Even if TikTok fully comes back online—and for many users, it still hasn’t—the prevailing sentiment across the platform is grim: whatever TikTok becomes under American ownership will be a hollowed-out version of what it once was.
As of January 2026, TikTok’s U.S. operations are controlled by TikTok USDS Joint Venture LLC, an American-led entity created to comply with federal divestiture requirements. While ByteDance retains a minority 19.9 percent stake, the majority ownership now rests with a consortium of U.S. investors, including Oracle, Silver Lake, and MGX. The venture is led by CEO Adam Presser and governed by a majority-American board. Under this structure, TikTok USDS oversees U.S. data security, compliance, and algorithm licensing, while ByteDance continues to operate TikTok’s global business outside the United States.
The transition became immediately visible to users. As Wired reported, when U.S. TikTok users opened the app, they were met with a pop-up requiring agreement to new terms of service and a revised privacy policy before they could continue scrolling. These changes are directly tied to TikTok’s shift to American-majority ownership—an arrangement mandated by the U.S. government in order for the app to continue operating domestically.
For many, the prompt was easy to dismiss with a quick tap on “Agree.” But critics argue that users may not fully grasp the scope of what they consented to. Under U.S.-based ownership, TikTok may now collect more detailed user data, including precise location information. A spokesperson for TikTok USDS declined to comment on the extent of data collection. Wired outlined three major changes to the privacy policy that users should be aware of, fueling further anxiety about surveillance, transparency, and long-term implications for user privacy.
These concerns have triggered a growing call to delete the app altogether. Among disaffected users, there is a widespread belief that once American corporations embedded themselves into TikTok’s core infrastructure, the platform’s fate was sealed: more advertising, more censorship, less authenticity, and diminished value as an information-sharing space.
Trust in TikTok has eroded sharply, made worse by what users describe as inconsistent and misleading communication from the company. Early technical issues were initially attributed to a “power outage,” yet many users report ongoing dysfunction weeks later. Compounding the backlash, TikTok released a statement confirming its compliance with U.S. government oversight and regulatory frameworks—confirmation that, for critics, validated their worst fears.
Many expect these regulations to curtail features that once defined TikTok’s appeal, including advanced AI edits, filters, and creative tools—stripping away much of the spontaneity and fun that drove the app’s cultural dominance.
Creators, particularly small artists and activists, say the impact has been immediate and devastating. Videos that once reached hundreds—or thousands—of viewers within hours now struggle to break 100 views in a full day. Some report waking up to For You Pages flooded with repetitive, irrelevant, or bizarre content: religious messaging, oddly phrased praise of “ice” on hot days—widely interpreted as coded references to ICE—and an influx of low-quality, AI-generated videos.
Others say core features are simply broken. Commenting is disabled. Creator rewards and analytics are inaccessible. Feeds recycle the same handful of videos. Old posts from a year ago resurface repeatedly. Some users claim their FYP shows content from only three people, despite following hundreds of accounts.
“I can’t comment. I can’t see my analytics. My friends liked my video, but it shows zero engagement,” one user wrote. “This sucks.”
Artists say posts announcing their departure from TikTok aren’t
reaching anyone—cutting off their ability to bring audiences with them. Activists allege that topics once freely discussed are now quietly suppressed. Some users believe the algorithm was intentionally altered to prevent large-scale organizing and protest against the current U.S. administration.
For others, the shift feels more existential. “It’s nothing more than state-aligned media now,” one former user wrote after deleting their account. “You can’t even search current events. You only see what they want you to see. So much for freedom.”
Privacy advocates warn that continued use of the app signals tacit acceptance of a surveillance state—one that extends beyond posts and comments into detailed behavioral and identity profiling that could one day be used against users themselves.
Faced with the collapse of trust, many are scattering to alternative platforms: Tumblr, YouTube Shorts, Bluesky, Red Note, Upscroll, Skylight Social. Yet none feel capable of replacing TikTok’s once-unmatched reach or cultural influence. Some reject certain platforms outright over concerns about LGBTQ+ safety and inclusion.
“This sense of community is gone,” one user wrote. “It will never be what it was.”
While users outside the United States report mixed experiences, the most severe disruptions appear concentrated among American users—underscoring fears that U.S. control of the algorithm has fundamentally altered the platform. “The U.S. doesn’t leave well enough alone,” another user said bluntly. “They’re greedy. This transaction proves how far behind we are technologically.”
As TikTok stumbles through its American reinvention, the larger question remains unresolved: can any new platform rise to match TikTok’s former influence—or has the era of truly organic, global social media already passed?
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