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Is virality ruining everything?

As more of us turn to social media for recommendations, is the joy of a hidden gem at risk of extinction? 

I used to have a thing for secrecy, at least when it came to food. I revelled in the smug satisfaction of knowing about a low-lit bar that only opens two days a week, or the ramen place tucked behind a dry cleaners that doesn’t accept card. I believed in hidden gems, in things being earned: through word of mouth, luck, or the subtle gesture of a kind stranger.

Now I open TikTok when I want a recommendation. Whether I’m looking for somewhere to eat, dance, or travel – social media has become the word of authority on all things fun. But the undesired side effect of this strategy is that most of my favourite local spots are now almost always trending. What was once a quiet venue has a queue snaking around three postcodes, and places I used to stroll into require a reservation weeks in advance.

This isn’t a local tragedy. Virality has become the new michelin star, except it requires no credentials or mystery. We no longer eat to eat, we eat to document. We travel to replicate the experience of others we follow online, rather than to discover things of our own accord.

My perspective might sound dramatically pessimistic, but I’m firm in my belief that virality is ruining everything. And yes, I am completely aware that in enjoying something I, too, am part of the problem. Who am I to say other people aren’t entitled to enjoy a venue simply because ‘I knew about it first’? But I’m still allowed to find the whole thing incredibly annoying. Let me stew in my self-pity for a second here.

Dazed magazine’s Tanya Bush captures my sentiment with deadpan brilliance in her latest pastry quest, where she visits several viral bakeries across New York and reviews their fare.

Once a devout follower of the edible algorithm herself, Bush recalls queuing for over an hour to try one of the popular cookie shot glasses. But having become a pastry chef herself, this love of desserts has taken a beating, transforming what was once a fantasy into an excuse for monetised content.

But despite recognising that what constitutes a viral pastry is often just a flashy ‘hybridisation’ of multiple desserts, or a ‘mash-up so distorted you can no longer remember what the original components were supposed to taste like,’ Bush reflects on the ways social media can give us a new kind of dining experience altogether.

‘I’m surprised to realise how nice the past few days have been. It felt good to have destinations, to wander around this city I’d started to take for granted; Even if the pastries weren’t great, it was fun to eviscerate them with other people in real time.’

It’s true that platforms like Tiktok have made the process of visiting a food spot the experience in and of itself – and the food just a secondary detail. But this obsession with experiencing certain destinations has birthed a new form of eating tourism, and locals like myself aren’t best pleased.

Just as popular tourist spots like the leaning tower of Pisa and the Mona Lisa have been inundated with visitors to the point that seeing them through a phone screen is arguably more enjoyable, certain local eateries and music venues are facing the same fate.

‘Nowadays, when you’re exploring a major city, if there’s a queue outside a food place, expect that most people learned about it thanks to social media,’ writes Caroline Edwards.

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‘With TikTok, you’re not discovering a hidden gem – you’re visiting an overcrowded hotspot that may or may not be worth the hype. It’s a gamble and you have to be willing to queue to find out.’

It’s true that while virality may be democratising taste, it’s also flattening it. As one reddit thread laments, some of London’s most hyped food venues are serving up less than satisfying eats, from dry cookies to mediocre pasta and burgers.

TikTok, Instagram, Reels, Threads – every platform now feeds us the same aesthetic monoculture, just geo-tagged slightly differently. So, what happens to taste when everything is designed to go viral?

The concept of a hidden gem relies on scarcity, on intimacy, on the fragile, delicious feeling of being in the know. It also requires us to think for ourselves and form a unique opinion. I can’t help but wonder whether we’ve lost the capacity to identify what we actually like, without worrying whether it aligns with the wider public consensus.

I’d argue that virality hasn’t quite ruined everything – but it has made it harder to be surprised. And maybe that’s the real tragedy; not that the food we’re eating is bad, but that we can’t trust ourselves to know the difference.

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