#BookTok made me do it: Is social media saving literature or just selling it?

I’ll admit it — I once fell victim to a TikTok trend.

I was mindlessly scrolling when I stumbled across a video about that book. You know the one … the Colleen Hoover one.

Don’t judge me. We’ve all been there. Everyone was talking about it. The comments said it was “so good.” People were crying over it, quoting it, even making fan edits.

So I thought, why not? If half the internet is obsessed, maybe it’s worth a shot. But then I read it, and that’s when I realized it — I had just become a textbook victim of #BookTok.

Reading changed from being a solitary, geeky pastime to becoming a social media flex. The days of readers being viewed as introverts tucked in libraries are long gone.

Now? Reading is an aesthetic. It’s content. It’s a trend. This all seems to be a literary victory on the surface, like reading is cool again, right? The reality, however, is more complicated. 

Many teens and young people today don’t read because they truly enjoy it — they read just so they can post about it and participate in the current trends.

Let’s talk about the elephant in the algorithm: “the spice.” I am no one to judge anyone who enjoys romance or intimacy in literature, but some of the excerpts that trend on the app are quite questionable to say the least.

Plus, since the main audience on the platform is teenagers and young adults, it sends the wrong message that love is all about toxicity, misogyny, abuse, et cetera. There’s no filter, no age check, no one saying, “Hey, maybe this isn’t what healthy love looks like.”

What pains me the most is the fact that the essence of literature is being lost. In the past, reading books was about exploring new worlds, questioning conventional wisdom, developing strong character bonds, and finding meaning in the chaos.

The plotlines that we are currently drowning in are the same characters with just altered names and new packaging. Why? Because it sells and #BookTok likes it.

Authors — or their publishers — also know that if it is popular on TikTok, it will fly off the shelves. Nowadays, a lot of authors write for #BookTok directly, following the trend rather than the narrative, prioritizing virality over versatility, which results in more clichés, less risk-taking, and less innovation.

The whole brooding bad boy meets quirky girl, they hate each other but also fall in love and trauma bonding ensues, is becoming the dominant theme. We’ve seen it. We’ve read it. Please give us something new.

The problem also lies in consumerism. #BookTok is more than just a place to read — it’s also a place to flaunt oneself. Huge book hauls, links to TikTok shops, and monthly recaps entice people to keep buying, frequently without ever opening a book.

Some even purchase two copies of the same book — one to read and another to display in their carefully arranged bookshelves. Even though I firmly believe in the value of physical books, let’s face it: nothing compares to the smell of paper. But the sheer number of books being purchased is out of control and, to be honest, unsustainable. 

In fairness, there is a bright side to all of this. #BookTok has given exposure to authors who otherwise may have never had a platform. Indie writers, self-published creators, and marginalized voices are finally being seen and read. A single viral video can launch an unknown author into bestseller territory. That kind of access is incredible.

We need to be more aware of what we’re reading, why we’re reading it, and how much of our love for books is truly ours — not just what the algorithm handed us. If we can do that, then maybe #BookTok doesn’t have to be the end of meaningful literature — maybe it can be the beginning of something new, if we’re paying attention.

So is #BookTok saving literature or just selling it? Maybe a little of both, but the choice is ours every time we turn a page.