TikTok is ubiquitous these days, with its effect extending beyond the realms of digital spaces. It has reshaped video sharing, with diverse users creating content, unlike the traditional approach limited to media producers.
In
This
pattern is not only limited to religious and holy places but also to other
public places such as restaurants, tourist destinations, cinema halls, academic
premises and so on. These spaces have become an ideal place for self-publishing
consumers to produce user-generated media based on a wide range of content.
TikTok
(DouYin in Chinese) is one of the most successful Chinese social media
applications used globally. Initially, Musical.ly was founded by Zhang Yiming
back in September 2016. Soon, Beijing Bytedance Technology acquired the
application in November 2017 and renamed it TikTok. Since then, TikTok has seen
widespread distribution, especially attracting young users to engage, view,
create and comment on lipsynced videos. The third-largest social network, TikTok, is
predicted to have 834.3 million monthly users worldwide in 2023. The
audience size in
The
use of TikTok is extended by its users’ creativity, which can be both positive
and negative. According to the Tiktok community guidelines,
its mission is to unlock human imagination, enabling creative expression and
providing entertainment and enrichment by welcoming people worldwide as they
discover diverse ideas, creators and products and connect with others in the
community. Notably, TikTok’s use has expanded beyond the stated intention by
its creators.
Nowadays,
it is common for individuals across all age groups to obsess over TikTok. The
theory of gratification can explain this obsession; it suggests that certain
media can gratify a person’s need, and the person will continue using it for
gratification. Consequently, the motivation to use Tiktok could be to expand
one’s social network, express oneself creatively, feel competent, and seek fame
or power. In the technocratic world, other factors could be to avoid the
psychological state of fear of missing out (FOMO) so that the users don’t feel
excluded by missing the current trends. However, the scope of understanding the
use of TikTok might be beyond this theory and have undesirable results.
Socio-psychological studies conducted in this field suggest that people’s
motivation for involvement in such user-generated media is to peek into other
people’s lives and take pleasure in accessing private details. Notably, TikTok
represents a global phenomenon characterised by a failure to protect user data
and ensure privacy, leading to lawsuits in several countries.
Currently,
TikTok is confronting the challenge of handling hate speech, inappropriate
content, threats, harassment, cyberbullying, misinformation, plagiarism and
conspiracies. Further, users misuse TikTok to threaten others over a minor inconvenience
overtly. Similarly, people with little journalistic credibility go around
poking others’ personal issues and expose them for “justice”. Worse, viewers
perceive it as a mere source of amusement rather than questioning the morality
of such content and the ethics behind such behaviour.
To
gain viewers and want to become “viral,” people do anything and everything.
From filming people without their consent and prioritising capturing a serious
incident instead of extending a helping hand (the recent Manipur violence
case), TikTok users have blurred the line between humanity and content-seeking
obsession. Other disturbing trends found in TikTok are videos of people
quarrelling, intentionally harming animals to match them with song lyrics,
objectification and sexualisation of young children by forcing them to dress,
dance or act in a certain way, filming the misery of terminally ill patients,
and so on. The question here is not about counting the so-called creative
content but rather about pondering on how much content fulfils TikTok’s
objective and its valid use—to inspire creativity, bring joy and unlock human
imagination by enabling creative expression.
TikTok’s
popularity ignites anxiety and fear about its misuse and the extent to which
people can become regressive. The present discourse displayed by TikTok
represents "techno panic,”
a moral panic that centres on societal fears associated with specific
contemporary technology or activity instead of the content.
Such
moral panics point out the consequences of social media that trigger people’s
perceived vulnerability and societal fears, which seem to be getting worse and
unfiltered. However, recent research suggests that TikTok can be an informative
channel to inform about health and safety-relevant information, share official
information from the government, stir healthy political discussions, promote
tourism, online sales, educational content and appeal for charity.
Despite
its rampant creation of improper content, it is still not too late to leverage
TikTok to foster civility. First, the users need to seriously comply with
the community
guidelines provided by TikTok. In case of violation, the users
must report the video for its irrelevant content and share feedback. Second,
based on the pattern of TikTok use, its operators need to be attentive and
efficient to take relevant action to remove and prevent ill-suited content.
Finally, it is up to its users themselves to comprehend the actual use of
TikTok for the well-being of society in every dimension possible.
Advertisers are seeking any assurances from TikTok, the viral app that helped
usher in a wave of short-form video across social media, as the Chinese-owned
company again faces a potential ban in the
When
TikTok’s Chief Executive Officer Shou Zi Chew testifies before Congress for the
first time on Thursday, advertisers will be closely watching his appearance for
news as well as the reaction of lawmakers, several ad agencies told Reuters.
TikTok’s
The
company faces growing calls from lawmakers who are pressuring the Biden
administration to ban the app over concerns that Americans’ user data could
fall into the hands of the Chinese government.
In
recent discussions with ad buyers, TikTok representatives have stuck to the
company’s current talking points. TikTok employees have played up ongoing plans
to separate the user data of Americans and store it in the country. The data
will be housed in a new division called U.S. Data Security (USDS), which will
be monitored by
At
least one major ad firm held a call this week with TikTok sales representatives
in an attempt to learn more detail about its data security practices. Though
TikTok provided an overview of Project Texas, it was unable to answer more
detailed questions about how it would block U.S. user data from the Chinese
government, said an executive at the ad firm, who declined to be named to
discuss a private call.
Darren
D’Altorio, vice president of social media at marketing agency Wpromote, said
TikTok sent an email on Tuesday to note that it had launched a new website for
USDS and included answers to frequently asked questions about the initiative.
In a
section of the email titled “Can the Chinese government request TikTok
A
TikTok spokesperson said the company is engaging with advertisers “in open,
fact-based, and ongoing dialogue that includes providing regular updates and
addressing questions about the ways we’re working to build a trusted entertainment
platform for users and brands.”
Even
with talk of a ban, most advertisers have not changed their spending plans on
TikTok, media buyers said, because discussions of a ban have lingered since
2020 without any result.
TikTok
CEO Chew plans to tell lawmakers on Thursday that the company has never, and
would never, share
But it
is a critical moment for TikTok, which has grown exponentially in importance to
advertisers as the app’s user numbers have surged in the two years since
then-President Donald Trump first explored a ban of the app.
The
renewed concerns over TikTok seem to have escalated quickly in the past few
weeks, catching some brands off guard, D’Altorio said.
Some
clients that are publicly-traded companies had been reluctant to buy ads on
TikTok since 2020, and their wariness has only continued. “They say ‘we don’t
want to touch this,’” he said.
Vinny
Rinaldi, Hershey Co’s (HSY.N) head of media and analytics, said on Wednesday
that the Reese’s Cup maker built a contingency plan if TikTok is shut off in
the
Hershey
spends the least on TikTok compared to other social platforms, Rinaldi said,
but it’s an “area of growth (that is) working well.” His bet is that TikTok
users switch to YouTube if the platform shuts down.
The
current situation also makes some smaller brands with a niche audience hesitant
to experiment with ads on TikTok, said Adam Telian, vice president of media
services at marketing agency New Engen, which has worked with The Home Depot
and Google Fiber.
“People
are hesitant to make that commitment and investment at a time when they’re not
sure TikTok will still be around,” he said.
While
tension brews in
Advertisers
that are using TikTok and seeing strong performance from their ads are
recommended to stay the course, said Erik Huberman, CEO of Hawke Media, a
marketing consultancy that has worked with Red Bull and Alibaba.
Brands
that have customers on TikTok will find it difficult to step away until real
action happens in
“A ban
isn’t a ban until it’s a ban,” he said.
TikTok
has come under increasing scrutiny due to fears that user data from the app
owned by Beijing-based company ByteDance could end up in the hands of the
Chinese government, undermining Western security interests.
When
asked about a potential ban on TikTok, security minister Tom Tugendhat said
earlier in the week that understanding the challenges posed by these apps was “incredibly
important.” TikTok has said it would be disappointed by such a ban.
The
government is expected to make a statement on the security of its devices later
on Thursday.
At a
time of fast-changing nature of crimes with the advent of new technologies,
some unscrupulous elements have found yet another modus operandi for gambling.
According
to police, a group of people is involved in gambling with the help of Chinese
app TikTok (owned by tech giant ByteDance) and they run gambling dens live on
the app.
Police
officials say although they have arrested some people involved in such illegal
activities, they are finding it difficult to trace the gamblers as most of them
use fake IDs and phone numbers. As access to new phone numbers has become
easier, such users keep changing their numbers or dump certain numbers after
using them for illegal activities, police said. Lack of clear laws to tackle cyber
crimes is yet another challenge.
Between
January 10 and January 17, the Kathmandu Valley Crime Investigation Office,
Minbhawan nabbed four people from different places who were involved in
organising gambling via TikTok live. Police said they were doing transactions
of over Rs5 million using digital wallets.
Three
of the gamblers were arrested on January 10 and one more on January 17.
Rishi
Prakash Yogi, 21, who ran playing cards games on TikTok with the nickname Pugg
and Pubg2, was arrested from Gwarko in Lalitpur. Police records show that Yogi
made transactions of Rs2.8 million through e-Sewa mobile wallet over the past
10 days, playing the game live with different people.
Another
gambler, Kapil Giri, 27, was nabbed from Suryabinayak Municipality-10 in Bhaktapur.
He organised online gambling on TikTok under the alias Pler King. Police
records show that Giri collected Rs1 million from three different e-Sewa
accounts within 10 days.
That
same day, police apprehended Prem Kathyat, 21, another online gambling
organiser on TikTok, from Madhyapur Thimi-1 in Bhaktapur. He conducted
transactions worth Rs93,214 through e-Sewa within six days.
Meanwhile,
on Tuesday, police apprehended Harischandra Malla, 35, from Harisiddhi,
Lalitpur. Malla, who operated under the alias Kick Cash, had transactions worth
Rs853,331 over the past 15 days via two different e-Sewa accounts.
The
gamblers were arrested with cell phones, a diary used to keep record of players
and transactions, and books of cards.
According
to the Valley Police Investigation Office, the gamblers have been sent for
further investigation under Section 125 of the National Penal
(Code) Act, 2017, which prohibits gambling and betting in
“These
are among the first cases of police nabbing gamblers on TikTok, but there is no
proper cyber law to punish them,” said Superintendent of Police Krishna Prasad
Koirala, who is also the spokesperson for Kathmandu Valley Crime Investigation
Office.
According
to police, after it released the names of the gamblers, they have received a
flood of phone calls on their emergency toll free number (100), complaining
about more such incidents of gamblers going live.
“It
seems that the gamblers have found TikTok live the best option, as many people
use the app in
To go
live on TikTok, the user must have 1,000 followers.
Koirala
said that police used its own surveillance techniques to nab those gamblers. “But
there are many people operating gambling networks with fake identities and
numbers and without proper identity,” he said. “We can’t close the concerned
TikTok accounts as we do not have direct access to TikTok administrators.”
TikTok
is a video-sharing social media platform where one can create, edit, share,
discover and watch short videos. After finding it challenging to monitor
activities on TikTok, some countries
have even banned the app, for instance
Experts
say that the number of TikTok users has soared in
Though
many find it a useful distraction, a few are misusing it.
“I
started using TikTok after the Covid-19 pandemic. I pass time on the platform
after I do my studies. These days, I have also noticed that some people go live
and gamble there,” said Sailesh Bastola, 21, a student at Thapathali
Engineering Campus who is a regular Tik-Tok user. “If police do not control it,
this may have serious consequences. The regular gamblers who would run the
racket from their apartments now got a digital platform to do so.”
In
According
to a story published
in the media platform Rest of World, a 2022 nationwide survey showed a dramatic
rise in the number of TikTok users in
According
to Start.io,
a mobile data platform, there are 2.2 million active TikTok users in
“With
access to the internet, people can participate in illegal activities, including
gambling,” said Santosh Sigdel, an internet freedom advocate and president of
Digital Rights Nepal.
He
said the law regulating the offence of gambling has not covered ‘online
gambling’ in the penal code.
“Just
like the so-called online gambling, many cyber offences are not explicitly
regulated in
Scholars
and political observers have raised concerns over
public opinion manoeuvring on social media in Southeast Asia as three countries
in the region—the Philippines, Malaysia and Indonesia,
are gearing up for elections.
Propagandists’
strategic manoeuvring of public opinion on social media remains a dangerous
threat to democracy in
Political
actors have attempted to sway public opinion via Facebook, Twitter and YouTube to
push for a political narrative to garner more supporters in the region.
Now,
TikTok, as the most downloaded
app in Southeast Asia would serve as a new strategic tool for
propagandists to push for political narrative during the electoral period.
How
TikTok influences public
TikTok provides
unique features enabling propaganda to reach a greater public, as its
content-sharing model is novel compared to its predecessors, where it does not
rely on the number of followers but instead focuses on the content itself.
This
means anybody who could create “interesting-enough” content can land on
the “for you page,” opening
doors of opportunities for political opportunists to push for political
narrative by creating engaging audio-visual content.
With
its recommended
system, radical propaganda could result in extremism among fanatical
followers as TikTok would push for similar content to users. This model could
create an information bubble that would feed users with certain narratives and
influence their worldview.
Rampant
political propaganda
Unlike
its predecessors, TikTok is relatively new in the global-fame-game after a
sudden burst of new
downloads worldwide at the beginning of the Covid-19 pandemic.
While tech companies like Facebook, Twitter, and Google have taken
serious steps to combat the misuse of their platforms by
propagandists, TikTok does not have as rigorous policies.
TikTok
has been heavily
criticised by scholars and media for allowing extremism to be
on its platform, which led the tech company to rebut with improved policies
through their community guidelines.
Relying
mostly on in-house and AI monitoring framework and community flagging system,
as an audio-visual platform, TikTok seems to struggle to oversee content its
users produce on its platform.
TikTok
has established its latest
community guidelines to avoid individuals’ misuse of the
platform. However, political propaganda is still rampant on the platform, for
example on the ‘live’ section of the platform. The ‘live’ feature on TikTok has
been misused to spread political narrative in several countries, including the
Unlike
the uploaded audio-visual content, the live feature posed a distinctive
challenge due to its synchronous real time-streaming nature, which makes AI monitoring
less effective compared to humans in content moderation.
But,
relying on 24/7 human monitoring of live videos is unrealistic as it is
impossible and economically impractical to hire enough workforce to monitor
millions of content uploaded on TikTok daily. Therefore the next best way is to
harness community engagement by developing a community flagging system to help
identify content in violation of its policy.
What's
next?
As
general elections in the
Seeing
how Russian
influencers were paid to disseminate pro-Kremlin propaganda on
TikTok, my prediction, similar trends highly likely will happen in the
Southeast Asian countries. Digital propaganda strategies for disinformation
campaigns that we have seen on other social media platforms include coordinated
use of paid influencers, cybertroopers, bots, deepfakes.
These
could be replicated on TikTok during the Southeast Asian elections considering
the platform gained popularity in the region in the past three years.
As
information disorders ahead of the election are to be expected, one of the ways
to mitigate information disorders is through media and information literacy efforts.
While fact-checkers can only do so much, citizens should also be well equipped
with the right skills to check information for themselves.
In
There
is something about TikTok. The app allures you to its 15 to 30 seconds
whirlpool of never-ending videos and in no time, you find yourself swiping for
an hour. From politicians to tarot card readers, conspiracy theories to
homemade pickles, the app has it all. It is content-heavy and filled with
entertainment, excitement, and surprises.
TikTok's
straightforward interface and all-knowing algorithm have been able to provide
its user with an experience like no other platform. It demands nothing from
you, yet you are lulled into watching never-ending curated videos. Or, in
today's lingo, you will find yourself 'doomscrolling'.
Apparently,
many GenZers have even started using TikTok instead of Google. Just type, 'The
best food joints in
Before
TikTok, the idea of social media was different. You could carefully choose your
friends, your followers, and your interests. TikTok has no such boundaries. It
has redefined the concept of social, exposing you to endless videos selected by
its algorithm. The more time you spend on the app, the better it knows your
taste and interests. You do not ask TikTok what to show you. It tells you what
you see. And this anticipation of 'What next?' often grips its users.
However,
the algorithm has its downside too. TikTok has been criticised for leading
users down the 'rabbit hole', especially the young population. You will often
find children on TikTok' not behaving like children, using inappropriate words,
or singing songs that are 'improper'. This should probe us to ask: How much
information should our young users be exposed to through an application? The
app also makes it very easy to fall into the loop of videos related to death,
suicide, unhealthy diets, and eating disorders and does very little to save its
users from harmful content.
This
brings us to the question of what this 'all-powerful', 'all-knowing algorithm'
of TikTok means to our privacy. Should we be alarmed?
All
platforms on the internet collect, analyse and use our data for their
profitability. The problem with TikTok is that it collects data in excessive
volume—it is important to feed its algorithm, making the app so appealing.
TikTok knows you, your family, your likes, dislikes, your emotional state, your
biometrics, and much more. Using your online profile to send targeted
advertisements is an obvious use of your private data. However, it isn't easy
to gauge what will happen to this data, how it will be used, and, more
importantly, who has access to it.
Hence,
the mistrust and suspicion from many nations concerning the app and its privacy
is justified. As the world becomes more digital, technology can be seen as one
of the main factors for diplomatic tension among nation-states. TikTok is huge,
especially among the youth, and the cultural influence it can have is deep.
The
attraction of companies, brands, organisations, and institutions towards the
app then, is obvious. There are many names on the internet today who have
become celebrities primarily through TikTok. This makes the platform extremely
attractive to young audiences who see their careers on social media.
TikTok
has become a phenomenon that cannot be ignored. It is everywhere, and if you
haven't used the application yet, you are increasingly becoming one of the
global minorities.
Concerns
have mounted globally about the potential for the Chinese government to access
users’ location and contact data through ByteDance, TikTok’s Chinese parent
company.
The
depth of those concerns was underscored this week when the Biden administration
demanded that TikTok’s Chinese owners divest their stakes or the app could face
a US ban.
In
Parliamentary
Service Chief Executive Rafael Gonzalez-Montero said in an email to Reuters
that the decision was taken after advice from cybersecurity experts and
discussions within government and with other countries.
“Based
on this information, the Service has determined that the risks are not
acceptable in the current New Zealand Parliamentary environment,” he said.
Special
arrangements can be made for those who require the app to do their jobs, he
added.
ByteDance
did not immediately respond to a Reuters request for comment.
Speaking
at a media briefing, Prime Minister Chris Hipkins said
“Departments
and agencies follow the advice of the (Government Communications Security
Bureau) in terms of IT and cybersecurity policies ... we don’t have a blanket
across the public sector approach,” Hipkins said.
Both
A
spokesperson for the New Zealand Defence Force said in an email to Reuters the
move was a “precautionary approach to protect the safety and security” of
personnel.
On
Thursday,
TikTok
has said it believes the recent bans are based on “fundamental misconceptions”
and driven by wider geopolitics, adding that it has spent more than $1.5
billion on rigorous data security efforts and rejects spying allegations.
Responding
to a question about the TikTok bans from Britain and New Zealand, Chinese
foreign ministry spokesperson Wang Wenbin said during a regular news briefing
on Friday that the two countries should “stop over-extending and abusing the
concept of national security, and provide a fair and non-discriminatory
environment to companies from all countries.”
The
summer of 2020 is not a particularly memorable time many of us would want to
look back at. The Covid pandemic had just gripped the whole world, forcing us
to stay locked inside our homes. Being associated with the word ‘viral’ was
frowned upon.
But in
2020, for the then-19-year-old Shashwot Khadka, the association with the
forbidden word changed his life for the better. As the world learned to take
baby steps and tried to adjust to life amid a pandemic, Khadka was preparing to
take a big leap into the Nepali music scene.
On July
27, 2020, Khadka uploaded a song on YouTube. The song was titled after what had
given him the initial idea for its creation– ‘Batash’ (breeze). Two weeks into the
song’s release, it had only managed a modest 8,000 views. Right around then, a
Tiktok user by the handle @shi.wali uploaded
a choreography to the song. The twenty-three seconds dance clip took off in no
time, making it the new viral trend and Khadka a national sensation.
Since
then, the song has been used in more than 165,000 TikToks. The now-22-year-old
singer also performed at the closing ceremony of Miss Universe Nepal 2021. The
same year, his hit song was also nominated for the ‘Public Choice Award’ at the
‘21st Annual Tuborg Image Awards’. The song currently sits at 52 million views
on YouTube and 6.9 million streams on Spotify.
Given
its massive active user base of over a billion users, TikTok has quickly become
the go-to promotional platform for musicians and labels. The ungovernable and
unpredictable nature of the app’s algorithm can raise an artist from obscurity
to global stardom in no time. Today, the app has become a necessary inclusion
in the growth of an artist. From mainstream to indie, and established to
aspiring, musicians from all over are trying to figure out TikTok to not get
left behind.
“My
audience grew from what was almost non-existent before ‘Batash’ to such huge
numbers,” says Khadka, who has amassed 276,000 subscribers on YouTube. “A
musician is made by their audience; I got mine from TikTok.”
It isn’t
just Khadka who has experienced this phenomenon. Sajish Shrestha, better known
by his stage name ‘VZN’,
who is known and loved for his chill and upbeat music, shares a similar story.
“I
have witnessed exponential growth since my songs went viral on TikTok. Before I
joined the app, my songs barely reached a thousand views. Now, my most recent release has already
surpassed 600,000 views within a month,” shares the 25-year-old, who brags a
catalogue of TikTok hits such as ‘K hau Timi Mero’, ‘Hik Hikki’, ‘Bhunte Ki
Aama’, and many more.
However,
virality on TikTok alone does not guarantee a successful music career. While a
few artists succeed in translating their viral moments into a much more
prosperous future, many fail to do so. If and how the trajectory of an artist
changes following their virality depends entirely on themselves. A belief both
Khadka and VZN echo.
“Some
artists tend to limit themselves creatively, following their virality, in order
to cater to the liking of their audience. In the process of pleasing others,
they confine themselves to produce what has already worked, barring themselves
from exploration,” says VZN.
The
artists should define their music, not the other way around. But that is what
tends to happen when the artist is unable to deliver consistently. If they can
maintain the quality of their work, it’s a boon. If they cannot, it creates a
vicious cycle of chasing fame, adds Khadka.
“Personally,
I have not been able to give much time to my music. It does get depressing when
you watch the numbers decline, but you should not let that affect you,” adds
Khadka, who is currently pursuing a degree in food engineering from the New
Delhi-based
While
young musical aspirants flock to the app looking for opportunities to kick-start
their musical careers, veterans are also not far behind. Some experienced
singers have managed to make a place for themselves in the world of TikTok
through their classic hits, while others come looking for ignition to
rejuvenate their careers.
Subani
Moktan, a veteran singer/songwriter who has been doing independent as well as
playback singing actively for more than a decade now, is one of the most active
and recognisable musical personalities on TikTok.
Moktan,
who has been on the app for two years, says the need to reach a wider audience drew
her to the app.
“Back
in 2020, I released a new song on
YouTube, and it failed to perform well. That was when I felt like it was high
time I join TikTok and promote my work,” shares the veteran singer.
Now,
whenever she has a new release, she goes live on TikTok to spread the word.
This, she says, has undoubtedly helped her numbers grow.
“My TikTok
presence has reflected in my numbers on YouTube. These days when people
recognise me, they tell me that they’ve seen me on TikTok,” shares Moktan,
adding that this makes her hopeful as an artist. “I see people dancing to my
older songs, whose time I had deemed was over. As they say, good things will
always find their way back and achieve what they truly deserve.”
It is
a popular belief that having a social media presence in today’s day and age is
necessary for growth. Unless the artists are backed by a team of promoters or
have good connections, the journey to gain momentum becomes arduous. Hence,
having social media becomes a compulsion.
Moktan,
however, shares a different view.
“Although
having social media does help, it isn’t a necessity. I personally know many
artists who are not active on social media but are still doing very well in
terms of music and career,” says Moktan. “Having a social media presence is
just the cherry on top.”
Although
TikTok’s seemingly easy-to-achieve overnight success and instant fame may be
pleasing on the outside, it isn’t always sunshine and rainbows. All of it comes
with a price to pay.
Putting
something out in the open for others to see also means opening yourself to
criticism from all kinds of people who, in many cases, are not well-versed in
kindness.
Young
artists like Khadka and VZN say that they have often found themselves on the
receiving end of negative comments. However, it is their undeterred belief and
love for their craft that has helped them continue.
“Not everyone
is on the app to have a good time. Some are there to vent their bottled-up
anger and stress,” says VZN.
Khadka
believes that this understanding has helped him continue without letting the
harsh criticisms affect him.
Veterans
are not immune to hate, either. Moktan says that being on the app has given her
a reality check, adding that it has taught her to stay grounded and be
ever-prepared for failure and negativity.
“When
you’re on a public pedestal, you are prone to both positive and negative comments,
especially on a platform like TikTok. The disparaging comments make me realise
that no matter how sincerely and well you do your job, there will always be
people with something negative to say. I try my best to focus on the positives
and not let the negativity deter me.”
Theatre artist Ishtu Karki has been making funny videos for TikTok and
Instagram during her spare time for years. Her clips were popular and
frequently went viral, getting millions of views on social media.
Two
months ago, various brands and start-ups approached her to make videos to
promote their products. Now she is a full-time social media content creator,
and has more than half a million followers on TikTok.
“You
can make an impressive income by making promotional posts,” said Karki.
The
promotions range from a simple post on Facebook/Instagram to a dramatic video
on TikTok.
“The
nature of the promotional post depends on the budget of the clients,” said
Karki. “The price also varies depending upon how much reach and views the posts
get on social media.”
Some
brands ask her to create promotional videos to generate sales for a specific
product while others just want to spread brand awareness among the public.
Most
of her followers are 18 to 24 years of age. The companies for which she makes
videos also offer products and services to this age group, such as educational
consultancy, skin care products, and so on.
Influencer
marketing combines both traditional and modern marketing strategies. It
transforms the concept of celebrity endorsement into a content-driven marketing
campaign for the modern era.
Influencer
marketing, however, doesn't just involve famous people. Instead, it centres on
influencers, many of whom do not view themselves as being famous in the
traditional sense.
According
to Influencer
Marketing Hub, an influencer is a person who has the ability to
influence others' purchasing decisions due to their stature, expertise,
position or connections with their audience. He or she actively interacts with
a dedicated audience in a certain area. The size of the following is based on
how big the niche is for his or her issue.
Monayac
Karki, founder of Uptrendly, a digital
platform that connects influencers and brands in Nepal, says an influencer is
anyone who understands a certain niche of the market, continuously talks about
it, and has followers who consult him/her regarding the niche.
“Due
to the rise of short video platforms like TikTok, anyone who can make
innovative and catchy content can be an influencer,” said Karki.
“A
film star or public figure might not have a stronghold in social media like
these influencers, therefore, they are very efficient for brand promotion in terms
of views and cost as compared to celebrity endorsers.”
The
cost of influencer marketing is more affordable compared to other countries,
therefore, it has become very popular these days, said Ashwin Neupane, creative
head of digital marketing agency Digital
Gurkha, in a recent
interview with the Post.
“There
are also ample micro and nano influencers such as moto vloggers, and food
vloggers who hold great sway among their followers. Therefore, anything they
endorse goes viral in a short time among their followers,” said Neupane.
“Besides,
the companies can also easily see the views and reach of the post, which makes
it more reliable compared to the traditional form of celebrity endorsement.”
Karki
said, "The cost of an influencer marketing campaign in Nepal ranges from
Rs1,500 to Rs150,000, so it has become the preferred choice for companies of
all sizes."
Asra
Bhattarai, brand consultant of Coca-Cola Nepal, said influencer marketing was
more effective in informing the public about a company's new products and
offers.
“As
per our internal study, they are very effective in increasing the recall value
of the brand among customers, but a separate research is needed to find out if
they increase the company's sales,” said Bhattarai.
“Along
with the expansion of influencer marketing, the field is getting cluttered in
Nepal, therefore, it's important for creators to be creative and think out of
the box to stay relevant in the market.”
As the
advertising market is becoming more competitive, brands are moving towards
unconventional methods such as influencer marketing. Customers have greater
trust in the influencer they have been following for ages than a celebrity.
Another
influencer, who wished not to be named, says influencers need to be more aware
of the product and the company they are promoting, and they should not promote
everything that comes their way for the sake of money.
Earlier
this month, several popular sitcom actors and YouTubers
were arrested for promoting prohibited products on their social
media platforms.
"In
addition to that, they also need to mention clearly that they are doing a paid
promotion so that customers will be careful before buying the product thinking
that it’s a genuine recommendation,” said the unnamed influencer.
“Products
like food items, health care products, edible vitamins and supplements have a
different effect on each individual’s body, so influencers need to be very
careful while promoting them.”
Insiders
say this kind of influencer marketing steadily reduces consumer options by
preventing them from ever considering other accessible products.
Many
shoppers consequently end up making hurried purchases. However, the majority of
people are unaware that influencer marketing is not nearly as genuine as it is
made out to be. In actuality, it's just another fancy way to market.
According
to the Advertising Association of Nepal, the advertising industry in Nepal was
worth around Rs13 billion in the fiscal year 2022-23.
Out of
this amount, social media marketing done via official channels accounted for
Rs4 billion and that done through unofficial channels accounted for Rs3
billion.
“But
the trend of social media advertising via official channels is increasing in
recent days as large social media and technology companies have been registered
in Nepal,” said Som Prasad Dhital, president of the Advertising Association of
Nepal.
The digital service tax guidelines,
which came into effect in the last fiscal year, made it mandatory for all
social media companies to get registered in Nepal and pay a 2 percent digital
service tax.
Several
technology companies such as Microsoft, LinkedIn, Google and Meta—parent
company of Facebook, Instagram and WhatsApp—have been registered in
Nepal.
At a bustling
cafe in Bauddha, Lhakyila is well rested on the couch when suddenly two teenage
girls approach her carrying a tiny box. In disbelief that the box was a present
for her, she is taken aback at first but proceeds to politely accept it. The
girls ask for a selfie and seem over the moon during the warm encounter. After
they leave, Lhakyila returns to her seat with a bewildered yet elated look on
her face, although that occurrence, for her, was not some anomaly.
When
an everyday Nepali teenager or young adult hops on some of the most happening
social media apps like Instagram or Tiktok, there is hardly anyone who has been
as familiar and consistent on those domains as Tenzin Lhakyila Maharjan, or
Lhakyila, as she is popularly known by. This 24-year-old social media
phenomenon is not some overnight sensation, nor is she a commercially funded
content creator, and yet a considerable 215,000 people follow her on Instagram,
141,000 on Tiktok, and 146,000 on YouTube—as of now.
“Even
when I realise there are tons of people watching the skits I post online, it’s
still baffling to me that my audience has been this invested for all these
years”, she says, scrunching her forehead, followed by a puzzled expression.
Her mannerisms are visibly awkward at times when she talks about her social
media presence; it’s evident that she is still not used to the recognition she
has garnered.
First
coming into the picture on Instagram during early 2014, Lhakyila’s social media
pages are now an accumulation of hundreds of self-taped comedy skits.
Monologues of her random but peculiar everyday experiences quickly receive
between 100,000 to over a million views, and her ten-year-old
niece’s cameos typically become the cherry on top for the
audience.
Like
most middle schoolers interested in making video content during the late 2000’s,
Lhakyila was also fully immersed in the world of YouTube. “I used to film
arbitrary clips of myself and post it on YouTube just for the heck of it. Once,
I lip-synced to a scene of Gabbar Singh from the movie ‘Sholay’ to show it to
my family, which my eldest sister, Keyang Yanki, thoroughly enjoyed and decided
to share it with her college friends,” she says. “They were the ones who
initially encouraged me to make more videos.”
When
one scrolls past Lhakyila’s Instagram and TikTok feed, it immediately becomes
an engrossing multilingual affair since she typically performs her comedy
routine incorporating Tibetan, English, Nepali or Hindi. And due to such
multifaceted and immersive content, she has been able to amass a consistent
viewership for nearly a decade from not just Nepal but also India, Bhutan, and
the Nepali diaspora living in Australia and the United States.
“I
first stumbled upon Lhakyila’s content through my cousin, who had been an
ardent fan for quite some time,” says Adarsha Rai from Sikkim, India. “Even
while watching her videos where she speaks in Tibetan, the humour is so
discernable that I don’t need to understand the language to pick up on the
nuances of what she is saying.”
Part
of the draw of Lhakyila’s social media is her sense of intelligent humour that
transcends ethnic and national identities, keeping the viewers craving for
more. Lhakyila, however, attributes this level of relatability to the kind of
similar experiences we all share within our respective communities. “I centre
the theme of my content around the kind of day-to-day occurrences that permeate
each of our lives. This is why I think my audiences resonate with what I
produce,” she says. Lhakyila also partially credits the Nepali education system
for fostering the kind of acceptance she has received through social media,
even while producing videos where she speaks in Tibetan, her first language.
Having classmates of different races and ethnicities in the same room is what
she believes has allowed people to be more open and embracing of the content
produced in a language foreign to their own.
Although,
in her early years, she would often have one community arguing how they couldn’t
understand the other’s language, and vice versa, Lhakyila has gradually learned
how to hone her craft and find a middle ground. “I initially didn’t use
subtitles back when Instagram only had the 15-second video option, but now, with
the use of subtitles and an intermix of multiple languages in a single video,
the content is generally well-received by those who follow me,” she adds.
In
one Instagram video,
wearing an oversized shirt, Lhakyila reenacts how she practices interactions “before
guests arrive” at home; yet another skit where she inventively integrates
Tibetan, English, and Nepali within forty seconds. “We have pretty much become
side characters for her skits at this point,” says Sonam Dolkar, Lhakyila’s
elder sister. “She often comes up with her ideas out of the blue when we are
home, immediately records it and puts it on the internet.”
While
Lhakyila credits that laudable viewership to relatability alone, one could
argue that it takes more than simply “being relatable” to be able to produce
content that the audience consistently comes back for. That instinctual
charisma is something that doesn’t come naturally to people, as Tsephel Pelmo,
a Bhutanese native, puts it. “I have been following her content for a really
long time now, and the kind of effortless charm that she exudes has been so
authentic and long-standing, it’s honestly self-evident why people, even here
in Bhutan, are drawn towards her.” As the adage goes: ‘brevity is the soul of
wit’, platforms like Tiktok and Instagram mandating that kind of brevity have
enabled creators such as Lhakyila to flourish the way she has.
“It’s
generally the spontaneous ideas that pop in my head that makes for good
content,” Lhakyila says while discussing her creative process. The more we
read, hear and watch, the better primed our brain will be to produce its own
witty thoughts. With her eldest sister mostly behind the camera, Lhakyila
has steadily learned to internalise this over the past eight years of being on
the internet. And since wit is predominantly about spontaneous creativity, it
becomes apparent that she has relied on that instinctual aptitude to take her
this far. “As a content creator, when you start feeling pressured to pump out
videos and begin forcing your humour, it immediately loses its punch, and then
you end up disappointing your audience, but most importantly, you end up
disappointing yourself,” she adds.
The
advent of social media has definitely allowed content creators such as Lhakyila
to share comedy skits and aspects of her life with her audience to get closer
to them. Although that is a wonderful thing, it comes with its own mental and
emotional baggage of constantly having to produce videos and always looking “perfect”
in the eyes of viewers. “During my freshman year in college back in 2018, I
found myself in sort of a deadlock because I had to juggle my college life, as
well as cater to my audience. And because I was in a new country, the entire
transition threw me off balance,” says Lhakyila, growing visibly solemn.
That
pressure to stay relevant with one’s audience can get to anyone who’s been on
the internet for a while, and it certainly doesn’t take long for it to start
weighing on one’s overall well being. “I could feel my creativity slipping away
during that period, and the emotional toll it had on me was palpable for a few
months. Meanwhile, I didn’t want to force my content out of compulsion because
I knew it would be vapid if I did. Instead of waiting for some breakthrough
moment, I simply distanced myself for a few weeks from social media. What I
needed was a break,” says Lhakyila.
What a
“healthy” consumption of social media looks like is extremely subjective, and
it becomes even more complex when a person with as substantial a social media
presence as Lhakyila has to navigate the online world. “Whenever I contemplate
utilising my platform in a way that’s healthy and enriching instead of draining
for myself, I simplify the whole thing down to screen time. Once I limit my
screen time on Instagram, I can simply focus on creation rather than
consumption,” says Lhakyila. “I can then devote more energy towards sharpening
my content instead of feeding into the negativity that often accompanies social
media platforms.”
Lhakyila’s
simple yet sophisticated, complex yet accessible humour is the hallmark of her
personal brand online. And it is perhaps through this accessibility and
familiarity that her viewers have consistently consumed her content, as though
it were an instant serotonin boost. When one scrolls through her Instagram page
now, it feels like a personal diary of sorts—a once perky teenager now stepping
into the threshold of adulthood while keeping thousands entertained. For people
who have followed her from the get-go, her videos have also turned into a
timestamp for different stages in their own lives—another intricate aspect that
has helped her maintain that relevance through the years.
“I’m
not sure where all of this is headed, to be really honest,” she says, letting
out a nervous laugh. “Till today, simply trusting my gut feeling with regards
to my content, finding the absurdity in the mundane and not forcing things to
pan out have been my ingredients. I guess this is what it’s going to be like
for the time being.”
Karki, 21, from Pepsicola, says she feels
encouraged to follow the latest fashion mirroring key influencers on social
media platforms like Instagram and TikTok.
She,
however, admits that she wears her new buys not more than three times before
discarding them. But she keeps track of new arrivals.
“I
fully utilise only 40 percent of my wardrobe on a regular basis,” she said.
Karki,
a bachelor's level student, says her elder siblings in Australia send her money
to indulge her habit of staying on trend.
Like
Karki, there are many youngsters in Nepal who are in the fast fashion race.
Experts say that
Generation Z, also called post-millennials (born between 1997-2010), whose
identity has been shaped by the digital age, have an unsustainable attitude of
‘buy now, throw later’. This has resulted in the rise of fast fashion in recent
days in Nepal.
According
to the Ellen MacArthur Foundation,
the dizzying pace of apparel manufacturing has also accelerated consumption:
the average person today shops twice as much as those in the year 2000 but the
number of times these clothes are worn has nearly halved.
And
not only do they buy more, they also discard more.
Sandeep
Sharma, a lecturer of behavioural economics at the Nepal College of Management,
said that due to the influence of social media marketing and celebrity
endorsement, customers, particularly youngsters, are indulging in ‘buy fast,
dump fast’ practices.
“Due
to the fear of missing out on the latest trends, the youths go on an impulsive
buying spree without considering the long-term economic and environmental
consequences,” said Sharma. “Today’s buyers are more inclined towards purchases
that offer them instant gratification.”
Due
to the burgeoning expendable income largely supported by remittances, young
Nepalis are becoming fashionable. Until a few years ago, the average Nepali
used to buy new clothes once a year, mainly during the Dashain festival, the
most propitious festival to shop for a new wardrobe.
“But
now, the situation is vastly different. As Nepali youths are becoming more
fashion-conscious, each brand introduces up to three collections annually,”
said Manish Rai, a fashion designer.
“Every
time a global celebrity or an influencer wears a new design, its counterfeits
flood the market within a couple of days,” said Ashwin Neupane, creative head
of Digital Gurkha, a digital marketing agency.
“The
counterfeits are cheaper and more accessible. They grab easy eyeballs since
they are widely advertised on social media.”
Neupane
said that the reason behind the rise of fast fashion in Nepal is the cheaper cost
of influencer marketing as compared to other countries.
Although
sustainable fashion industry has penetrated the Nepali market, it still has a
long way to go to catch up with the fast fashion industry.
“Besides
there are also ample micro and nano influencers who hold great sway among their
followers. Therefore, anything they endorse goes viral in a short time,” added
Neupane.
“The
rising popularity of short video formats such as TikTok, Instagram Reels and
YouTube Shorts, and easy digital payment offers and delivery service are also
the reason behind high consumption of fast fashion trends.”
Social media platforms generate income
through product placements and advertisements with promotion mostly done
through targeted ads among its users.
“After
a user has spent a significant time on social media, they start receiving
targeted ads in greater volume which pushes them to make impulsive purchases,”
said Neupane. “The impulse to buy overrides necessity buying habits leading to
users buying things they don’t necessarily need in order to keep up with
fashion trends.”
Fast
fashion comes with a hefty price.
The
goods are produced mostly in developing countries—India, China and
Bangladesh—where labour is cheap and widely exploited, experts say.
According
to international media reports,
fast fashion has given rise to a vicious cycle, where manufacturers and fashion
brands compete to lower their cost of production by using unsustainable
materials and outsourcing manufacturing to countries where labour is cheaper.
The
manufacturer then subcontracts to smaller companies which resort to
exploitation of labourers in the form of forced labour and low pay to keep the
cost low.
“Fast
fashion is against the norms of sustainable development goals (SDG)
recommended by the United Nations (UN),” said Sharma.
“Overall,
the fashion industry is responsible for 8-10 percent of global
emissions, more than aviation and shipping combined. The
consequences of these trends affect developing nations like Nepal.”
In
addition to this, fast fashion is also emerging as a challenge to the economy.
“Nepali
fashion industry is still evolving and it has produced a number of skilled
manpower in the last 10 years. But the Nepali market, which is small in size,
has to compete with large manufacturers from Bangladesh and China,” said
fashion designer Rai.
Sharma
too has a similar view.
“Although
some of the domestic manufacturers have started producing sustainable clothing
from eco-friendly materials, they still have a hard time competing with
imported products due to higher cost of production, scarcity of materials and
technological challenges,” said Sharma.
Rajendra
Chaulagain, who owns Renab Fashion Wear, a clothing store in Koteshwar, says he
receives orders mostly from TikTok where he displays new arrivals.
“Being
on TikTok has made it easier for us to sell,” said Chaulagain. “However, there
is cut-throat competition among the fashion stores. I regularly update my stock
of goods to stay ahead.”
He
added, “If I don’t bring fresh products every couple of weeks, my customers
will go elsewhere.”
Although
fast fashion has come as a boon for local fashion stores in the last decade as
seen with the mushrooming of clothing stores in major cities in the country,
experts worry that in the long run, it might put the entire fashion industry at
risk.
Lecturer
Sharma recommends that influencers need to be aware of what they are promoting
among their followers and whether the product is sustainable or not.
“They
should be encouraged to promote sustainable fashion that stands to have major
benefits in the long run.”
The digital revolution has dramatically
transformed the way we entertain ourselves or experience our reality.
And
over the past few weeks, there’s one video that
has set the trend on TikTok in Kathmandu, and the craze of the video is strong:
more than hundreds have watched and recreated it. These videos have people
crossing a bridge in what looks like a scene from the Jurassic world, and in
the background plays the Nepali song ‘Lade Lade Samau Malai’. And if you read
the comment section of these videos, almost everyone is asking: Where is this
place?
The
place is the newly opened 3D picture museum at Kathmandu Mall called ‘Art in
Paradise’—where one can teleport to Shanghai, the Eiffel tower, the Seven
Wonders, the Arctic region, the Amazon basin or even Everest Base Camp, and
experience an illusioned world and find joy in creating digital memories.
To
visitors, the museum could look like an ordinary place with extensive murals.
But one view from the camera is enough to tell why this museum has piqued
people’s interest. The optical illusion the museum’s artworks plays with is
intriguing and compelling.
Twenty-year-old
TikToker Samarika Dhakal has visited the museum twice already, in a matter of
two weeks, after her video of walking
carefully on a cliff’s bridge with her sister got her 1.2
million views on TikTok. “I never thought that video would pick up so much
interest. It was just something I did for fun,” said Dhakal.
“What
was interesting about the museum was that it allowed us to be as interactive
and expressive as we could be and gave us an experience no museum in the
country has,” she said.
Anyone
still wary about the virus hovering over the world has a shock to prepare for
once they step inside. Everyone is busy with their phones as they take selfies
and dynamic shots of their family and friends, and practice the right angle to
create the multidimensional view at every end.
“It’s
been a crazy time; we are here sometimes from 10 am to 8 pm to guide visitors.
It’s tiring but it’s worth the time. Watching them laugh and have a good time
is quite uplifting,” said Chewang Sherpa, a 21-year-old third-year Bachelor
student of social work who is currently working at the museum as a tour guide.
"I think the place has been giving people some really good memories,” he
said.
The
3D museum’s idea too had evolved over having a good time, one where five
friends found themselves enthralled in a multidimensional world created by
artists in Thailand, Vietnam, Singapore and Myanmar.
In
2019, before the pandemic’s gloom was yet to fall, Pradeep Sharma and his
friends were on a South-East Asia vacation. “We visited big 3D museums in
Thailand, Vietnam, Singapore and Myanmar where we were being transported to
different worlds, and it felt real and surreal. And over our idle talks, we
would discuss bringing a business that would give people a similar experience
in Nepal,” says Sharma, one of the founders.
"So,
when we returned to Bangkok to head back home, we instinctively decided to stay
back and really work on the idea—we decided to do it,” he says.
Then, in their extended vacation, they met with the artists and founders behind the 3D art museum in Bangkok to understand the 3D museum’s design and what it would take to manifest the idea here in Kathmandu. The five friends were determined and ambitious, and so they quickly had everything in place.
The
elaborate paintings on the museum walls are stunning, painted in layers to
create multidimensional visuals. Pemapsorn Kritsadacharoenpong and her team
from Thailand spent days planning, painting and practising viewpoints for
visuals that people could experience and be influenced by.
“One
of the key focuses of this type of artwork is considering the visitor’s
viewpoint and approach. So often, one stands back from the work, either
physically or mentally, to consider how the viewer will interact with the piece
or the entire room as an experience. An additional consideration is how the
room lighting and the textures and reflectivity of the paintings will affect
the experience,” said Kritsadacharoenpong, the lead designer and artistic
director of the site in an email interview with the Post.
That
is also why the museum had focused on training its staff rigorously to guide
the visitors in making moments that would create the best optical illusions. “When
visitors get an understanding of the frame, they are happier and find
themselves wonderstruck,” said Chewang Sherpa.
In
Thailand, the ‘Art in Paradise’ museum, which inspired the museum here, has
been a popular place for recreation. It has provided people with a space for
digital expression, and thus, the place has been attracting more visitors and
tourists. “They are popular because the viewers can actually interact with the
art rather than just look at the painting on the canvas,” said Kritsadacharoenpong.
It
was also this allure the founders wanted to capture with Art in Paradise in
Nepal. “But it’s not a branch or a franchise of the 3D museum in Bangkok or
Vietnam. The idea inspired it, but the place is our own,” said Sherpa.
Meanwhile,
Kritsadacharoenpong and her team have been overjoyed by the Nepali people’s
response to their work, with videos and photos getting viral every week. For
them, this has been a rewarding time for all their hard work. “I'm proud to say
that the reaction from the people of Kathmandu during the first weeks of
opening has been astonishing. Our art seems to be extremely popular. Dhanyavada
Nepal!” she expressed happily to the Post.
Nagma
Shrestha, an actor and TikToker, has created about 10 to 15 TikTok videos at
the museum, all of which have been viewed repeatedly. Shrestha herself had
found out about the museum through TikTok videos and had visited the place to
take photographs and share them on her social media platforms.
“I
think over the years of our engagement with technology our digital presence has
become very significant; we enjoy telling people about ourselves and sharing
our moments. In a way, this tendency itself has become a stimulating activity,”
she said. “Who doesn’t like taking pictures and sharing them today? And the
museum offered us just that space to do that by engaging with the works there
and fascinated our imaginations even more,” said Shrestha.
And
it seems the model has worked. “The model works because social media platforms,
as personal social platforms, have an even wider audience, with one to too many
opportunities of influencing people because of familiarity with the one who is
sharing the idea,” says Dr Sudhamshu Dahal, coordinator of media
studies at Kathmandu University School of Arts.
“When
a person you know shares something, it has higher chances of influencing you
than a celebrity’s post. The information feels more authentic and real, so
establishing a customer base by positive-negative setting up a target in social
media is always contributory,” adds Dahal.
According
to Dahal, however, the strategy could also backfire, as social platforms
quickly ascend popularity but give less time for businesses to grasp the demand
and traction.
“The
reach of social platforms is compelling. And so for businesses that rely on new
media, there is also the problem of them being overwhelmed, as we saw in the
case of umbrella street in Sankata that had to be taken down because
authorities could not manage the crowd and meet the demand it set up,” he said.
There’s
certainly a sign that Art in Paradise has been facing the same challenges of
having too many customers at the same time. Not wanting to disappoint the
customers who have stopped at their doorstep, they have been hard on the
duration a customer is allowed to be in the museum. “On weekends, it is tough
to manage the crowd and therefore, our current marketing strategy has been to
promote weekdays for visits,” said Sherpa the manager.
In
the most unassuming way, Art in Paradise, as a new museum in town, has
attracted many people; even more, it has opened doors into a new arena and is a
sign of a changing time, where being digital will matter, say the TikTokers.
“Years
back, setting up a visual museum wouldn’t have worked, but today the world is
digital and so are the possibilities,” said Sherpa at the museum.
It
is evident, however, the ultimate challenge for the museum will be holding the
excitement and interest of people. “Many businesses that rely on social media
have not been sustainable, they have been fleeting in the sense that they
sustain as long as the bubble effect works, when it blows up, it can bring a
huge loss—we have seen that happen before,” said Dahal.
But
the Art in Paradise team is filled with optimism to cater something unusual to
the Nepali people for recreation and some fun time. They are determined to take
the idea of the 3D museum forward in Nepal and keep the interest of people
thriving, they say.
“We
will constantly be on the lookout to make this more interesting for people, and
we plan to change the paintings every six months or a year as we understand
that people will want to see new things. We also plan to open its franchise in
Chitwan and Pokhara,” said Sherpa.
If you’ve
been on TikTok in the past couple weeks, you’ll definitely be familiar with
‘Hik Hikki’ and ‘Bhunte Ki Aama’. With thousands of Tik Tok videos having been
made with the songs in recent times, VZN has certainly created a huge following
for himself.
Before the
artist became popular as VZN, he was known by friends and family as Sajish
Shrestha. He was 15 and living in a hostel at Sainik Awasiya Mahavidyalaya in
Bhaktapur when he first became interested in making music. Living and studying
in a military school with strict rules and regulations, he tried to make
something of his newfound interest by joining a punk rock band, composed of his
friends. But to his dismay, the band already had a lead singer, leaving him to
find other means of expression. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before he took up
rapping and formed a band of his own —Back In Vogue—with his hostel friends,
embarking on a musical journey that has now stretched to a decade.
Even from the
confines of a hostel compound with the added restriction of not being able to
perform on-stage due to Sainik’s strict Code of Conduct, the band of friends
managed to create music together and even released a song called Bichara
Jindagi, to the public. However, as the bands created with secondary school
friends often do, Back In Vogue only lasted a few years until Shrestha and his
friends studied at the same institution. Fortunately for Shrestha, Back In
Vogue proved to be just a stepping stone in what has now become a profitable
career in music with an upward graph of followers.
Post schooling,
Shrestha took up a Bachelor’s Degree in IT at The British College to study
Graphic Design and Media. Around that time, a Nepali label called The Explicit
Records also reached out to him, promising that they would make him big.
Shrestha took up the offer, oblivious to all that awaited him there.
Shrestha spent
multiple days a week at the label making songs, but only a few saw the light of
day. He quickly realised the extent of the toxicity and backstabbing that went
on at the label— “The label had a lot of distractions and the only time music
that I had worked on came out was when I'd worked on it with the main guy at
the label,” said Shrestha.
Despite that,
with all the lemons the label had thrown at him, Shrestha managed to squeeze
out a lemonade from the label. For Lisa, an album with four tracks that he
created with his Producer, Francis became successful. Francis is now a producer
for Shrestha and Lemon Stand Boys, their independent band. The four tracks on
For Lisa were his first uploads to YouTube, now preceded by dozens of singles
from Lemon Stand Boys and his own.
The listeners
might have caught up on a trend in most of his releases where he talks about
his personal experiences and writes about individuals from his past. Hik Hikki,
one of his hits, came about after he had a sudden realisation while watching a
fan-edit of his ex: “No one knew that we’d dated and I felt like I should just
write it down in the comments. Hence the line ‘Kasai
lai thachaina, hamro bare charcha ko muni ma mero naam lekhdyun ki?’ (Nobody
knows about us, should I mention my name in discussion about you?). Similarly,
the lyrics on Timle Garda Ho and Bhunte Ki Aama refer to different stages in
his relationships.
Through his
discography, not just the lyrics but the cinema-like music videos that
accompany them, also bring up a story of their own. While the 3:4 crop and the
grainy filter with Indie-like saturation lend to viewers being immersed in his
videos like they’re watching a CRT TV at home, what goes on in the video itself
also gives viewers something to dwell on.
Keen viewers
might’ve picked up on what’s going on: with each music video taking more than
three months to produce, Shretha has had it all planned out and he’s made it so
that his music videos interconnect and make for a sort of short film, when
watched one after another. Where Timle Garda Ho ends, Hik Hikki picks, and so
on. Commenting on how he comes up with the ideas for his videos, Shrestah said,
“I write concepts I want to include in music videos on my notes and refer to
them for shots.”
With a foresight
like that, an argument definitely sits to be made about his proficiency as an
artist and a storyteller; one that he’s only making stronger with every passing
release.
Of course, public
art exists to be critiqued and with the advent of the internet, feedback is
more accessible than ever. But for Shrestha, it has been a double- edged sword,
especially since the recent hype around him brought to light not just his art,
but also his sexuality.
As an openly
bisexual musician, Shrestha has received a huge amount of support from the
LGBTIQ community. “The LGBTIQ community has always hyped me up and helped to
reach breakthroughs with my music,” said Shrestha. Indeed, the reception of
Timle Garda Ho at the Nepal Pride Parade 2022 was a sight to behold. But
despite all the support, homophobic hate comments managed to rise to the top,
calling his sexuality “a disease”, and forcing him to leave TikTok, for months.
While Shrestha
welcomes negative feedback on his music saying, “if you don’t like my music
then fine, I don’t mind”, comments directed at him as a person have forced the
artist to be less open about his self identity through his sexuality.
After a decade
of ups and downs in his career, Shrestha has now reached a point where he is
gaining recognition as an artist and moving beyond being what he calls “a
neighbourhood level artist” and becoming “a city level artist”. With a number
of releases across platforms, the statement couldn’t be closer to the truth.
Shrestha is now
working on remastering his first album For Lisa, with music videos to add more
spice. Fans, old and new, should now be on the lookout for announcements and a
bunch of funny Tik Toks from the artist.
Would you rather receive Rs100,000 in 6 months or Rs120,000 in seven months?
Most people would choose to wait for an extra month to receive the larger sum
in seven months. It seems logical, right?
Now, let’s
consider another scenario. Would you rather have Rs100,000 right now or
Rs120,000 a month later? In this case, most people would opt for the immediate
Rs100,000 rather than waiting for the extra Rs120,000 a month later. But, if we
think about it, the only difference between the two scenarios is the word “now”
Both options involve waiting for one month. The introduction of the word “now”
can lead to inconsistent decisions.
These subtle
changes in decision-making may not seem significant, but they can have a
profound impact on our lives. Our proximity to a reward often influences our
emotional responses and choices. These seemingly small shifts in
decision-making can shape our future significantly.
In the 1970s,
Stanford researcher Walter Mischel conducted a famous experiment on delayed
gratification known as ‘The Marshmallow Test’. You can find videos of the test
easily on YouTube via a simple search. In this test, four-year-old children
were each given a marshmallow and the choice to eat it right away or wait a
couple of minutes to receive a second one. Surprisingly, very few children
could resist the temptation and waited for the second marshmallow. This ability
to delay gratification and exercise self-control had a direct correlation with
their future success. Those who could control their desires tended to be more
successful later in life.
Let’s consider
another example: the time we spend endlessly scrolling through social media on
our mobile devices. Whether it’s TikTok, Facebook, or Instagram, we know there
are more important things to do, but it's easy to get lost in these platforms
for hours. Why? Because they provide instant gratification. However, as soon as
we stop, we often feel a sense of regret for wasting our time.
The Marshmallow
Test and the social media example offer insights into our self-control and
ability to delay gratification. Children often struggle with self-control
because they fail to see the benefits of patience. However, as we grow older,
we develop more self-control and become better at delaying rewards. We’re
willing to wait longer for better outcomes and prioritise important tasks over
immediate pleasures.
Responding to
situations instead of reacting requires a level of self-control. Reacting
immediately to a situation may feel satisfying, but it often reflects our
inability to delay action for a better response.
We often hear
the phrase, “Live each day as if it were your last.” It’s an inspiring motto,
encouraging us to enjoy life to the fullest. However, if you really started to
live your life as if it were actually your last, you would come across a series
of problems. If we lived every day as if it were our last, we might neglect
basic hygiene, avoid work, and indulge in unhealthy habits. This approach can
lead to financial troubles or even legal issues. The profound sentiment of
living for the present must be balanced with responsible planning for the
future.
In reality, we
follow our daily routines, maintain our health, nurture relationships, work
towards our goals, and make efforts because we understand the importance of self-control
and delaying immediate gratification for a better tomorrow.
Instant
gratification is undoubtedly appealing, but the better we can control our
impulses and actions, the more rational our decisions become. This control
empowers us to make choices based on our goals rather than being dictated by
immediate circumstances. It’s worth reflecting on whether we're in control of
our actions or if our actions are in control of us.
Seeing Pushpa Gurung in her costume, a mini skirt and shirt, I’m wondering how
she’s going to fare on this wintery morning. It’s 7:30am, and I’m longing for
the warmth of my bed.
“Won’t you feel
cold in this outfit?” I ask.
Gurung has been
a chorus dancer for two years, so replies matter of factly: “Well, this is how
I am supposed to look for my role today.”
At Baneshwor
Multiple Campus in Shantinagar, 19-year-old Gurung is part of a troupe of
back-up dancers playing students for a music video. Put together by Hari
Adhikari, the group has performed in several music videos and movie songs.
As her outfit is
ready, she says it’s time for the group to apply makeup. Just opposite them,
the female lead is also getting ready with a separate makeup artist, who
carefully adorns her face. Gurung starts swiftly applying a light touch up to
her face—she understands they need to look subtle, as they are playing college
students.
When
she’s almost done with her makeup, a helper offers tea to her and others. She
offers me tea before she helps herself to some. It’s perfect for the cold
weather.
“I like this
group because we are constantly provided with food and snacks,” says Gurung.
Having worked
with her current troupe for a year, Gurung's call times for shoots depend on
how many assignments manager Adhikari can secure. Sometimes they shoot on a
daily basis, sometimes every three or four days. At times, the shoots can last
for 36 hours. Despite the sporadicity and intensity of the shoots, Gurung finds
her job rewarding.
“I always loved
dancing, so I joined this industry to follow my passion,” she says.
Just as we are
starting our conversation, Adhikari kicks the troupe into gear—everyone needs
to be ready. Gurung promises to catch up with me later, and rushes to change
her costume.
The surroundings
are an unfamiliar sight for most, behind the scenes of glitzy music videos. In
the distance is a group of men, who would be the male dance troupe for the day.
One of them, as boisterous as his dyed hair, is filming himself—it looks like
it could be for a TikTok video.
Then there’s the
director, who seems to be rushing to complete the shoot by day’s end. When he
sees the boy filming, he starts saying ‘Jerry!’ rather sternly.
“I am making a
TikTok video. Wait a minute,” Jerry yells back. “I will do their makeup after I
am done with my video.”
TikToking over,
he catches me staring at him. The embarrassment of being caught leaves me
awkward. He smiles.
“I am Ganesh
Bhandari. But you can call me Jerry,” he says.
He is a
fascinating personality, and doesn’t take long to reveal why he’s in the
business. “I always wanted to become an actor. I decided to work as a chorus
dancer so I can be on the movie set and learn,” replies the Butwal native.
However the
journey hasn’t been easy for the 20-year-old, who says it was initially
difficult to land a proper job. But for him all of the struggles are
life-lessons, and he’s since been in the business for two years. “My struggles
are worth it because it is making me a stronger person,” he says.
The male chorus
dancers are also told to wear makeup, and Jerry’s in charge. He quickly goes
away and tends to the line of men awaiting their facial touch-ups. He applies a
layer of foundation, like a painter with his canvas, then does his own before
unabashedly staring at himself in the mirror. He does so for a while, a clear
sign of vanity which most actors have, before being called to set along with
the other dancers.
One by one, the
chorus dancers fill the room—it looks exactly like what we expect a government
school classroom to look like—before the leads turn up. While the female lead
seems confident, her counterpart’s nervous face is rather alarming.
Gurung is
sitting on the first bench just next to the female lead; Jerry is placed behind
the male lead.
The
first scene seems a Bollywood cliche: two love-struck teens exchange letters in
class, while the chorus dancers are told to be rambunctious in the background.
While it seems to be an easy shoot, it takes forever to film. The chorus
dancers are fine but the male lead can’t catch the beat.
Gurung is
sitting next to the female lead on the first bench, and remains ‘studious’
amongst the rabble. She starts writing in her book like there’s no tomorrow.
Even without direction, Gurung knows what to do.
Jerry, on the
other hand, embodies what the back benchers are expected to do—make noise and
disturb others. His performance seems both raw and real even though the
spotlight is on the actor in front of him.
The director
finally gets what he wants and moves on to the dance scene. He is also the
choreographer for the video, and shows the steps. While most catch on quickly,
the male lead continues to struggle. Both Gurung and Jerry dance pretty well.
The female lead’s
mother is sitting next to me as I watch. We exchange smiles and she asks what I’m
doing on set. When I tell her I’m writing an article, she opens her phone and
shows the pictures of her daughter’s achievements and experiences. It’s nice
seeing a mother promoting her daughter, but I can’t muster the courage to say
the story’s not about her daughter. It’s about the people supporting her.
The male actor
nails it after a few takes, just in time for breakfast, and the chorus runs
outside for the first meal of the day. While cold noodles aren’t the most
appealing meal in cold weather, Gurung and Jerry make a tepid plate of WaiWai
feel warm.
I ask them how
it feels to meet popular actors in real life.
“Most of them
are friendly. They make us feel comfortable and are respectful,”says Gurung,
adding that Barsha Raut and Aanchal Sharma were two of her favourites to work
with.
However for
Jerry, it’s all about Najir Hussain. Hussain, unlike his contemporaries, hails
from a small town and made his name in Nepal’s industry on his own. Jerry finds
Hussain so inspiring, the man is his phone’s wallpaper. Ranveer Singh is
another inspiration for Jerry, both personality- and acting-wise, he says.
The
set is like school in more ways than one—breakfast is brief and the chorus is
called back to class rather quickly, for the next scene. Chorus dancers take
centre stage, and make quick work of it—just a few takes and they’re done.
Scene over, with breakfast still digesting, it’s apparently time for lunch. One
by one crew members, including the dancers and leads, stand in line for food. With
the costumes they are wearing it feels like they are like the real students of
the school where we are filming. Dal-bhat and masu is on the menu, and I join
my breakfast buddies once more, who reveal what they want their future to look
like.
Gurung seems
unsure whether she wants to be in the spotlight as a lead performer, but Jerry
is certain he wants the limelight.
“I feel I was
born to act. It will take time, but I think I will make it,” he says, with a
not-yet-seen seriousness. He’s even planning to join theatre soon, to learn and
improve his acting.
But he knows
there’s one hurdle he’ll have to deal within the Nepali movie industry.
“I have been
told if I don’t have contacts or a strong network I won’t make it,” says Jerry,
who believes talent can take a backseat to good connections. “Someone’s son or
daughter easily gets the opportunity to dance as a lead for music videos. But
directors, even the producers, don’t keep an eye on us.”
While the chorus
is trustworthy and efficient, the leads are always given priority—but do they,
as chorus members, get treated any differently?
“We aren’t
treated with disrespect, but sometimes directors yell at us when they can’t
release their anger on the leads who aren’t performing to expectations,” says
Gurung.
The one thing
keeping Gurung and Jerry continuing their careers as chorus dancers is hope for
the future.
“The journey is
difficult. But hopefully one day I will be getting good opportunities,” says
Jerry.
Lunch is soon
over and the chorus is called to set once more. I resume my meal, which was
ignored during conversation, and catch up with them an hour later. They say
they have to change outfits for the next scene—a basketball match, where they
aren’t dancing at all. They’re just standing behind their leads, hands on hips.
The director asks the female lead if she can spin the basketball on one finger,
but she can’t, just before technical issues halt production. As the crew fixes
the problem, in the distance I see Gurung. She’s effortlessly spinning the ball
on her finger—I think to myself, was she the lead the director was looking for?
It’s almost six,
and I ready myself to leave. For Gurung and Jerry, and the rest of the crew and
cast, the day is far from over. They could be here until midnight.
As I say my
goodbyes and walk to the bus station admiring their energy, they don’t look
tired, despite having been shooting all day. A few minutes later, my bus
arrives, and I sit behind a woman watching a famous Nepali song on her phone.
Rather than
noticing the lead, my eyes goes in search of the chorus dancers. I wonder if I
can find a familiar face, one that the lady probably won’t notice. I wonder
whether I might see Gurung or Jerry out front one day.
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