Overthinking, but Professionally: Why TikTok Survived the Briefest Ban in History

When Buddha met the news feed: building digital harmony one post at a time.

Well, that was quick. One minute, TikTok was supposedly banished from American phones, consigned to the digital Twilight Zone alongside MySpace and the Bebo graveyard. The next, it was back, unbothered, unscathed, and presumably still serving you an algorithmically perfect mix of cat videos, cooking tips, and a teenager explaining 18th-century economic theory via interpretive dance.

What happened? Did someone accidentally Ctrl+Z the entire ban? Was there a Mission Impossible-style heist where a rogue hacker plugged a USB stick into Capitol Hill’s WiFi? Spoilers: it’s more likely this is another example of how Western governments fundamentally misunderstand the tech they’re trying to control.

A Ban So Short, Even Snapchat Would Call It Brief

For context, the US government has been trying to shut down TikTok since roughly the dawn of time—or at least since today’s average TikTok user was reshaping internet culture after hearing whispers of an ancient legend called Vine, spoken in whispers only by the elders. The official reasoning? National security concerns, data privacy, and, presumably, a deep-seated fear that China might be secretly influencing young Americans into learning choreographed dances instead of preparing for a lifetime of debt.

And so, with great fanfare, a bill was passed. TikTok was doomed. The app had to either be sold to an American company (because the only people allowed to exploit user data are Western billionaires) or face extinction. Then, in what can only be described as a plot twist so underwhelming even M. Night Shyamalan wouldn’t touch it, the whole thing just… fizzled out. No ban. No fire and brimstone. Just business as usual, after a 34-second outage.

Which begs the question: was this ever really about national security, or was it more about Western tech giants being unable to compete with an app that actually makes people happy?

TikTok vs. The Algorithmic Hunger Games

To understand why TikTok has been treated like the digital Candyman, we have to look at its competitors. Most Western social media runs on a patented engagement model scientifically designed to make you want to punch people through the Internet.

• Facebook: Here’s your racist uncle’s conspiracy theories about the Jewish turnip cartels.
• Twitter (X? Xitter? Whatever it’s called today): Here’s an argument you weren’t invited to but are now emotionally invested in.
• Instagram: Here’s a photo of someone’s perfect life so you can feel bad about yours. Low follower count? Sorry, the algorithm has spoken, but don’t worry: here’s a limited-time offer on a personality upgrade from one of our advertisers.

Meanwhile, TikTok’s algorithm (while not perfect) works differently. It prioritises what you enjoy. Its entire model is built around keeping you entertained, which is why you’ll go in for just one video and emerge three hours later blinking at the sudden arrival of night, realising you desperately need to piss, and are now somehow an expert on medieval swordsmithing.

Despite the dehydration long scrolling sessions deliver, people love TikTok. It makes them laugh. It teaches them new skills. It gives them a sense of community. Compare that to the rage engagement tactics of Meta and Xitter, and it’s no wonder Silicon Valley has been side-eyeing TikTok like a college dropout older sibling realising their pre-teen brother is not only more popular but also somehow the Chosen One.

The Philosophical Divide: Zen and the Art of Social Media

This is where things get interesting. Western tech platforms are built around conflict—outrage, argument, echo chamber clashes, and division—because they assumed that’s what kept people glued to their screens (and, conveniently, seeing more ads). The Western approach mirrors some Western ideologies: individualism, competition, and the belief that if you’re not angrily quote-tweeting at 2 AM, are you even engaging?

Meanwhile, TikTok’s model leans more towards harmony. This distinctly Eastern approach prioritises enjoyment and collective experience over digital gladiatorial combat. TikTok’s algorithms don’t just serve you endless entertainment; they’re on a mission to promote joy and positivity. It’s like having a wise old monk in your pocket—except instead of cryptic riddles about enlightenment, he’s feeding you corgi videos and surprisingly emotional documentary about a life-changing cleaning hack.

It’s like comparing a serene Zen garden to a mosh pit at a heavy metal concert where everyone’s also live-tweeting a parliamentary debate. Xitter and Meta thrive on making you deeply anxious, while TikTok just wants you to vibe. And people have started noticing. Users are increasingly disillusioned with doomscrolling. Social media fatigue is real, but… not so much for TikTok. The idea that an app can be fun instead of feeling like a digital belt sander to your balls is revolutionary in itself.

That’s what makes TikTok so disruptive. And that’s why Western tech giants (and by extension, the governments they lobby) wanted it gone… or firmly in their back pocket. This isn’t just about slapping on a new logo and calling it a day. It’s a high-stakes tug-of-war between the calming influence of Eastern digital philosophy and Silicon Valley’s relentless pursuit of squeezing just a little more engagement from your increasingly frazzled brain. Politicians, torn between anti-China sentiment and their instinct to micromanage, are desperate to yank TikTok out of its Eastern perch and drop it into the clammy hands of Silicon Valley’s ranked-mode sweats.

Imagine trying to squeeze our wise old monk into a Silicon Valley boardroom—a place where mindfulness gets sacrificed on the altar of quarterly earnings, and every serene moment is interrupted by someone screaming about monetisation strategies. TikTok’s community-driven approach risks being bulldozed under a tsunami of profit margins, algorithmic tinkering, and the kind of corporate fuckery that could turn even a meditation app into a psychological battleground.

The Impact on User Behaviour: Harmony or Hysteria?

Yes, TikTok is ‘addictive’, but unlike its Western cousins, it’s less screaming-into-the-void and more accidentally-learning-carpentry-between-dance-trends. It’s like being invited to an endless block party where everyone’s invited and the DJ never runs out of uplifting tunes.

Over on the other side of the digital divide, there are plenty of reports about the mental health impacts of endless scrolling, especially for younger users. It seems that when you mix an algorithm designed to provoke outrage with the emotional roller coaster of needing to be beautiful or popular, you end up with a cocktail with a twist of anxiety and a dash of despair. It used to be the only game in town, but that doesn’t mean it was good for us.

Enter Trump, Stage Right

Trump’s part politician, part wrecking ball, convinced that if he shakes the Etch A Sketch hard enough, the old picture will vanish and something huge, better, and more orange will take its place.

Trump overturning the TikTok ban isn’t just about social media. It’s a message to voters that he’s breaking from the status quo, challenging liberal control, and (crucially) making sure American teenagers don’t have to suffer the existential horror of YouTube Shorts.

Scrapping the ban isn’t just a tech policy move—it’s a baller flex. Trump isn’t just saying he’s not like the Dems, he’s making sure you see it. It’s a middle finger to Silicon Valley, a wink to younger voters, and a reminder to the establishment that he’s the one pulling the levers.

Does he have a grand strategy for tech policy? Probably not. But does it look like a power move? Absolutely. Will it fire up the TikTok-loving masses and hammer home his “drain the swamp” narrative? Fucken A.

So… What Now?

TikTok isn’t just surviving. It’s thriving. Every time the US government tries to shut TikTok down, they just end up making it more popular. It’s our dropout older sibling handing their pre-teen brother the ‘shit controller,’ only to accidentally create an esports prodigy.

Meanwhile, Western platforms are still stuck in their old ways, trying to convince us that we enjoy rage-clicking our way through a never-ending cycle of discourse and despair.

There’s a real question at the heart of this: Is TikTok’s success a fluke, or does it signal a deeper shift? Are users finally waking up to the idea that social media doesn’t have to give you lifelong trauma?

And if trauma-free social media is possible… what does that mean for the future of digital spaces? One thing’s for sure: whatever the future of social media, I’m still not getting my news from Facebook.

Enjoyed this deep dive? Fuel my overthinking with a coffee on Ko-fi (because well-structured rants require caffeine). ☕💡