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Thursday, June 3, 2021
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
OPINION
T
ikTok’s
explosion
in
popularity in recent years
marks a new era in Generation
Z-dominated internet culture, and
the trend doesn’t seem to be slowing
down. TikTok had amassed over 689
million active users as of January
2021, and over 60% of them were
people under 30 — including many
Gen Z kids creating comedy, fashion,
dance and beauty videos.
TikTok is known for its pageantry
and trendiness, with young women
and girls posting elaborate beauty
transformations set to viral music
and using flattering filters. Young
women like Loren Grey and Charli
D’Amelio are hugely responsible for
many of TikTok’s trends as well as its
popularity. And for a generation of
young people that grew up on iPods
and iPads, social media applications
like TikTok are nothing new. Many
image and video-focused social
media applications like Instagram,
Twitter and Snapchat carry much
of the same content. However,
TikTok’s interface has inspired
staggering
fashion
and
beauty
trends often led by young women
on the platform. One common video
trend starts with a girl lip-syncing
to music in a shabby outfit, looking
moderately unkempt. The next
moment — ideally at the drop of the
beat — the girl transforms into a
fashion fantasy, with wild clothing,
hair and a pleased look on her face
as she admires herself while dancing.
Despite its fun, the internet has
never — and likely will never — be a
safe place for young girls looking to
express themselves. While scrolling,
I often see TikToks of girls dressed
in vibrant, show-stopping looks
with a caption poking fun at
potential
conservative
Karens
who would disapprove. These
bold young women echo feminist
ideals of wearing whatever one
wants,
whether
scantily-clad
or
conservatively
dressed,
no
matter the opinions of society. I
see their strong sense of identity
and
self-expression
and
feel
happy that they’ve found a corner
of the internet where they can
confidently show off and unleash
their creativity. At the same time, I
feel an intuitive pull to warn them
of their vulnerability.
Young people who routinely post
themselves on TikTok risk exposing
themselves
to
being
digitally
consumed, and even approached, by
adult predators. Children ages 12 to
15, who comprise a significant chunk
of TikTok users, are especially at
risk for internet sexual harassment.
In recent years, TikTok has been
accused of being a hub for pedophiles
with little punishment for those
who engage inappropriately with
minors. Even more concerning,
rates of femicide, sexual violence
and harassment against women,
both in-person and online, have
been climbing since the start of the
pandemic. This is part of an overall
uptick in online harassment against
women and girls.
Participating in the fun of social
media is a part of growing up in the
digital age, and I wholeheartedly
want to encourage the fun. And yet,
the perspective of “I wear what I
want, no matter the stares I get” is
at odds with the notion that self-
expression, creativity and sensuality
are not safe to display online.
M
usic is considered to be a
universal communicator
of human emotions. This
can be seen in the ever-present
K-pop craze, as English-speaking
fans rock out to hits in a completely
different language. If 10 people
with 10 different native tongues
were listening to Kool & The Gang
sing “Celebrate good times, come
on!” together, it wouldn’t matter that
some might not fully understand the
lyrics — the jovial brass and funk
guitar communicate in the same
way that the words do. Depending
on cultural background and life
experience, individuals are bound
to glean a variety of emotional
experiences from the same piece of
music, but there is always emotion to
be found nonetheless. The language
of music truly knows no bounds —
that is, until a prospective music
student finds out they can’t fit the
requirements to be admitted into a
music program.
That barrier is one I’ve given
much thought to recently. My senior
year of high school was the first
time I thought of music composition
as an actual possibility for a major,
and I became incredibly excited at
the idea. Some research about the
University of Michigan’s program
in October revealed that up to seven
original works, scored and recorded,
were required for the application
due in December, plus a recording of
the student playing their preferred
instrument of focus. And if all that
works out, you get the opportunity
to interview in the spring. I did not
end up completing a portfolio in
time. Today I sit in musical limbo,
wanting to compose with my entire
heart and then some, but unable to
get in the door.
It can be saddening to be barred
from studying and developing
something that feels so entwined
with your existence. Unfortunately,
this has been the majority of my
music experience at the University.
I have strong musical instincts
and abilities in, apparently, all the
wrong areas, like harmonizing,
sight-reading and learning music
by ear. I do play the violin, sing and
read sheet music, but not to a high
enough level that it will get me
anywhere that I want to go here —
including the music composition
program.
In the digital audio workstations
like Logic Pro and Ableton that
people use for music production,
there’s a built-in tool for correcting
any note or drum hit that doesn’t
fall precisely on a beat. This is
called quantization. Jacob Collier,
a prolific musician and Grammy-
winning artist, is an advocate for
un-quantizing music. In a January
2020 livestream, he mentions his
desire to “get the grid out of people’s
psychologies,” describing the result
of quantizing as “something which is
… grid-based, which is not human.” He
goes on to say that “grids are not the
same as humans. Humans are some
of the least grid-based creatures … in
the world, in the universe.” Collier
also briefly mentions how education
accomplishes
something
eerily
similar, keeping different subjects in
neatly separate containers.
It is not a new idea that the
separation of subjects presents a
skewed and frankly untrue view
of how different knowledge bases
operate and interact. Music is a
culmination of science and math and
art, and oftentimes philosophy. Yet
it is still kept quantized, even at our
university.
I’d like to acknowledge the
perspective I’m writing from, which
is that of a student in LSA who
doesn’t have a lot of technical skill
on the violin and has taken only a
year of classical singing lessons. I am
very much someone on the outside
looking in at what I haven’t gained
access to. This whole column could
be seen as fist-shaking at the musical
doors that I haven’t worked as hard as
others to enter. The audition process
is completely understandable for
performance majors, and I get why
it’s the typical mode of admission for
music programs everywhere. There
are people in the world who lack
rhythm, good pitch or both, and it
would be nearly impossible to study
certain aspects of music without
these qualities, let alone prepare for
years to have other people pay for
your skills.
Prioritizing safety over
expression on TikTok
The un-quantization of music courses at the ‘U’
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Alexis Hancz is an Opinion Columnist and
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