As the U.S. government debates a Supreme Court ban on TikTok, I find myself scrolling through my For You Page, caught between two unsettling realizations: how much time I spend watching strangers and how much I feel like I know them. It’s not just about losing an app; it’s about losing the parasocial connections that have become a strange, comforting part of my young adult life. What happens to our sense of community—and our identities—if these digital bonds are suddenly severed?
The 12-hour ban hit me harder than I expected. It’s not just about losing a platform for entertainment or a way to scroll away boredom—it feels more personal than that. Over the years, TikTok became more than just an app; it was a space where I formed connections, albeit one-sided, with creators whose lives, humor, and advice have woven themselves into the fabric of my daily life. I quote Hallie Batchelder, Ken Eurich and other random influencer stories all day, as if they were my own gossip shared on campus between classes.
These parasocial relationships—those bonds we feel with people who don’t actually know we exist—might sound shallow on the surface, but they’ve become surprisingly meaningful. Losing TikTok doesn’t just mean fewer viral dances or funny videos; it feels like losing a part of my inner friend group.
During the pandemic, I, like so many others, found refuge in the endless stream of TikTok content. When the world felt isolating and uncertain, the creators on my For You Page became a kind of makeshift social circle.
There was the home cook whose recipes taught me how to spice up monotonous meals, the fitness influencer whose pep talks got me off the couch, and the comedian who could make me laugh when nothing else could. They didn’t know me, but I knew them—or at least the curated versions of them they chose to share. And that was enough.
I didn’t fully understand the value of these parasocial relationships until I thought about the possibility of losing them. The idea of TikTok disappearing made me realize how integral those digital connections have been to my routine and sense of community. While these relationships may not replace real-life interactions, they serve a unique purpose. They fill the gaps, offering companionship and comfort, particularly in moments when real-world connections are out of reach.
The benefits of parasocial relationships aren’t just anecdotal, either. Studies show that these bonds can provide emotional support and reduce feelings of loneliness, especially during times of isolation. (https://www.health.harvard.edu/blog/do-parasocial-relationships-fill-a-loneliness-gap-202409303074)
For me, they’ve been a way to feel connected, to feel like I’m part of something bigger—even if that “something” exists on a tiny screen in the palm of my hand. Losing that feels like stepping backward to a time when my phone was less a bright screen and more a puzzle of buttons.
The looming TikTok bans have also made me wonder what happens next. Sure, some creators are migrating to other platforms, but it’s not the same. TikTok’s algorithm was uniquely designed to serve up content that felt hyper-personalized in a way no other app has managed to replicate. Even when I follow creators elsewhere, such as Instagram Reels, the sense of discovery and connection feels off.
Of course, I understand the reasons for the ban. National security concerns are serious, and it’s not my intention to dismiss them. But at the same time, it feels like no one is talking about the social cost of these decisions. For some, parasocial relationships are more than just a supplement to in-person connections—they’re the primary form of socialization. People who struggle with traditional social dynamics, like those with social anxiety or other challenges, often find solace in these one-sided but meaningful digital interactions. Losing a platform like TikTok might leave a deeper void than many policymakers anticipate.
So where does that leave us? As someone who’s relied on TikTok not just for entertainment but for connection, I’m grappling with how to move forward. Will we eventually find a new digital space to foster these relationships? Or is this a reminder to invest more in real-world connections? Maybe it’s a little of both.
What I do know is that dismissing parasocial relationships as unimportant misses the point entirely. These bonds matter, even if they exist in the strange, virtual realm of social media.
It’s easy to write off an app as just another distraction. But for millions of us, it’s so much more than that. It’s a lifeline to connection, creativity, and comfort in an increasingly isolating world. If TikTok really does disappear, it won’t just be the end of an app—it’ll be the end of relationships that meant more to us than we ever realized.
So, this is my formal goodbye Hallie, Ken and countless others if we ever lose this app again. It was nice knowing you.
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