Nieman Lab.
Predictions for
Journalism, 2024.
Television journalists have long been encouraged to have a social media presence to build their brands and provide additional outlets for network content. Journalists have always been influencers for their stations — but in 2024, we’ll see them start to be additionally compensated for this labor, and financially benefit from their own social media presence.
Over the last year and a half, my colleague Kaitlin Miller and I have interviewed local on-air reporters who use TikTok, and we’ve discovered two things. First, despite reports that more and more Americans are getting their news from TikTok, according to our participants, their news content performs the least successfully compared to “a day in the life” and “get ready with me for my job as a journalist” content. Instead, many of our participants act like influencers, setting up TikTok live streams on their small-town anchor desks for thousands of viewers; talk to followers about what it’s like to get up at three A.M. to cover breaking news or simply work the morning shift; or share what they put in their work bags for on-the-go work. This contributes to a second finding: Despite acting like influencers, these journalists are shut out of the financial compensation that comes with online labor.
In our conversations, we’ve learned how frustrated many of these individuals are for not being able to capitalize on their successful TikTok presences (we’re talking hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of followers). Our participants told us how they’re frequently offered sponsored content deals, but due to their contracts and the ethics of unbiased news, they can’t accept them. The frustration comes from the reality that local news isn’t the highest-paying business and that even mid-tier TikTok creators can earn thousands of dollars per post.
Our participants were frustrated but conflicted. One young woman in a large market told us: “We have to be able to have additional revenue streams for them to make up for not paying us what we want.” However, one from a medium-sized market said: “I could see that being the same argument with TikTok if somebody wants to send you something…there would be an ethical concern as it would appear you could be bought.” Many of our participants were aware of the bias potential and loved news tremendously, but overall, wanted the same opportunities as others.
In one conversation, a young woman in a large market discussed this by referencing college athletics and name, image, and likeness rules, which allow student-athletes to be compensated separately from the university: “Just like an athlete, just like how there was that whole reckoning with likeness…I think it’s becoming so common for on-air personalities to put themselves on an app like TikTok and build their own following and their own brand separate from the station, that at some point people are going to start leaving the industry because they can make significantly more money just posting branded TikToks.”
Like referencing the NIL, our participants had suggestions for how to balance ethics with the growing reality of influence: heavy tagging to indicate sponsorship, differentiation by product (e.g., curling irons or socks could be okay, but never politics), and industry-wide conversations about low salaries and just how much money can be made online.
TikTok has challenged what we understand about individuals, self-brands, and content, thanks to the app’s highly specific recommendation algorithm. Content on TikTok matters more than creators, as we’ve seen with no one showing up to meet them at conventions like VidCon. TikTok hasn’t killed the self-brand, but it’s made it harder to grow a consistent following when it’s similar content being pushed to users, not a timeline of followed accounts. To adhere to this business model, stations and reporters need to adjust their tactics. This may involve embracing influencer strategies even more so, to thread the fine needle of video styles that work on TikTok first, and reliable individuals second.
However, to demand influencer-like labor will only contribute to local journalism’s burnout crisis. I’ve spent my career researching influencers, and over the last several years, as everyone struggles financially, more and more individuals have figured out how to turn their “day job,” or their primary source of income, into clicks, likes, and views that can translate to payouts and sponsored content. Journalists are no exception, and many are finally demanding their worth. In 2024, we’ll start to see them get it.
Jessica Maddox is an assistant professor of digital media technology and the co-director of Office of Politics, Communication and Media at the University of Alabama.
Television journalists have long been encouraged to have a social media presence to build their brands and provide additional outlets for network content. Journalists have always been influencers for their stations — but in 2024, we’ll see them start to be additionally compensated for this labor, and financially benefit from their own social media presence.
Over the last year and a half, my colleague Kaitlin Miller and I have interviewed local on-air reporters who use TikTok, and we’ve discovered two things. First, despite reports that more and more Americans are getting their news from TikTok, according to our participants, their news content performs the least successfully compared to “a day in the life” and “get ready with me for my job as a journalist” content. Instead, many of our participants act like influencers, setting up TikTok live streams on their small-town anchor desks for thousands of viewers; talk to followers about what it’s like to get up at three A.M. to cover breaking news or simply work the morning shift; or share what they put in their work bags for on-the-go work. This contributes to a second finding: Despite acting like influencers, these journalists are shut out of the financial compensation that comes with online labor.
In our conversations, we’ve learned how frustrated many of these individuals are for not being able to capitalize on their successful TikTok presences (we’re talking hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of followers). Our participants told us how they’re frequently offered sponsored content deals, but due to their contracts and the ethics of unbiased news, they can’t accept them. The frustration comes from the reality that local news isn’t the highest-paying business and that even mid-tier TikTok creators can earn thousands of dollars per post.
Our participants were frustrated but conflicted. One young woman in a large market told us: “We have to be able to have additional revenue streams for them to make up for not paying us what we want.” However, one from a medium-sized market said: “I could see that being the same argument with TikTok if somebody wants to send you something…there would be an ethical concern as it would appear you could be bought.” Many of our participants were aware of the bias potential and loved news tremendously, but overall, wanted the same opportunities as others.
In one conversation, a young woman in a large market discussed this by referencing college athletics and name, image, and likeness rules, which allow student-athletes to be compensated separately from the university: “Just like an athlete, just like how there was that whole reckoning with likeness…I think it’s becoming so common for on-air personalities to put themselves on an app like TikTok and build their own following and their own brand separate from the station, that at some point people are going to start leaving the industry because they can make significantly more money just posting branded TikToks.”
Like referencing the NIL, our participants had suggestions for how to balance ethics with the growing reality of influence: heavy tagging to indicate sponsorship, differentiation by product (e.g., curling irons or socks could be okay, but never politics), and industry-wide conversations about low salaries and just how much money can be made online.
TikTok has challenged what we understand about individuals, self-brands, and content, thanks to the app’s highly specific recommendation algorithm. Content on TikTok matters more than creators, as we’ve seen with no one showing up to meet them at conventions like VidCon. TikTok hasn’t killed the self-brand, but it’s made it harder to grow a consistent following when it’s similar content being pushed to users, not a timeline of followed accounts. To adhere to this business model, stations and reporters need to adjust their tactics. This may involve embracing influencer strategies even more so, to thread the fine needle of video styles that work on TikTok first, and reliable individuals second.
However, to demand influencer-like labor will only contribute to local journalism’s burnout crisis. I’ve spent my career researching influencers, and over the last several years, as everyone struggles financially, more and more individuals have figured out how to turn their “day job,” or their primary source of income, into clicks, likes, and views that can translate to payouts and sponsored content. Journalists are no exception, and many are finally demanding their worth. In 2024, we’ll start to see them get it.
Jessica Maddox is an assistant professor of digital media technology and the co-director of Office of Politics, Communication and Media at the University of Alabama.
