The Liminal Space of the Pandemic
I love TikTok. As far as social media apps go, I think it’s the best for my overall mood. Facebook is increasingly irrelevant, Instagram is fun but very curated, and Twitter is informative but snarky. Reddit can be great or it can be insufferably cruel, I’m not on Pinterest because I still don’t really get the appeal, and Clubhouse seems like a conference call.
But TikTok - TikTok is great. The thing about TikTok that makes it kind of magical is that while the algorithm serves you up content that you enjoy, and funnels you back to things you’ll probably support, it does so in a seemingly random way. When I scroll through my For You page, there’s no rhyme or reason to the order of videos I see. I go from a group of boys Irish dancing in a field, to a video of a puppy in various outfits, to a cooking tutorial, to a woman speaking to camera about the history of Windsor Castle. It’s a white noise machine for my brain, and it’s lovely.
It’s also helpful while we’re in this liminal space, where we feel on the verge of something, but we’re not sure what. There’s a vaccine, but it’s not enough yet. Liminal spaces are those fuzzy spaces in our lives, often where we’re somewhere between public and private. Are you working from home, or are you living at work? Are you casually Zooming with family, or are you curating the bookshelf behind you for a better background? For me, TikTok is an escapist app that helps close those boundaries, and draws me fully into a private space.
Last fall, I wrote an article about TikTok users creating videos to help people stuck in a different kind of liminal space, where they didn’t feel safe. For many reasons, the piece didn’t run at the time, so I’ve decided to share an excerpt here (with some names and identifying details removed.) I hope to share more straight journalism writing, both mine and from other Canadian writers, in the coming months. For now, just know that this is one of the reasons I think the generational wars are over, and the Zoomers won.
The video starts with a view of a white wall strung with purple lights, featuring a decal of an eye, long lashes fanned out against white paint. ‘Hello? Hey. I got a notification that you left the house,’ a disembodied female voice says softly. The voice pauses, a one-sided conversation with a natural ebb and flow. The woman reassures you that she’s told the group chat that you’re on your way, and that she’ll send Darren outside to wait for you.
The text on the video reads in all caps: IF YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE IN AN UBER, USE THIS SOUND. The video is from a user named Bria. It’s one of hundreds of similar TikToks, each made to seem like the viewer has someone on the other end of the phone, watching out for them when they’re alone. TikTok is the perfect platform for this public service video: the videos often have prompts that appear on screen, so viewers can respond aloud, just like a phone call. Frequent TikTokers will be familiar with following the text bubbles that pop up, offering directions and asides like ‘say this loudly’ or ‘sound annoyed’. In just 60 seconds, these videos act as tiny defence mechanisms in uncomfortable situations. They are a way to signal to a taxi driver who is asking too many questions ‘hey, don’t try anything weird.’
That’s why Bria made her video, and posted it to her roughly 100 followers in March. Since then, the video blew up. It’s been viewed over 2.4 million times, and Bria now has more than 13 thousand followers. “I know that not everyone has the luxury of having a close friend or someone (they could call),” Bria said. “A lot of the comments tell me that they use the video or they send it to people who can use it, and it makes me so happy, because I’m glad that I can help.”
Hundreds of other TikTokers have jumped on the trend too, like May, who wants to contribute to a solution of sorts. “I do think these videos are helpful. I've read a handful of comments underneath similar videos saying it's helped them in sketchy situations and I can’t imagine how many other people were helped by these audios that did not comment,” said May. “I’ve gotten positive reception on my video and I’d like to think it has left a positive impact, but because it is social media, it’s really hard to know if it was used, but I think just putting this type of video out there raises awareness on the dangers of ride sharing.”
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The TikToks aren’t new, exactly. They’re a twist on something people have been doing for years. Think about the fake “emergency” phone call you might receive in the middle of a first date, just in case, or the way you might pretend to text someone while waiting at a bus stop. Dr. Kate Orton-Johnson is a digital sociologist at the University of Edinburgh, and says these types of behaviours are common in what’s known as “liminal spaces” - places that aren’t quite public, but aren’t fully private either, like the backseat of an Uber.
“If you’re using your device in a small space, like a car, you’re telling the driver ‘we are not alone in this interaction.’” Orton-Johnson says this is the flip side to worries about digital privacy invasion. While some stress about having location tracking on their phone, for others, that technology might be a literal lifesaver. “It’s a really interesting double-edged sword, that something that’s seen as a tool of surveillance and data gathering in quite problematic ways is now being used as a tool to invoke safety.”
Bria has made half a dozen of these videos with different conversations and details. Even though many people are spending more time at home, thanks to COVID, Bria says she still gets requests to make new videos all the time.
“There was someone who asked me to say that they were waiting for their brother. So I made a phone call and I was the brother’s girlfriend, and the brother was outside waiting for them,” Bria says her followers now expect these videos from her. “If I post anything else, they’re like ‘no, shut up, where are the Uber videos?’ I’m like, ‘Ok, they’re coming.’”
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This story about using dog fur as fibre is fascinating.
The novel of the week is The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab. Look, if you’re having trouble reading, the length of this one is intimidating at first. But the soft science fiction elements and vast timelines might just change your mind.
One Last Thing:
A current look inside my mind