By Ella Ferrero
Art by Rachel Genito
Enter: “Are you a freak? But you think you stink? Well… you should give these a try” (she holds up a bottle of pills) “HerFantasyBox Chlorophyll Pills. I’ve been taking them for a week, and I haven't had any bad morning breath. So, you know what that means? It means it’s a little freaky freaky time… And, it helps with body odor, so your pitties won’t be stinky, and your kitty won’t be stinky! Click my link.”
Enter: “Stop masking your menstrual cycle with toxins cause ur box is already hot. Click the link below.”
(Excerpts from video advertisements for HerFantasyBox Chlorophyll Pills)
Dear Shein victims and the (media) literate, you know this dialogue is alarming and extremely harmful. Between the “toxins” fear mongering and the shaming of young girl’s genitalia, these advertisements strike a deep chord in the insecurity economy. The TikTok shop officially launched last September as a sort of Shein/AliExpress/Temu dupe, every product modeled on overedited bodies, made of polyester and plastic, and often just advertisements for scams. I never thought much of it until the FeelinGirl bodysuit phenomena.
FeelinGirlGate, as I call it, was an influx of content that advertised shapewear bodysuits as “magical fat deleters,” capable of erasing a young girl’s biggest insecurity: their bellies. Thousands of videos popped up on my feed, of women of all sizes trying the FeelinGirl bodysuit and gasping as their bodies contorted into an hourglass shape. I was instantly transported back to middle school, when I would wear my mom’s shapewear under my Catholic school uniform, often instead of underwear, in order to suck in the minimal fat I had at the time. I felt a pit in my stomach thinking of young girls everywhere believing in a magic cure to their body dysmorphia.
These videos still appear, although sparingly, across my For You Page. I thought it would go away like most things on TikTok usually do. Before I knew it, “Stripper Razors” and “Chlorophyll Pills” were popping up, left and right, directly targeting the attention of young girls who are afraid of their own hair and body odor.
This brings me back to the quotes at the top of the page. The majority of people advertising these pills are older women, telling young girls that they need to get their “kitties” in check, explaining that they probably smell awful and have no idea. “My boyfriend won’t leave me alone!” one exclaims. “These are an all-natural remedy compared to toxic chemicals found in deodorant,” another chimes.
The consumption of pills off the TikTok shop is a dystopian plot that actualizes our obsession with consumerism and girlboss capitalism to a surprising accuracy. The young girl is an avid consumer. Young girls want to smell good, look good, feel good because we expect them to. The internet is obsessed with the sexual appeal of young girls, almost as much as young girls are.
The young girl as a consumer and consumable is the life force of the TikTok shop. Tiqqun, in the collection Preliminary Materials for a Theory of the Young-Girl, writes: “The Young-Girl is an absolute: She is bought because she has value, she has value because she is bought.” The value of femininity has everything to do with the amount in which one can attract male attention without soiling one’s purity. One’s value is quickly bought by girl-centered consumerism—antidotes for problems that we have not even realized about ourselves. Femmes everywhere—cis, trans, non-white, and otherwise—are flattened by society’s expectation of the feminine. Purity automatically correlates to cleanliness, paleness, hairlessness, and the ability to resist and repress oneself. Girlhood is now a commodity that cannot be bought but can be used as a tactic to encourage the economy.
HerFantasyBox sells oils and tinctures that encourage positive sexual experiences for the partners of their victims. You’ll be bump-free, free of dryness, free of smell. Yet, this is marketed as encouraging to one’s self esteem. In the same way, the FeelinGirl shapewear encourages self confidence by contorting one’s natural shape into one that is more desirable to the patriarchy’s standards. You can be snatched 24/7! Men will buy you drinks at the bar!
The TikTok shop is a wasteland similar to the overwhelming trash-pile of websites such as Shein and Temu. The temporary existences of these plastic and resin manifestations of the rapid pace of the trend cycle signal a larger decomposition of quality amongst our economy. This decomposition of quality directly correlates to the cheapening and flattening of the young girl in the economy.
As of now, advertisements for tight, snatched pajamas with a big slit up the side have been skewed towards the discussion of “making your man happy.” Additionally, I have seen multiple advertisements for thongs with customizable bejeweled names on the back, supposedly reserved for the names of the victim’s boyfriends. In every one of these videos, the advertiser sports a pair of the bejeweled underwear. Her boyfriend walks in and shrieks with delight. He tackles her. The video ends.
It is difficult to weigh the guilt of the person creating the advertisement, who is receiving compensation for their content, and the vortex of insecurity that consumes our apple pay. Are we responsible for our own algorithms? Our algorithm finds us, but are we searching for its touch? We all want to be desired, clean, and rid of flaws. Obviously, advertisers and corporations know this. Manufactured insecurities, such as peach fuzz, bikini areas, and cellulite are continually instigated by the media we idolize.
We are playthings of the TikTok shop, but the TikTok shop did not appear out of thin air. The economy will always exploit the personal to reach a fiscal goal. In all, young girls should not sacrifice their economies to the spectacle. Neither should the spectacle advertise pills to teenage girls on the internet.
Our dignity is leaking out of our Apple Pay. Don’t buy pills from the Tiktok shop. Log off.
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