#mimicry on TikTok: Investigating Postcolonial Perspectives in Popular Digital Spaces
Payal Nagpal
Abstract: This paper uses inductive coding and multimodal discourse analysis to explore how three TikTok creators—@kahlilgreene, @soogia1, and @kunaxic—leverage TikTok’s features to incorporate their postcolonial critiques of popular media into the cultural mainstream. It uses Homi Bhabha’s notions of mimicry and the metonymy of presence to investigate these creators’ videos, focusing on their simultaneous position as postcolonial critiques of pop culture and postcolonial pop culture. Putting these videos in conversation with “Operation Watermelon”—the digital movement advocating for Palestinian liberation—the paper considers the disruptive power of this dual position and the postcolonial implications of using TikTok’s algorithm against itself.
Keywords: Postcolonial Theory, Digital Media Studies, Multimodality, Social Media Studies, Popular culture
Hot take: Creators on TikTok are using mimicry to turn their postcolonial critiques of pop culture into postcolonial pop culture. The metonymy of their presence within TikTok’s mainstream allows them to occupy a system with content that resists it. All of which is to say, Homi Bhabha would approve of my For You Page.[1]
But let’s start with a not-hot take. A rather cold one: TikTok shapes pop culture.
Now here’s a tepid take: TikTok is part of pop culture. With over a billion active monthly users (Hoover, 2023), the platform constitutes pop culture in a meaningful way that’s worth investigating.
There’s widespread speculation about TikTok replacing television; advertisers are flocking to the platform and large production companies are using it to release streaming series (Hoover, 2023). A global executive for the company has even noted: “We’re not a social media platform like Facebook, we’re an entertainment platform” (Sherman, 2022). Faltesek et. al’s “TikTok as Television” (2023) makes a compelling case for the app’s flow rendering its user experience similar to that of network TV, all-the-while being more accessible and available. This might explain why the UK Government’s Office of Communications found that Britons between 14 and 24 collectively spent more time on TikTok in 2022 than they did watching TV (Barker). Given this status as a popular entertainment platform, it seems safe to conclude that TikTok is a source of pop culture.
John Storey defines pop culture using six parameters in Cultural Theory and Popular Culture (2021); he claims it is media that is enjoyed by many and has mass appeal; is not “high culture”; is commercial in nature, produced for mass consumption by non-discriminating audiences (which, in a Gramscian sense, makes it a tool to maintain hegemony); arises from the tastes of the people; takes the shape of a negotiatory space—partly imposed by the elite, partly resisted and changed by the public; and encompasses both the commercial and the authentic.
Media on TikTok fits every one of these parameters. The content has mass appeal; creators from across socioeconomic strata can create content and determine TikTok trends. Simultaneously, maintaining a profitable presence on the app involves agent representation, brand deals, and production teams, which means much of TikTok’s content is also controlled by profit motives and the hegemonic cultural industry (Bon, 2024).
A warmer take: TikTok is a hybrid space where social networking meets entertainment, inter-personal exchanges are public-facing content, and there’s no clear distinction between creator and consumer.
Building on my previous takes—a spicy, largely vibes-based claim: TikTok feels distinctly postcolonial.
There’s the democratization of content creation, of course; the removal of certain barriers to entry, like wealth and college education, that exclude marginalized people from public discourse. There’s the content itself: #activismtok features videos about decolonizing art, testimonios lamenting colonial oppression, and postcolonial critiques of existing media. And then there’s the form: the ability to stitch videos other users have created, overlay content with textual features, insert talking heads, and communicate via the extra-textual—hashtags and emojis, for example. Multimodal offerings make each video an assemblage; visuals, text, and audio from different sources come together to create meaning. One mode can disrupt or underscore a message from another, and platform-specific tools like sounds can connect anti-establishment content to the popular realm of the mainstream.
What makes a piece of media postcolonial is a question of ever-expanding scope. However, according to Professor Ato Quayson, it “involves a studied engagement with the experience of colonialism and its past and present effects” (Quayson, 2020). In addition to critiquing colonialism through its content, however, a key feature of postcolonial media is its resistance to colonial norms that dictate language and form.
How did I get here? The vibe-check. My methodology, so to speak:
I chose three TikTok profiles—@kahlilgreene, @soogia1, @kunaxic—that produce videos with postcolonial perspectives on media and culture for my investigation. I used inductive coding to identify the themes of their videos, their medium, and which of TikTok’s non-traditional features they incorporate. I then used multimodal discourse analysis to investigate how the videos use these features to package their postcolonial perspectives as entertainment and situate themselves within the TikTok mainstream. In support of this analysis, I applied Homi Bhabha’s theory of mimicry and the metonymy of presence to discuss the position these videos occupy within pop culture, and the radical way they use the colonizer’s tools to resist colonial ideology.
I chose to investigate these three profiles because of their popularity, my previous familiarity with them, and the breadth of topics they cover. I sought to review the five most popular videos from each profile for this article. However, because TikTok does not allow users to sort a profile’s videos by view- or like-count, I surveyed each creator’s twenty most recent videos as of June 10, 2024 and used the five within that group with the highest view-counts as my data set. I also excluded ads from my data set.
The results of my inductive coding are available in Table 1. For this study, I conceptualized “non-traditional” TikTok features as any element of a TikTok the creator has added to a primary video that does not take the form of a congruent audio-visual experience. For example, I considered audio that takes the form of speech, corresponding to video footage of a person talking on screen, a traditional feature. On the other hand, a song playing in the background of the same video, or text on screen that does not reflect the words being spoken, would be considered non-traditional elements. I operationalized some potentially confusing terms as follows:
● On-screen text: any text on the video that does not replicate the audio content (i.e. not captions)
● Stitch: the TikTok feature that allows users to begin their video with a snippet of the TikTok they’re responding to
● Overlaid talking head: when a video of the creator, usually featuring them as a bust, is superimposed on the primary video
● Confessional medium: a video of the creator filmed using the front camera, centering their face, where they speak directly to viewers to imitate the feeling of an intimate conversation.
Here’s the #data
Account 1: Gen Z Historian, @kahlilgreene
Khalil Green’s account has 650.2k followers and shares videos that provide historical context for current events and pop culture. Greene situates himself as a presenter, sharing information about parts of Black and Native American history that have been overlooked in the mainstream. His series, “Gen Z culture is Black” takes a postcolonial perspective on contemporary youth culture, breaking down how mainstream culture has appropriated music, art, and language from the Black community.
Account 2: Soogia, @soogia1
This is an account with 2.3 million followers, featuring Soogia, a Korean-American activist, business owner, and mother. Soogia shares content about the Korean-American experience, provides insight into how US Imperialism affects people of color both in the US and outside it, and is known for stitching racist TikTok videos from other creators with educational responses that call out white supremacy and neocolonialism. Soogia’s videos are intimate and casual, largely shot using her phone’s front camera.
Account 3: Deydocs, @kunaxic
Run by an Indigenous filmmaker living in Guatemala, this TikTok profile has 80.4 thousand followers. It features mini documentaries capturing nature, videos about Indigenous culinary and medical practices, and humorous skits about media and society. The playlist “Roasty Jokes” features humorous videos narrating revisionist histories, from the points of view of colonial historical figures. Artwork depicting these historical figures are overlaid with face filters and given dialogue voiced by AI.
I used the tag #popculture to indicate whether a video’s theme involves commentary on pop culture. Of the 15 videos I analyzed, 8 dealt directly with pop culture—from Kahlil Greene’s vlog-style breakdown of Black history in Beyonce’s music video to Soogia's response to popular influencer content that fetishizes mixed-race babies. All fifteen videos, however, provided some sort of postcolonial commentary in a form that locates them within the popular. These TikToks straddle the line between activism and entertainment because 1. Their humor, 2. Their form, and 3. The platform.
The humor? Self-evident. You should watch them. They’re hilarious.
Form?
Soogia, Greene, and Deydocs use platform-wide trends to make their videos interesting and entertain their audience. Deydocs’ “Like there’s no…” uses the format of a POV skit, a type of video where creators pretend to be someone else, using an exaggerated affect and dramatic flair to make light of that person’s point of view. In this TikTok, Deydocs plays the role of an ignorant social media user who criticizes an Indigenous creator for not speaking their native language, thereby demonstrating an unwillingness to contend with the politics of language imposition. Information that Deydocs could have otherwise provided in a straightforward fashion is woven into the sketch when the person being impersonated says, “Oh, so you’re not fluent in your native language because your people went through genocide, were colonized, and were forced to speak Spanish? Obviously, you speaking Spanish negates your entire heritage.” This point of view is presented in a sing-song tone, and a trilling background audio clip from the song “Cumba Buena,” reminiscent of the back track typically utilized in slapstick comedy , which contextualizes the video as humorous and satirical. This video exemplifies how, rather than disseminating information directly, creators use TikTok trends and platform-specific features to build drama around, and add entertainment value to, content that might otherwise be categorized solely as awareness-based activism.
Image 1: A screenshot obtained from @kunaxic’s TikTok, annotated with observations
The Anatomy of a Deydocs #RoastyJoke:
The “Roasty Joke” TikTok above, critiquing popular white creators who use Mayan mythology to further their conspiracy theories, demonstrates how TikTok’s many features can make videos a multimodal experience for viewers. The various features of the video—the text, emojis, voiceover, background audio, and image overlay—contribute different layers of meaning to the TikTok. Each feature works to keep the viewer immersed, and the different modalities used to convey meaning give the viewer something new to focus on each time they might be tempted to scroll away.
The comments sections of Deydocs’ TikToks confirm that his videos are as enjoyable as they are immersive. The top three comments on the video “Humanitarian work…” say, “Am addicted”, “I need some of these quotes on t-shirts” and “I’m addicted to this series”. Similarly, the top comment on Kahlil Greene’s “There are more…” requests that he delves deeper into the topic because the audience finds it so intriguing. In that video, Greene provides information about references to Houston’s Black history that Beyonce makes in her “Cowboy Carter” music video. He uses a vlog format, inviting the audience to go along with him to uncover “hidden histories”. This sort of gamification is resemblant of TikToks produced by some of the most popular creators on the platform, including Mr. Beast, who has the third most-followed TikTok page as of June 10, 2024.
Image 2: A side-by-side comparison of @mrbeast and @kahlilgreene’s TikTok profiles.
The side-by-side comparison of the two profiles reveals the aesthetic similarities between Mr. Beast and Greene’s pages, illustrating how Greene uses TikTok’s features to present himself as part of the TikTok mainstream. His use of the title feature to label his videos—bold white text on a black background—and the choice to feature himself at the center of most video thumbnails—give his channel an appearance that’s generic, and therefore, non-disruptive.
Greene’s presentation style is like Mr. Beast’s as well, as he incorporates strategies from such creators to entertain his audience.
Image 3: An annotated comparison of screenshots obtained from TikTok videos by @kahlilgreene’s and @mrbeast
Soogia, the third creator I investigated, also uses strategies other popular creators in her niche use to captivate an audience. Lifestyle and commentary TikTokers often use their front camera, make videos with lower production value, and speak directly to their audience as a way to foster relatability and intimacy. The following is a side-by-side comparison of Soogia’s video captioned, “Learning can be…”, where she addresses a popular TikToker’s fetishization of mixed-race babies, with the most popular commentary TikToker, @noahglenncarter’s video calling out an out-of-touch influencer. These screenshots evidence how such videos entertain audiences by simulating a gossip session or friendly chat while also providing evidence from their source material as a source of scandal, or spice.
Image 4: An annotated comparison of screenshots obtained from TikTok videos by @soogia1 and @noahglenncarter
The platform:
We’ve established that TikTok’s features help creators to curate a multimodal experience that captures and immerses their viewers, but these features also allow them to connect their profiles with the mainstream. For example, the audio snippet of “Cumba Buena” in Deydocs’ “Like, there’s no…” doesn’t just add levity and context to the video; it situates the video amongst the 4.2 million other publicly viewable TikToks that use the same sound for comedic effect.
“Sounds” on TikTok are audio snippets that creators can insert in the background of their videos. TikTok automatically groups publicly viewable videos that use the same sound into a playlist, which means users can encounter TikToks that might not show up on their personalized feed if they look up a sound. This is also the case with hashtags. Creators can see which sounds and hashtags are trending on the platform and use them to connect their videos with the most popular TikToks of the day and gain favor with the algorithm (a mythical TikTok overlord discussed further in the next section), thereby increasing their viewership. Sounds and hashtags allow creators to group their videos into a stream of TikToks they choose. In effect, they are able to deliberately enter a canon and determine the kind of videos they are consumed alongside.
The most common way for people to watch videos on TikTok, however, is through their For You Page. The TikTok algorithm tracks users’ interests and collates a personalized feed for each person, featuring videos from accounts they follow and don’t. Soogia, Greene, and Deydocs’ videos are consumed as part of a feed—preceded and followed by videos by other creators on the app. If viewers use TikTok—or scroll through their For You Page—as a form of entertainment, and these postcolonial critiques are situated within a flow of videos meant to be entertaining, it feels safe to presume their context also determines their genre.
Returning to my hot takes: These videos are postcolonial in content, but more crucially, in form.
Greene, Soogia, and Deydocs are engaging in a sort of Bhabha-ian mimicry to enter the canon they are critiquing. They appear apolitical—non-disruptive—at first glace, like most other TikTok influencer content, before they strategically use the tools of the system they are critiquing to infiltrate it.
The TikTok algorithm has been mythologized as a sort of mystical overlord, holding within it the power to boost videos or censor them; to either give creators access to an audience or rob them of it by determining which videos end up on audiences’ For You Pages (Hern, 2022). If being popular on TikTok means a creator has ingratiated themselves into popular culture, then the TikTok algorithm can be considered a gatekeeper of sorts; an agent of the hegemon.
The algorithm, like pop culture, allegedly favors content compatible with the cultural hegemon (Nothias, 2022). Creators have accused TikTok’s algorithm of auto-deleting comments and limiting the reach of videos that deal with controversial topics, particularly when it comes to decolonial movements such as the ongoing resistance to Israeli forces in Palestine (News Literacy Project, 2024). This has resulted in creators using subversive strategies to communicate their message in ways that are undetectable to the algorithm—whether that’s miming controversial words in videos, rephrasing them (“dead” has recently experienced a mass translation to “unalive”), or using emojis to substitute them in captions. They also attempt to levy the algorithm’s blindspots by creating content that partially appeals to it.
Take Soogia’s “PLEASE WATCH” video for example, where she stitches another creator’s TikTok and spends almost a minute discussing the alleged “beef” the two of them have. She uses inflammatory language and a confessional aesthetic to create the appearance of a TikTok “tea” (or gossip) video because, through an examination of TikTok trends, she has observed these videos perform particularly well. It is once she has engaged in that mimicry long enough to capture the viewer’s attention and establish herself as safely apolitical that she pivots, quickly sharing information about a fundraiser for Palestinian families through a screenshot flashed on the screen.
The TikTok algorithm has been accused of silencing Palestinian voices and limiting the reach of content that advocates for the decolonization of Palestine. Thus, in this case, it goes beyond being a tool for censorship and works as a colonizing force. Operation Watermelon, which activist and TikTok user @Angie_Mariee launched, uses watermelon emojis to replace the word “Palestine” as a way to escape the algorithm’s detection (News Literacy Project, 2024). It also encouraged users to flood the comments sections of videos from popular accounts with references to watermelons and messages about Palestine, because the algorithm turns the most popular phrase within the comments section of each video into a suggested search term that it displays at the bottom of the screen (DiBenedetto, 2024). These strategies thus enable creators to raise awareness about the occupation of Palestine and share resources that mobilize public action.
In this way, Soogia’s “PLEASE WATCH” and other disruptive, decolonial content I investigated, make use of the extra-textual—emojis, hashtags, screenshots—as a way to both resist and co-opt the algorithm’s preferences. This simultaneous escaping from and conforming to the demands of a colonial agent is reminiscent of Homi Bhabha’s work on mimicry and the metonymy of presence. According to Bhabha, colonizing forces desire colonial subjects that are perceptibly “reformed” (anglicized, civilized, and adherent to colonial norms). However, the subjects in question are racialized Others who cannot literally transform into white people; hence, they can take advantage of this colonial desire by adopting the mannerisms of the colonizer to become “almost the same [as them], but not quite” (1984).
When the subject fulfils this position of “ironic compromise”, they are “appropriating the Other as it visualizes power” (Bhabha, 1984). They can use their position of ambivalence—of both being and not being one with the colonizer—to engage in a discursive process that results in “excess or slippage” (Bhabha, 1984). This doesn’t just create a “rupture in the discourse, but [also] fixes the [dissenting] colonial subject as a partial presence” (Bhabha, 1984). Soogia’s “PLEASE WATCH” attained its viewership because it resembles the kind of popular content the TikTok algorithm favors; however, its use of the extratextual means that it only occupies that position symbolically because its true message—communicated by the screenshot—is subversive. The video has a metonymy of presence within the class of videos the TikTok algorithm has grouped it; its presence within the canon of popular, algorithm-approved TikToks is both virtual and incomplete.
This metonymy of presence is a disruptive factor, a tool to contaminate dominant discourse. For Bhabha, this contamination is a way to dismantle the colonial apparatus at large—he conceives of mimicry as a way for colonial subjects to gain power through “resemblance” and “menace”. Bhabha views the discourse colonial subjects mimic as a major cause of colonization, while the creators I investigated take a less antagonistic position to the canon of videos in which they are partially present. They recognize pop culture and the TikTok algorithm as one tool within a larger imperialist project that can be levied to communicate postcolonial and decolonial sentiment. They thus have a vested interest in continuing to engage with it, particularly because TikTok’s multimodal affordances enable their disruptive activism.
Hot take: In the attention economy, audiences are drowning in a sea of entertainment. We toggle between apps—between pictures of billionaires’ yachts, comedy sketches, Netflix dramas, news clippings of a genocide, and then yachts all over again—consuming popular media that assaults our senses through feeds that lock us in echo chambers. Imperial powers can bank on us consuming content in a way that keeps us overstimulated, isolated, apathetic, and compliant. So when creators use the very mechanisms that numb us out to alert us and encourage change, they’re reconfiguring how public consciousness operates.
Notes:
[1] A personalized feed of content based on one’s interests and engagement as detected by TikTok’s algorithm (TikTok Support)
Works Cited:
Barker, A (2022, Aug 17). “UK’s Young Adults Spending More Time on TikTok than Watching TV.” Financial Times. https://www.ft.com/content/4a2f2ad8-7633-4bd7-9300-988f699dfbc9
Bon, M (2024, April 08). “TikTok Under the Spotlight: An analysis…” Diggit Magazine. https://www.diggitmagazine.com/papers/tiktok-media-discourse%20analysis
Bhabha, H. (1984). Of mimicry and man: The ambivalence of colonial discourse.
DiBenedetto, C (2024, May 1). “How ‘Blue Comments’ Turned the TikTok Algorithm into a Protest Tool: SEO for Social Justice.” Mashable. https://mashable.com/article/tiktok-blue-comments-for-palestine-operation-watermelon#:~:text=The%20original%20organizer%20is%20user,on%20revolutionary%20organizing%20and%20political
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Quayson, Ato. (2020, Jan 2). “What is postcolonialism literature?” The British Academy. https://www.thebritishacademy.ac.uk/blog/what-is-postcolonial-literature/
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Storey, J. (2021). Cultural theory and popular culture: An introduction. Routledge.