For a huge portion of the last two years, I was in constant pursuit of creative inspiration. To channel this endeavour, I took it upon myself to religiously stare at my screen daily, which was adorned with video montages of “Get ready with me,” explainer videos followed by ‘’Here’s why toothpaste is destroying your gut microbiome,’’ not to forget ‘’unsuspecting’’ TikTok shop ads nestled within every scroll. One day, while scrolling through TikTok or, what can only be described as the Cocomelon equivalent for adults, my thumb began to stiffen and something dawned on me. I was probably the most uninspired I had been for a very, very long time.

How could this be? I mean I’m consuming a plethora of different pieces of creative content, surely something would inspire me to want to get making again? Wrong. What I perceived to be the antidote to my creative block, was the very thing that was stiffening my creative paralysis.

I started making videos during the pandemic, with no intention other than providing my personal commentary on political and cultural matters. Subsequently, I built a following of over 73,000 followers, with my videos amassing millions of views. However I maintained a strict rule (given the subject matter): only speak when there’s something meaningful to say, not just for the sake of getting yourself out there.

Despite this, I constantly felt like I was always playing catch up, wasn’t moving fast enough and felt like what I wanted to make or say was just not algorithm-friendly. The result of this cycle was a one-year creative hiatus, where for the most part, I felt responsible for my lack of inspiration. Perhaps I just needed to accept that my ‘creativity’ was just a phase I needed to let go of. But much like the belief that regularly drinking energy drinks and consuming processed foods are bad for your physical health, relegating control of my worth to an arbitrary digital jury was terrible for my creative well-being.

The Shackles of Virality & Validation

Whether you’re creatively self-assured in your art or not, it increasingly feels like we’re all at the mercy of the enigma that is the TikTok algorithm.

Figuring out this collection of codes often feels like anxiously running through a minotaur’s maze (except you’re running away from the fear of not remaining relevant). There’s a sense of panic and FOMO, encouraging you to relentlessly scroll to jump on the next CapCut trend before the masses follow suit so you can secure all those initial views and saves.

Many people purport to have cracked the code of what makes the algorithm tick, but its temperament remains largely unsolved. What is accepted, however, is that the algorithm loves short-form content (between 8-15 seconds) and prefers platforms that post 5+ videos daily (so as not to rattle our need for instant gratification). Other sources tell you to use popular sounds, a dissertation of hashtags, adopt trending formats and so on.

The never-ending cycle of “Will it go viral?’’ is arguably one of the most restrictive places to be as it produces a climate of forcefully producing content driven by hitting a number rather than ideas. This contrasts heavily with the early beginnings of the content creator, particularly in spaces like YouTube, where curating an audience based on shared interests and passions was the blueprint. The content was slower, but there was far more depth. In the era of impatience repackaged as instant gratification, waiting a whole week before your favourite creator drops a new video seems like an alien concept.

The homogenisation of trends and our constant need to scroll, throw us into cognitive overload. Take the chill guy meme for example, every one of us has seen this in possibly every content niche (from brotok to bibletok). What started as a mildly funny video turned into an agitating, grating sound (another overused TikTok reference for you). It’s not only overwhelming but occupies so much mental real estate that it forces us to prioritise consuming far more than creating.

Some creators are resorting back to long-form content because they feel restricted by the constant need to engage an audience with a three-second soundbite. Interestingly, we are seeing a ‘’renewed interest in YouTube suggesting that viewers crave depth and engagement—something that short-form platforms struggle to offer.’’

The shift from passion-driven creativity to a focus on strategy has the propensity to feel insincere, lacks experimental approaches, reduces emotional fulfilment with our work and simply dilutes our distinctive creative character.

When we disproportionately focus on quantity instead of quality, there is little incentive to think outside the box or bring a carefully curated idea to the table as it may not be rewarded in an environment that prioritises maximum shareability and quick content. In contrast, carefully curated ideas are deliberate, organic and not driven by momentary praise. Their value is rooted in a genuine impulse to convey rather than the manual chore of posting to remain relevant or adhering to arbitrary deadlines. Consequently, curated content might be produced less often, but its influence tends to be deeper, longer-lasting and more thoughtful.

More of The Same

If the content I’ve worked long and hard at curating isn’t being rewarded online, why not follow the formula of things that do? According to every single ‘’get viral quick’’ page – you’d be on the right track. If virality is what you want, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing—but it shouldn’t be perceived as free creative expression. This is because the predominant driving force here is reaction and relevancy which acts as a constraint on how authentically you express your chosen idea.

This should also not be confused with the idea that every single creative work has to be new and fresh, quite the contrary. Creativity is informed by our shared experiences and perceptions. We’re inspired by the works of others, and sometimes it’s about taking various existing concepts and swirling them into your own unique ideas.

It simply comes down to understanding that what we feel capable of creating is becoming more repetitive and formulaic.

When enquiring whether any of my friends had recently felt void of new ideas that excited them, Anisah, Founder of Brown Bodies, articulated something that deeply resonated with me, “My brain wasn’t having any original thought that was its own, it was either regurgitated stuff or just trying to shut all thought down.”

Touching on the homogenisation of trends once again, we see the co-option of this by brands and businesses. What starts as a fun, or well-thought-out idea by one creator quickly turns into an opportunity to become an over-used quick cash-grab.

As Oli Mould argues in his book Against Creativity, “Being creative today means seeing the world around you as a resource to fuel your inner entrepreneur.’’ He further explores when he says, ‘’The dominant narrative of creativity is one of creating more of the same. Contemporary capitalism has commandeered creativity to ensure its own growth and maintain the centralisation and monetisation of what it generates.’’

Mould argues that creativity under capitalism is redefined to sustain its control and power. This new definition shifts the purpose of it away from having intrinsic or communal benefit and redefines it as a tool to ensure profitability. Arguably, because of this very reason, it lacks creativity because the need for profit often results in the repetition of ideas to ensure a return – a great example being the fertile market of product dupes.

Capitalism’s creativity is predatory, it extracts the work of honest creatives, personal stories and natural resources for the personal gain of larger corporations. To add insult to injury, capitalism wants the work done as quickly and cheaply as possible.

Take brands like Fiverr (Israeli-owned) for example, which encourages the rapid use of creators for as low as $5— while still taking a 20% cut of the fees. Products like these reinforce the idea that capitalism values output over creativity, reducing creative work to short-turnaround deliverables.

This is particularly interesting because capitalism is often seen as the driving force for creativity. Without competition, how could we possibly think of new and innovative ideas? And yet, we’ve seen the same agitating chill guy meme repackaged and reused by most brands time and time again.

We are in a culture that prioritises ‘’creating’’ to sell (be it a product, good or a personal brand). Where hobbies become side hustles and personalities become brands, creative expression is redefined as a commercial performance. The consequence is a culture that deprioritises the true and honest essence of simply creating.

What Is The Role of Creativity?

I felt myself leaning into this question more and more. Surely the essence of creativity could not be relegated to instigating an emotionless smile during a 3 am scroll? Or to churn out unimaginative content in the hopes of building a poorly structured digital community. Growing up I knew ‘’creativity’’ meant a lot to me—but what about everyone else?

I dug a little deeper, and this pursuit made me realise that on the surface, not everyone assigns a personal role to creativity in their lives. However, it certainly plays an important role for those who wish to create and for society as a whole.

The difficulty in ascertaining what the role of creativity truly is for us collectively is fractured by the fact that it is often considered the pastime of the elite. Following the Renaissance period, creative work became a sign of status. The Industrial Revolution saw the biggest shift, creating a class of people who could afford both the tools and the time to create or consume art. The very concept of shutting art behind the closed doors of exclusive exhibitions, despite it traditionally being readily available for public consumption in churches, murals, public sculptures etc., is a huge example of society determining who gets to define, access and engage with it.

This draws similarities to the present day where we see the cringe-worthy misuse of the term “creative’’ as a fancy way to gain social currency, with content being praised based on follower counts. Not to mention the continuous boom in “exclusive’’ spaces for creative networking, such as the infamous Soho House.

Yet, historically, creative expression has long been a tool of the masses. Oli Mould argues, “It was collaborative and collective creativity that encouraged equality between people. Cultural production and artistic endeavour were integral factors in maintaining a just society.’’

For example, across South Asia, folk songs were traditionally written in groups and collectively sung, exploring topics of love, spirituality and even avenues to bring to light social issues about patriarchy, caste-based marriages, religious persecution and other issues within society at the time.

Revolutionary texts from different regions also find themselves within the collective creative sphere, even though they are often not perceived as creative because they don’t fit capitalism’s definition of creativity. Similarly, art forms like traditional carpet weaving or tatreez often brought women together in groups, where they exchanged techniques, stories, and designs while embroidering. Many of these art forms were passed down by ‘ordinary people’ through generations with the purpose of them being carried on by their communities.

It begs the question: how did we get here? How did we allow the role of creativity to become a mechanism for purely personal gain, whether financial or social? When did we depart from a culture of honest creative exchange that was collaborative and not rooted in a fear of gatekeeping or corporate plagiarism? How do we unravel a climate of being terrified of not going viral or taking artistic routes that despite being rooted in creativity, might deviate from the norm because they don’t fit TikTok’s “3-second rule’’?

Reckoning with how systems like capitalism have tainted our understanding of creativity is the first step towards reclaiming it. The next step? Getting inspired again and finding the confidence to bring your ideas to life. Below are some tips to help you reignite your creative curiosity.

How To Regain Your Creative Spark

1. Find Inspiration Elsewhere, And I Mean Anywhere

What I found through my pursuit of becoming more creative was I spent so much time watching the same sorts of videos again and again…and again. Revisiting that point about the algorithm rewarding more of the same, I knew I needed to take my creative soul-searching offline.

I resorted back to the classics: movies (without my phone to distract me), TV shows, discovering new music, magazines (I hadn’t picked one up in years!), galleries, looking through photo archives, stamp collections, junk journaling, walking down a busy high street and focusing on shop-front designs and so much more. What shocked me was how the creative ideas just flowed.

Another massively impactful way to get inspired is to get talking, switch up the conversation and listen intently. You’d be surprised how many ideas come to you when you ask that question you think no one cares about. Lastly, another painful (but impactful) cliché, is to get moving. Your creativity is not confined to your thoughts, it manifests physically too. Go out for that walk, run or hike. Settle your eyes, ears and nose on the world around you.

We have a long way to go to truly remedy our damaged attention spans – but prioritising looking for inspiration away from our phones is certainly a start.

2. Get Physical

Something else we deeply underestimate is the importance of tangibility in art. We need to smell, see and touch as much as we need to think. And no, I do not mean the firm plastic grasp of an Apple pencil – I mean staring at the kaleidoscope of paints staining your hands, or the slightly sticky feel of those new photos you developed.

Even if painting, drawing or arts and crafts aren’t directly related to your niche (they have nothing to do with mine), consider journaling your thoughts instead of typing them up in your notes.

Journaling, painting and so on can help activate the reticular activating system (RAS), which is the part of your brain responsible for behavioural arousal, consciousness and motivation. It helps filter unwanted thoughts and allows you to hyperfocus on your idea. Additionally, after processing the writing, your RAS will subconsciously help you seek out ways to achieve what you wrote.

Anisah, after breaking her phone, turned to journaling in the interim and what she discovered was vital to her creative process, ‘’I knew my creative spark was coming back because I was journaling a lot and consciously spending less time on my phone. Journaling helped my voice come out, and I was like right, I need more of this and to get more of this I need less of my phone. The amount my brain changed in that time, everything I wanted to do was happening so much quicker, I wasn’t procrastinating, I wasn’t afraid of shooting my shot it was just things getting done.’’

Journaling is also a multi-sensory experience that combines our cognitive and motor skills, allowing us to slow down (unlike digital forums where speed is of the essence), better contemplate, and subsequently articulate, the ideas in our deep subconscious.

3. Create To Make, Not To Post

Another way of regaining your spark is working towards emancipating yourself from creating for the sake of posting online. Again, there’s nothing wrong with posting your work, but if you’re tangled in a web of patiently waiting for the likes to rack in you may be placing your creative worth in the hands of others.

Within your process, consider producing content that is purely for the sake of making it. If you’re worried you’d be wasting your creative efforts, remember that Maya Angelou once said “You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.”

4. Revisit Old Projects

A great exercise to help flex that creative brainpower is by revisiting old projects. The toxicity of short-form content means we follow a structure of always moving on to the next thing, with little time to appreciate the work we’ve created. More importantly, it leaves us little room to retrace our steps and figure out what gave us the burning desire to create in the first place. This is why I always keep my scrap pieces of notes!

5. Work Towards Building Your Creative Confidence

At the core of this lies creating without the fear of judgement. That’s not to say creative work is ever free of judgement – there will always be someone who might not vibe with your idea and that’s okay. Being open to feedback can benefit your work. Creative confidence is about striking that balance: giving your audience the space to love or hate your work, while not letting their response define you.

Building confidence is about ensuring you’re not placing your worth on the decision of an extremely convoluted algorithm that prioritises quick, punchy, succinct and repetitive content forms to ensure virality and does not have the means to consider depth and thought.

Whilst short-form content is certainly here to stay for a while, we must ask ourselves important questions about its longevity and how it infringes on our freedom to create. Whilst the periodic cheeky TikTok scroll is certainly a fun way to stay connected, we must make space to emancipate ourselves from its restraints and focus on how to move towards creative work that is driven by organic thought and passion. Creativity, at its core, should be liberating.

Mehek Ali

How TikTok Killed My Creativity & How to Regain Your Creative Spark