Maybe this is the relatable content fellow TikTokers want? A random girl responds: “You have to find your own Google image photo and upload it *crying with laughter emoji*”. I am 24-years-old and have never felt so old, but at least the video rakes in 706 views in a few days.

Following this semi-triumph, I begin to think my shtick should be: ‘The ironic Millennial who is above TikTok’ (although I secretly adore the validation). The same day, I get cocky and post myself miming to a classic Real Housewives of Beverly Hills moment whereby Lisa Rinna rasps: “I just can’t, I need a drink… and a Xanax! Give me a drink and a Xanax!” While I think this is brilliant content, the predominantly Gen Z viewers may not know what these substances are. Well, at least this is what I convince myself as my views plummet to 58. I am disheartened and do not make another TikTok for four days because I have a sensitive ego.

For the sake of this experiment rather than any remaining desire to be a TikToker, I decide to give it one last shot on Monday. In the morning, I ‘duet’ with young historian @lavenderstages who talks about Tudor beauty standards. She says the women looked like eggs because massive foreheads were a sign of beauty. I make a video side-by-side showing the magnitude of my five-finger forehead and pull some faces. My girlfriend says it’s funny; I know it’s not. I gain a meagre 212 views.

My enthusiasm is almost entirely diminished by the end of the day so I decide to make the easiest TikTok possible – a montage of me putting a bath bomb in the bath I was already going to have. Four clips: pour in bubble bath; hand reaches for bath bomb; bath bomb melts in bath; rub it on leg. On a whim, I choose Kali Uchis’ ethereal ‘angel’ to play over the clip. Bish, bash, bosh – done in five minutes. As I sink into the suds, lo and behold, the views climb at a rapid rate. Two days later and it has been viewed 4976 times (and counting). I am astounded that such minimum effort has reaped such reward.

I admit defeat to the algorithm and decide it’s best to duck out of my short-lived TikTok career on a high.