Open TikTok and you’ll find more than dance trends and outfit inspiration, you’ll find
an entirely new definition of beauty. What began as a space for creativity and self-
expression has evolved into an algorithm-driven arena, where filters, editing tools
and viral aesthetics dictate who and what is considered beautiful. The apps influence
runs further than skin-deep, rather it quietly sets the standards to which its users
strive to meet, often under the guise of being ‘authentic’.
TikTok ‘aesthetics’ perpetuate the app, having major influence on the way creators
present themselves on these platforms, often viewing themselves as a part of a
certain group of people within this aesthetic, to which everything they create and the
way in which they present themselves must fit into a certain box. This idea is passed
onto the new generation of young people on this platform, to which they believe
acceptance is based on being a part of a certain group of people and looking a
specific way in search for belonging. Thus, the idea of authenticity is destroyed, and
worth is defined by the category to which you fit into. Trends including ‘clean girl’ or
‘soft girl’ aesthetics clearly show how beauty ideals can be disguised as lifestyle
choices and these looks which are often characterised by minimalist makeup and
neutral tones promote a subtle exclusivity that celebrates effortlessness, but only
when it fits specific images of privilege and perfection.
Still some creators are beginning to challenge these narrow ideals, opening up about
their use of filters and challenges that come with maintaining a seemingly ‘perfect’
lifestyle on TikTok, rejecting filters and exposing edited content. This has begun to
create more of an open discussion on the platform, with more and more people
expressing the realities of seemingly ‘perfect’ content and its inauthenticity. One
aspect that is important to discuss when it comes to TikTok is commission, as the
platform has progressed it has become easier to make profit on videos and to create
content that will appeal to the masses, and the ones that do well are those that bring
the viewer into a reality away from their own, seemingly unattainable, yet still
provided by the ‘average’ person which makes viewers feel more connected to
content. The irony is that creators chase authenticity and it is the algorithm that
decides what feels, ‘real’. A creator may film a casual “get ready with me” in natural
light or film unedited/unfiltered to appear genuine, but these videos are often
rehearsed and edited to strike the right balance between relatability and perfection,
the algorithm still amplifies the kind of authenticity that still looks good. Even
vulnerability becomes a form of branding: crying on camera, showing messy
bedrooms, or admitting burnout are now trends that perform well as they feel raw,
even when they are carefully managed.
Ultimately, TikTok has blurred the lines between authenticity and performance,
shaping not just how beauty is seen, but how it is sold. Yet within this constant cycle
of trends and algorithms a sort of resistance is showing. More creators are showing
the exhaustion behind self-presentation and reminding audiences that imperfection
isn’t a flaw, its human. As consumers, we are beginning to realising that authenticity
cannot be engineered or optimised and its found in moments that resist the algorithm
altogether. Maybe the next evolution of beauty on TikTok isn’t about flawless
aesthetics or viral sounds but about redefining what is means to be visible, not for
how well we fit a trend, but for how honestly we show up.